Suburban Snafu

We have lived in our current neighborhood for two years this coming August. It is a lovely neighborhood with large acre lots, trees, manicured lawns, pools (in some lucky bastard's yards) and laughing children. I love our house and we love our neighbors. Sometimes.

When we first moved in, we were the only three houses built. We live up on the hill and overlook the rest of our section of the subdivision, thus our air of superiority. Imagine our excitement when we discovered that they had each had sons who were only a tad younger than Medium Pants! He hadn't had any playmates in our old neighborhood, so we were thrilled.

The limitless possibilities...playdates, ball playing, tag, bug catching, sleepovers! Wow, it just boggled the mind. The first year was an effortless plethora of fun and sun. They played together fairly well, with only the occasional argument. These were quickly solved and it was back to playing and more fun. Idyllic, no?

This summer? Ain't so freakin' sweet. Basically, I am babysitting one of the kids almost every weekday from 5 pm until I send him home. They don't look out of the window to check on him at all. I know this because you cannot see our yard from their window. They would have to physically step outside to check on him and that must be just too hard. On the weekends, either I or the other neighbors have him pretty much all day until we send him home. We did a little experiment one Friday evening and we had him from 5:00 pm until his dad came over to visit and I pushed the kid out the door with him at 8:45pm - they ate dinner without him. I KNOW!! Can you imagine? Then they like to complain that he is being picked on and called names all the time. Well, I am out there most of the time and it doesn't happen on my watch, so.....

If Small Pants wants to play outside, one of us has to be out there with him, he is only 3 and is too young to just run the neighborhood. So, since they are aware of this, they send their's out and he immediately appears in my yard and there he is until I send him home. He asks for juice, lunch, the bathroom, etc. Bear in mind he lives two doors down. Not too far to walk if you are starving, parched or have to poop. Also, you must understand to whom this child belongs. He is the kid of the "Labelers" - read the old entry about the couple having problems for a refresher. He has ADHD in the worst way, and is not on any meds, because they don't like the way they effect him - I say pick the lesser of two evils, please. He can't focus on anything, has no self control and is ridiculously loud. And I mean LOUD. And he whines. Alot. But other than that he is a sweet natured child - he just has more energy that any superhero and simply has no idea how to channel it. And he is in my yard all the time. All the time.

So, Pants and I have been trying to figure out a polite way to say this, and could not find one. Needless to say, things have been weird between his mother and I because we were once very very close and this has made me feel used and irritated. And the added stress of not knowing how to address it has been a pisser too. She helped with that this weekend when she came over and asked why things were strange lately between us.

After trying to play dumb for a little bit I simply said there was no easy way to sugar coat the situation and I felt like I was babysitting her kid for her the majority of the time. She said she was busy with the baby, who at 9 months old, can come out of the house, can't he? And I commented that there were two parents in that household and all I was asking for was some help. I reminded her that we didn't have all the name calling and picking on "issues" last summer when she was out watching them with me, and perhaps if either he or she could come and sit out there some of the time, then maybe these "issues" would be resolved. Let's face it, he can't breastfeed, so what the hell is he doing in there? It's not cleaning, let me assure you.

So, she cried, and I apologized for having to say it and assured her that we could reach a compromise and all would be fine. I apparently spoke way too soon. She called me later and said she was sorry for crying and said she spoke to her husband............

She told him she had talked to me and sugarcoated what I had said, telling him we were asking for a little more help and wanting someone to be outside more. She said her hands were tied with the baby, so it would have to be him. He said, get this, you are gonna die," Well, they're out of luck, I'm not gonna be out any more than I already am." (Which is NEVER, oh, unless he is washing his meticulously clean car - anal retintive freak) I almost stroked out and said "Oh, Really" in my most sarcastic tone. I told her we would have to reach some kind of compromise for her child's sake, because I would not send him home everyday, but by the same token, I was going to spend some time with my children alone in my yard. And that is how we left it.

You should have seen the look on Pants' face when I quoted El Prickola. He almost had a high speed come-apart. He wasn't so angry that El Prickola just blew me off, it was that he is so unconcerned about his own child. He cannot even get up off his lazy ass and turn off Battlestar Galactica or internet porn - take your pick - and go outside and play with his son. That is so very sad to me. We are not perfect parents by any means, but we do realize that they will remember playing ball with us in the yard years from now. They will not remember how clean we kept our car.

