A year in review

Captain's Log: There is no date. I gave up on dates other than occasionally remembering pediatric appointments and concert dates. I focus on my theater of war. The trenches are dug deep and to poke my head out of it once in awhile means I may find myself staring in the face of Dean Winters as Mayhem, Lord WTF's very attractive older brother. Yes, it's a family affair with those two now and my house is ground zero.

What has the last year of battle been like? Fantastic. I've won more than I lost, but I've refined the use of swearing to an art form. We've had a few casualties and in honor of their brave service, I'll list them here.

*My makeup. The "puppy" of the house, or affectionately known as my younger son, deep sixed my makeup twice this year and the replacement price tag is not discussed. It's kind of like discussing how much any land war in the Middle East is going to cost when the check is called. We just don't go there.

*The ceiling of the basement and its cousin, the floor in the kitchen and first floor bathroom. The "puppy" stopped up the sink, turned on the water and just let it flow. I've yet to get a straight answer out of the kid for this one, but I will have my revenge. He may be 3 now, but he will be 16 someday. ~evil grin~

*The carpet. This fallen soldier, the horror it has been through. I wake up and play Taps for it. It held out as long as it could, but when you are dealing with minions, sometimes, it's just best to lay there and take it.

*Spices. Yes, spices. The "puppy" thought he was Emeril Lagasse and BAMMED! all over the house. Tumeric. I hate you. Curry? Bite me. And why French Thyme was masacared not once, not twice, but three times? I have no idea other than my son hates the French. Good boy. (humor, kids. It was humor.)

*Copic Markers. They lie in state with a candle lit for each one. The held the rainbow and a small fortune in their beautiful tips. Their blood decorates my walls now and No One knows who did it. I know. Lord WTF went for the gut on that one. There will be blood.


I could go on about a few sentimental Christmas ornaments, geisha hair pins that went missing for weeks, but I won't wallow in self pity for the loss of such things. No. I have a war to win. Soon, the theater will move as the "puppy" hits age four. The attacks will be more subversive, but I'm ready. I used to be a minion, too. I've fought for the otherside and my parents triumphed over Lord WTF, too.

I'm taking it to the matresses this year: me vs "the puppy." Buy your ringside tickets, folks. I'll be the one in the silk shorts made from the American flag with smoke coming out of her ears.