No wonder they're not making any money

My postman delivered a package today. It was one I had been waiting for, Christmas gifts I didn't want a certain snooper to see.

I was really surprised to see a huge hole running all the way from the top to the bottom on one corner. The interior boxes on that side were crushed.

Hmmm . . . giant hole, no tape, packing peanuts literally falling out. Do you think they didn't notice? Or did they just not care?

This little piggy went crunch, crunch, crunch

I'm sure you've been checking all morning for the toe update. Officially confirmed. Broken in two places. Buddy tape and rest.

Interestingly, it was not nearly as ugly this morning. Guess that's an advantage to youth. They heal quickly!

Scary toe post

The toe is still ugly. He says it pops when he walks. So we're going to the doctor tonight. Gotta protect the college scholarship. LOL. Love evening hours. Wish everyone had them.

Random hot dog, holiday and basketball musings

Where should I start with my weekend recap?

Perhaps with the Christmas present peeker caught red handed. Totally brings me down. But I'm out of hiding spaces. The only ones left are the attic and the neighbor's house. Neither of which strikes me as a good solution.

Then there is Riley's toe, which is purple, swollen and - I think - broken. Basketball mishap in the appropriately named "Fall Brawl" tournament. I took a picture, but can't post it. Don't want to scare the small children Internet surfing while their parents pay no attention. Good thing I'm a ninja master buddy taper, as well as a humanitarian.

But the best thing may be the Columbia jacket I wore all day in public yesterday without realizing there were two big mustard spots on the front. I don't remember using mustard, so I'm guessing I was randomly attacked by a hot dog. Which would also explain why my left shoulder hurts.

I'll leave you with a picture of the tournament champs. Riley is the one with the scary looking toe.

A little bath bomb therapy

Tonight I am so happy and here's why.

My super friend Tracy went to Chicago last weekend and brought me bath products from Lush. I had never heard of this company until a few months ago when she gifted me with a bath bomb, but I am hooked. This stuff is amazing, particularly the scent.

I couldn't get the Hoop-lahs out of the house fast enough. Lucky for me they went to a basketball game. Even C.C. and Mike couldn't resist. Both of them came into the bathroom with their noses in overdrive.

It was a perfect hour in the tub, except for the part where I dropped my cell phone in the water. What can I say, I had to text Tracy to tell her what I was doing.

Holding out for expensive cheese

So last night Big Dog casually mentioned he saw a mouse in the garage when he left for work in the morning.

What I heard was, "I saw a mouse but it didn't occur to me to tell you so I hope you didn't run into the furry little fellow." My response wasn't quite so nice.

While I love most creatures big and small, I'm not fond of mice. Not Jacque and Gus, not the Three Blind Mice, not Stuart Little, not any of them. It stems from a near-death experience I had as a kid. We lived in the country and one day I opened a kitchen drawer and guess what was in there. I'm pretty sure it jumped on my head and scurried up and down my arm. I screamed in terror while my family laughed hysterically. Not doing that again.

Which meant it was time for Mike to earn his rent. I tossed him in the garage and an hour later, after 59 minutes of pitiful meowing, I let him back in. No dead mouse anywhere. So Big Dog set a couple of traps with peanut butter. This morning, no dead mouse, but no peanut butter either. Apparently, we've got a game of cat and mouse going. Mouse 1, McCoys 0.

The challenge is on. That mouse is going down.

Whatever happened to common sense?

There's been an uproar the last couple of days over a book available from Amazon (which has now taken it off its site). It's a self-published how-to from a guy who wants folks to be better, more informed pedophiles. You can read about it here.

I understand the principle of free speech/press, but this is just repulsive.

I've always loved Amazon, but someone was asleep at the wheel on this one.

Free for lunch tomorrow

So here's my problem . . . no grocery shopping means nothing to eat for lunch. I solved that issue yesterday by hitting Cazador's, my favorite Mexican restaurant in Ankeny. I love it there. They serve your chimichanga and your Diet Coke and then they leave you alone.

I aways sit and read Cityview or Juice, despite the fact I passed their demographic ages ago. But sometimes they run mug shots and I've seen an acquaintance or two. Not to say my crowd is prone to arrest, but you know how it goes.

Anyway, there still wasn't anything for lunch today. Because we are trying to spend less money, I looked in the fridge for something that wasn't moldy or runny. As luck would have it, I found leftover spaghetti sauce, two containers actually. One with meatballs, one without. No idea how long either had been there, but we haven't had spaghetti this week.

So I ate the one with meatballs. It tasted fine at the time, but now, NOW I'm beginning to think that wasn't the smartest idea. I feel a little funny, so you know what's going to hit in exactly one hour when I have to pick up Carly. My life is all about stomach trouble at inopportune times.

Rocking the homecation

Great weekend. Six basketball games in two days. Ankeny Storm is now 6-0. They rock. It's fun when the season starts and you get to see kids that you only see this time of year. Some of them have really grown. You don't notice it in your own kid day to day, but when you see someone else, it's amazing.

The bonus part of my weekend was not cooking a thing. We ate at Subway, Legends and Olive Garden. And I cleaned NUTH-in. (That is for the political commercial I can't get out of my head. You know which one.) Carly paid the price for my homecation this morning. NUTH-in to put in her lunch. I guess I'll have to grocery shop sometime today. But I'm only buying lunch items. If I buy anything else, they'll want to eat it and I'll have to cook it and the vicious cycle will start over.

Maybe I'll just call my mom and find out what she's making for dinner!

How you know when you're getting old

It's Friday night and Big Dog and I have a rare opportunity to paint the town. Carly is at a sleepover. Riley is at the football game.

We cam do whatever we want. At least until 10. Dinner, movie, drinks, Dairy Queen . . . the opportunities are endless.

So what do you think made the cut?

Big Dog is watching his TV. And CC and I are watching ours. But I swear we're getting Dairy Queen as soon as Medium is over.

An extended time out

Basketball season starts this weekend, and I am beyond excited. Four games on Saturday and probably two on Sunday. Which means no time to cook or clean. SCORE!!!!

In theory, being home on the weekend should be a good thing. But I've noticed that being home means I have to cook and usually no one offers to help clean. They're too busy hanging out with their friends or watching TV. And yes, I'm talking about all of them. I figure if I'm not here I don't have to do that stuff either. Total bonus.

So be a good sport when you stop by and pretend not to notice the pile of dishes on the counter or the socks on the floor or the dog hair on the couch or the empty shelves in the refrigerator . . .

I'm off until April. Yeah for me!