I tried to be as nice as possible. I didn't say, keep your shit in your yard. I just asked for some additional parental supervision. They just send him out for hours at a time and then want to complain when they don't like the calls the ref makes (yes, it's always a sports analogy) and this ref is tired of doing it for free. She quits.

Turn Away Now

You know what day it is, so if you do not like American Idol (and that is criminal) go ahead and come back tomorrow. I'll see you then. Enjoy your day.

I'll keep it short and sweet - I do not like Elton John. I like only one song of his and NO! It is not that Candle in the Wind crap. It is the wonderful Levon. And Taylor did it oh so proud last night. Again.

Katherine is a lovely girl with a beautiful voice. And you should all be well aware by now of my boob envy. I also have a bit of hair envy, but I will not talk about all that today. But I'm just not feeling it the way I do when Taylor sings.

Taylor should totally win - he owned the stage on every song. He sings the kind of music I love and my opinion is the only one that matters.

If he does not win, I will truly believe that American Idol is completely fixed and I will never watch it again. And that, my friends, is total bullshit.

My A to Z's

A to Z about me - stolen, er, borrowed from some blog pals. It's an interesting way to find out more about each other. I won't call it a meme, because people hate those things!



Accent: None, really. Although after several drinks, the Southerner in me does make an appearance.

Booze: Frozen Margueritas, Coors Lite (bottle only) & Zima XXX - I know, I am hanging my head in shame

Chore I hate: Matching socks - for the love of God, why do we own so freaking many white socks?

Dogs or Cats: Dogs although we have been known to own a cat before.

Essential electronics: MP3

Favourite cologne: Cashmere Mist

Gold or Silver: Silver, White gold or Platinum

Home: TN

Insomnia: Occasionally

Job title: Underwriter, wife, mom, and apparently maid.

Kids: Two sons

Living arrangements: Husband and two sons

Most admirable traits: Can sarcasm be considered an admirable trait? No? Ok, then.... I don't bullshit - what you see is what you get because I have no agenda.

Not going to cop to: ratting anyone out

Overnight hospital stays: two babies and a week for a kidney infection that was godawful - my temp was 106.5. No, that was not a typo.

Phobias: Spiders and losing anyone that I love.

Quote: "What's the matter, boy? Is Timmy in the well?" Best used when someone is confused or stuttering.

Religion: Episcopalian - of the Anglican sect.

Siblings: One brother and one sister

Time I wake up: Around 5:10 - ouch, it hurts to see it in print.

Unusual talent or skill: heh heh. Ancient chinese secret.

Vegetable I love: Fresh purple hull peas. Oh and steamed asparagus with butter and garlic sauce.

Worst habit: profanity - What? You say you hadn't noticed?

X-rays: Arms, legs, knees, ankles, shoulders, wrists & jaw

Yummy foods I make: Ridiculously good lasagne and award winning cheesecake from scratch

Zodiac sign: Virgo - yeah, I think that's funny too.

They Don't Come With Instruction Manuals, People!

Pants: "Son, you weren't raised that way."

Medium Pants: "But Daddy, I must have been, because I acted that way."


That, my friends, was the most insecure and uncertain moment I have ever had as a parent. Do I send him to his room or praise his wit? I did neither - I left the room because I was dangerously close to snorting cold tea out my nose. I figured Pants could handle it.

It has never been discussed again, so I think he may have just let it slide.

Jackasses and the people who loved them

I think every person has one of THOSE people in their past.

You know what I am talking about - one of those all-consuming relationships that goes way too sour and you stay way too long. Some get much uglier at the end than others and some are much uglier throughout the entire drama than they should ever have been allowed to become.

I had one of those. We will call him Crazy Pat. Because his name was Pat and he was crazy. I was talking with a friend today about her ex and nodding in agreement when she was saying what an asshole he is and the conversation turned to my days many many years ago with... Crazy Pat. Damn - I wish I could put in some sound effects here.

We laughed, because those days were so bad and so fraught with nervousness and drama that you can't do anything but laugh about it now. I was in my early twenties and really apparently stupid. People who know me now that didn't know me then cannot believe I put up with his shit for so long. His shit included cheating on me as often as he could, keeping me from all my friends, smacking me around, threatening my life and finally ended with him being arrested no less than seven (yes! 7) times for stalking me.

It would be so very easy to blame him for it all - but I stayed and put up with it for 2 and 1/2 years - so I am equally as guilty for the crap. I should have left like I had been shot out of a cannon when it all first began - namely the very first time he hit me, but I didn't. So I have to hold myself accountable for what happened thereafter.

