Saturday, June 14, 2014


I have a very sweet lady that helps me with cleaning.  

Yes, I do have the proper amount of guilt from the conservative, patriarchal religion of my youth. Thank you for asking. 

However, she can spend ten minutes and things look better than if I scrubbed for hours. Cable TV or clean rooms? No contest.

She speaks a little English and in a pinch she will call a bilingual friend or her son to interpret.

She started helping me pre Chihuahua rescue and thought the bigger boys were obnoxious but relatively acceptable. 

The Chihuahua was another story. They took an instant dislike to each other.  

In an attempt to prevent the house from becoming Gray Gardens, I've not only outsourced my domesticity, I've also formulated The Puppy Rule, which is as follows: 
Until puppies come up with rent 
 can work a carpet cleaner, 
they get to pee outside.  

In addition to the exasperating pee-on-stuff, they aren’t the smartest boys.  To increase the likelihood of compliance, everyone gets a special area of containment when they aren’t outside or in direct line of sight. 

With the arrival of someone at the door, the Chihuahua is the initiator of melt down.  (Aren’t they always?) 

Oscar, being the one with the least brain to bulk ratio, follows along until he remembers that this is a person who is supposed to be in the house, on a regular basis, and who will occasionally give him a treat.  Sad to say, it takes a good 5 minutes. 

Odin, on the other hand, barks a bit, recognizes the voice and then sits politely.  

The other day, she points at Oscar and says to me, “Bad boy.” Moves the finger to the Chihuahua, “Bad, bad boy.” She finishes with the finger point at Odin.  “Good boy.” Can’t say that I disagree with her.

Last time she came over, her son was home for summer and she brought him along. He asked me, for his mom, if the Chihuahua’s name was, “Hush!”  A completely understandable error. 

The photos in this post were not taken by me and are not of my three ridiculous boys. Why? Because my allotted time to blog has already ballooned and my boys require hours of distraction, redirection,  bargaining, pleading, etc to take photos and I have yet to located the moving box with my camera. So work with me on this one and just pretend.

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