My relationship with him was very mild compared to some of the stories you hear. It began with him cutting me off from all my friends, followed by the incessant cheating, then came the self doubt and finally the abuse. Word to the wise - If he says ALL the girls he works with are lesbians.... they aren't. And there is a very good chance he is banging several of them. Just to let you know.

If you have never been in one of these relationships, lucky girl, you will never understand how hard it is to leave and how hard it is to talk about it. I was so consumed with shame that I was allowing myself to be treated like this that I did not tell a soul. I said the bruises and marks were always a result of playing ball. Since I do play ball - ALOT - people believed that at first, but when my nose got broken twice in one summer, I started getting funny looks. I finally got my fill and the strength to go.

I decided that even if he did kill me like he had threated so very many times, hell, that could not possibly be any worse that how I was living right then. I was sick to my stomach all the time, my hair would fall out in small clumps and I lost so much weight I would bruise my hip bones when diving for saves in volleyball. While I might like to have that metabolism right now, ahem, I don't want the rest of it. So I left - and it was hard, but things that are worth doing always are.

So my point is, the crap in life truly does make you stronger and a better person. I would not be at all who I am now if I had not gone through that. I have more sympathy for people in crappy relationships because I know how hard it is to make the choice to leave. But by the same token, I do not put up with nonsense - I don't have to. I think that is part of the reason Pants and I are so strong - I know what I will and will not accept. I also don't sweat the small stuff. Yes, he leaves his socks under the ottoman sometimes and it really pisses me off, but it could be so much worse. He could be doing things that are ridiculously more destructive to me, us and our marriage. So I don't sweat it. Too much. Really.

But I draw the line at flushing the toilet before you are finished peeing. For the love of God - Will you stop that! I am warning you - one more time - I catch you doing it again and your shit will be on the curb.

Things My Husband Needs To Know.........

1) A smack on my ass while I am unloading the dishwasher doesn't count as either foreplay OR affection.

2) A High-Five after sex does NOT constitute snuggling.

3) While it is usually acceptable to fart while in the bathroom, it is NOT acceptable to do so while I am standing at the sink next to you brushing my teeth.

4) And finally.....Yes, your feet really do stink.

I am sure there will be more added to this list later.

And as an aside, I am going to refrain from discussing American Idol today simply because of the caustic criticism I received from a certain someone who shall remain nameless who said I took the show far too seriously. Of course, that person also knows they can kiss my ass. Seriously. They can. You know who you are, don't you?

go taylor. go taylor. go taylor. go taylor. go taylor. go taylor.

The Sun and Gravitational Pull

I guess with my last post, I remain a little melancholy.

Also, with the anniversary of my father's death looming in the offing, it's easy for me to stay in a blue state of mind. The current situation with my friend makes it all the more evident that every moment of every day cannot be taken for granted. It is hard to remember that every second of the day, particularly at times like when Small Pants is standing in the kitchen screaming at the top of his lungs that he wants the BIG marshmallows, not the WIDDLE ones.

My father and I were very close. Before you get the whole "spoiled Daddy's girl" idea - it was not like that. My daddy was hard on me - he expected a lot from me and I would rather have died than to have disappointed him. He held me accountable for my mistakes and was very much a "you made your bed" kind of man. I never for a single second doubted that he loved me with all his heart and would have given his life for me.

We were spoiled from the aspect that we did attend private schools and went to lofty liberal arts colleges (sniff, sniff), but we, unlike some of our classmates, did not drive BMW's to school. In fact, I didn't have a car. My brother had one because he worked but I assure you, a Delta 88 was not quite the stylish ride he wished he had. I didn't work - I was far too busy playing ball - so I was sans automobile. We didn't get everything we wanted and we had to work for what we did get, but our lives were good and I would not change a thing about my childhood.

My daddy was a Superhero - ridiculously strong, incredibly smart, a great ballplayer, handsome and funny. There are so many similarities between him and Pants that it sometimes creeps me way out. Yeah, Go and have your fun with that, Freud. He played ball with me - he came to my games and encouraged me. He never ever said "You should do this or you should do that..." only "Good game." Even when I know I should have or could have played better.

I have so many memories that flood my mind for no reason - just small ones. Me sitting on the sink at about age 3 watching him shave. Barefoot at 5 in the hot sun picking blackberries and eating way more than I was putting in my bucket. I remember him just laughing at me and saying there wouldn't be enough for cobbler if I didn't stop. He always came up with ridiculous words for Scrabble. I remember the way he smelled on Sunday mornings in his suit and tie. I remember thinking how handsome he would look when the time would come to walk me down the aisle when I got married. Unfortunately, my brother had to take care of that for him because he passed away suddenly when I was 23.

I don't remember much about that entire week. It still is a fog. So many years later. I recall being overly concerned about stupid things - What was I going to wear? Can they bury him in the tie I gave him for Father's Day? Hey, look who came to the visitation! Crap that so did not matter. One thing that is crystal clear is how fractured and displaced my family became after he was gone. We splintered into so many different directions and it was so uncomfortable to be around each other that it was just easier not to be.

It wasn't until many years later, after we had all reckoned ourselves in our own ways with the loss and regrouped, that our reaction to his death was explained to me in a way that it all made sense. Every family has someone who plays the part of the Sun. They are the center of the family - the source of strength. Everyone else plays the part of the planets - who rotate on the axis around the Sun - held in their place by the gravitational pull. The Sun allows them to spin on their own little cycles, but keeps them on a straight and steady path. A course that is sure and certain and is guided by the Sun's strength. When the pull of the Sun is no longer, the planets have nothing locking them together - the cycle and rotation system is shattered and they spin about madly. Trying to retain some semblance of the course they used to have engrained in their mind, but without the steady hand guiding them, they find themselves wildly out of control.

This was where we stood a few months after my father's death. After the cloud of shock lifted and we had to go back to our lives. This is still where I feel I am sometimes. So much time has passed and yet so little healing has taken place. Not a day goes by that I do not miss my father, that I don't wish I could ask him a question or ask his opinion on something. I think the hardest thing is knowing how well he and Pants would have gotten along. And what a great Granddaddy he would have been to Medium and Small Pants.


But then there are times that I think that two men seated in my den drinking cold beers, farting and endlessly discussing the nuances of the infield fly rule may have been more than I could possibly stand.

Listening To The Wind

I keep going on and on about American Idol to avoid a really sad and tragic topic. While I do adore that show and have been accused of taking it way too seriously, I am trying to keep my mind off of news we got recently that is breaking my heart.

I have a very very dear friend who, since she is a private person, I will call Jennifer for this entry. She found out the other day that she has cancer. They found a mass on her uterus and as she was not having any more children, they decided to go ahead with a hysterectomy to be on the safe side. Once they got in there, it was bad. They did a complete hysterectomy, removed a large part of her lower intestine and her appendix. Things do not look good. The mass was malignant and she has to have chemo, although they have not yet determined what exact course they plan to take.

I do not have much experience with cancer and for that I am incredibly thankful. But my knowledge is very limited. I have so many questions, but do not feel it is appropriate to ask any of them just yet. I have talked to her a few times since we found this all out the other day, but mostly just to ask if I could help with anything, let her know I am thinking about her, etc.

Her dear husband is almost beside himself and they have the most cherubic five year old son who absolutely adores his mama. I guess what makes this so hard is also what makes me feel so guilty - she is the same age I am. This could be me. This could be my babies watching me struggling with this. Could I be as strong as she is being? Would I be handling this as well and as courageously as she is or would I be falling apart?

She has an extraordinary family and if anyone can pull through something like this - she can. Her parents and siblings are all very close and they will all pull together and fight this with her. Plus she has a circle of friends that love her dearly. Surely this will help her.

I am truly "Worst Case Scenario Girl" and when I hear bad news I always start at the worst possible conclusion and work my way back. I know it is the most stupid way to look at things, but I always do it. Thank God for Pants - he is the calming force. One thing is for sure - this has made me appreciate every moment even more. I sat on the front porch yesterday evening and watched the boys play. I zoned out and just sat there - watching them, forgetting about illness, bills, work, stress and sadness. I just sat and listened to their unbridled laughter. I heard things I had not consciously heard in years. Bees buzzing, birds chirping, dogs barking in the distance. Thinking about how quiet and sad my life would be without all the noises those two boys make and all the noises I was missing every day in my rush to get everything done. Things that weren't so important after all.

When they got tired, they came and joined me on the porch, one on either side of me, as close as they could get to me. Usually, that annoys me. But last night, I pulled them even closer, and there we sat. Side by side by side. Listening to the wind.

Yet Even More American Idol Blogging.....

I just can't stop. I love this show.

I have no time whatsoever today, so I must be very very brief. I have to go meet with Medium Pants' Challenge teacher; who by the way looks strikingly like Gene Wilder, to discuss his class agenda for next year, go over TCAPS, etc. We have to do this every year and every year it is the same thing. He goes on and on about how brilliant and well-rounded Medium Pants is (for which I take full credit) and I can do absolutely nothing but sit there, stare at his hair and think of comments like...

"I'm a Fronkensteen."

"Abby Normal?"

"Perhaps I can help you with that hump."

"Uh-Oh, Bart. I think Mongo here's taken' a likin' to you."


So, as you can see, it's very hard for me to concentrate during this meeting. And maybe I should take back any and all credit for that child's intelligence. But I digress...

American Idol-

Katherine - Really stunk it up - way up. She should go home now. I like her, and if she had just stood there and sung her last song without all the runs and crap, she may have saved herself. But excuse me, you just don't fuck with The Big E. You don't play with Elvis tunes and try and jimmy them up and what Simon said was right on the money. No, not when he told Paula to shut up - when he told Katherine it was way over the top.

Elliot - Came out swingin' and is here to play. That was pretty impressive, and I would like to see him stay. And if you don't get it, you are just an idiot.

Chris - Put the mike stand down.

Taylor - You know I cannot say anything bad about him.

Oh, and let me wrap up by saying I think Tommy Mottola is an ass. I noticed he struggled to say one nice thing about my sweet little Mr. Tumnus and that pissed me off. I belive he said, "He'll really have to work hard to pull that off." Well he did didn't he Mr. Big Record Guy? I don't care whose career you have made (or whose nervous breakdown you can take credit for - Mariah) but you, my friend, are a complete self absorbed pompous ass.

Final word - bottom two should be Elliot and Taylor.

It's All "American Idol" In Here

I have watched American Idol every season. I have not missed an episode. Not one. I remember Justin Guarini and his ridiculous hair. I remember Pink-Haired Girl. I remember Tamyra Gray. I remember Frenchie and all her Porn Star glory. I remember Paula before she was a drunken annoyance. I remember it all. And I must say that this is the best season. I has been hard for me to choose an absolute favorite.

The four left are the four I would have picked early on to be the final four. I despised Kellie Pickler and her stupid girl antics. No one can be that dumb, can they? Really? And when she said that her daddy and his friends watched her from prison every week, I just shook my head. Yeah, I'll just bet they do...and afterward, they all go back to their cells for a little fun, don't they? I am glad she is gone. She'll turn up somewhere I am certain. Like the pages of Hustler. Ace? Ewww, what a cheeseball. I'll bet he turns up gay. Just wait. He'll be on Broadway in Rent soon enough. Paris? Just never felt it for her. Too cutesy and that real voice, dear God, you thought Kathy Griffin was bad?

I will now critique each of the remaining finalists for your reading pleasure, enjoy.

Elliot: OK. I know he looks like a garden gnome, or better yet, Mr. Tumnus (if you do not know who that is, revisit your Sr. Lit class, please) but he can really sing. If you close your eyes - he is great! And with a little Hollywood spit and polish, my my - he would be one of the beautiful people. I just know it. He can really sing. And he loves his mama.

Katherine: She is beautiful - great hair, great boobs. I wish I had boobs like that. A little silly, but beautiful voice. I think the crawling around on her knees thing this week was a subliminal message to get the man vote - you go girl.

Chris: Delicious, no? I thought his version of Renegade was superb, but I run hot and cold on him. Some weeks I think he is great and others, not so much. I do think nasty thoughts about him EVERY week though.

Taylor: Love, love, love Taylor. I know he is a kook. When you realize that my favorite-est song of all time is "Brandy" by Looking Glass, you will understand why he is my pick to win.

At this point I really don't care who wins because I think they will all have contracts when it's over. I would buy a CD put out by Taylor or Elliot, but maybe not by Kat or Chris. Besides, if Elliot gets voted off, his poor mother might have a heart attack in the audience she looks so frail.

They are at Graceland this week practicing their Elvis (thank ya, thank ya vury much) so next week could quite possibly be a disaster. Hopefully not - Here is what I hope to hear:

Elliot: "Love Me Tender"

Katherine: "Are You Lonesome Tonight"

Chris: "Little Sister"

Taylor: "Suspicious Minds"

We shall see. No one does Elvis like Elvis, although I do love Dwight Yoakam's version of Supsicious Minds.

Warm Fuzzies and Crap Like That

I admit it. I love Pants. Truly.

We work well together on all levels. We communicate well, we don't stew on minor issues, we appreciate each other (he needs a little work in that area, however...pick up your damn dirty socks, please because if I find one more pair under the ottoman, you will be pulling them out of your butt), we make each other laugh, we have great sex and he is who I turn to for everything. And I mean everything. If something is bothering me, I have girlfriends that I could call, but I usually just talk to him about it. I always get their opinions later, because, you know, women are better at some things, but I value his advice and opinion.

Our marriage is not perfect - we bicker sometimes over the normal things. I work a full time job and come home only to work another. I take care of the entire household - laundry, cleaning, getting the kids up and ready every morning, etc. The latter is only because he leaves before they even get up and in his defense, he cooks out on the grill a ton - I am no Betty Crocker. I feel that I don't even get to sit down until the last kid is in bed asleep and then sometimes it's just so I can fold clothes. But I guess that is all part of being an adult and a parent. It's that whole, you don't appreciate all that I do spiel that all mothers contend with.

I am droning on and on about how lovely Pants is because I have several friends whose marriages are kinda rocky. One is a wonderful loving woman who puts up with way too much shit. Basically her husband is an ass. They like labels. Alot. Supposedly he has ADD, ADHD, OCD and Depression but takes nothing for any of it. When he was being a total jerk in the wintertime, he had that "SAD" thingy or whatever it is when some people don't get enough sunlight. YAWN...... Well, he's being one again and I asked her the other day what was his problem now, too much sun? She said no, he just has cycles. Cycles? CYCLES?? I said, "Hey, I know what his label is...PRICK."

I apparently had a bout of depression late last year, but can not imagine thinking it would be okay to speak to my spouse the way he speaks to her. Instead of turning on Pants, I turned to him - I leaned on him - I guess that is us in a nutshell. However, in contrast, he tells her constantly that he is miserable and unhappy and he needs to be left alone. If she were me, I'd be saying ok, buddy and be leaving him and all his shit alone at the curb with the locksmith in the driveway. Just me, I guess. But I know people will continue to do what they are allowed to do, so as long as she puts up with it, I keep my mouth shut for the most part. When she gets her fill, she'll go. Or she may be one of those that thrives on the rollercoaster ride.

I guess because Pants and I had both been through really crappy relationships before we met, we already knew what we would put up with and what would not be tolerated. Dealbreakers are cheating or physical abuse. The physical abuse I would never have to worry about with Pants. The cheating - very very doubtful. I am not stupid. I would love to say that he would never do that and that is what I truly believe. But I would not be the type to ignore any signs either. I learned a long time ago that you can make yourself sick worrying about that shit. He knows what he stands to lose if he is a big enough idiot to do that and if it's worth it to him.... The same goes for me, he would walk out with the boys in a heartbeat if I betrayed him. It is not worth it. Why would you throw away your life and your family for that? I know how much him doing it to me would hurt me and I could never hurt him like that. Besides, Paul Newman said it best - "Why go out for hamburger when you have steak at home?"

We just appreciate each other and know that neither of us EVER wants to venture into the dating scene again. Not to mention that it was written into our marriage contract that whomever decides to leave has to take the kids. I'm not going anywhere.

There is some fine print though at the bottom of the contract that states if Matthew Maconaghey ever shows up on our doorstep, I cannot be held accountable for what might occur. Yes, Pants, it really says that. It's really really small print. Don't you see it?

Party Time. That's Right. You Heard Me.

Well, it's done. I just mailed the check for the deposit on the petting zoo/pony party. Here's the thing about Pants. He is an incurable tightwad - he pours over every receipt I give him, every thing I say I want to buy and every single bill that comes in. Now don't misunderstand, I don't buy anything unless it's on sale! But his "frugality" is a very good counteraction to my "Well, that is a very pretty color, it's on sale and I think I need it" method of buying.

He doesn't give me too hard a time and we have the agreement that any major (over $100) purchase must first be discussed. Most of the things I buy are for the house or the kids and I really have curbed that whole shopping addiction, so it's ok. After discussing the party - he said he knew that it was what I wanted and agreed that Small Pants would enjoy it. He then said that while he thought it was too much for some smelly animals, if I wanted it, we would do it.

So there you have it - Small Pants will be channelling John Wayne on his birthday and I know the smiles and giggles eminating from that child will more than make up for the measley $250 it is costing. Besides, I wanted this so much, I gave up my dream of a hydranga bed on the side of the house this year. I still plan to work on getting that koi pond though....

I just have to plan the sneak attack when Pants has forgotten about this party expenditure.