Just when I think I will have some free time (see Internet time) because Spring Break is over and Zoe was supposed to go back to school yesterday and we all know I can distract Troy with Yo Gabba Gabba and graham crackers, Zoe goes and gets sick on me. Yesterday she was all, “I don’t think the 11 days I was out of school was sufficient, perhaps I should run a high fever, have mad drainage from my face and talk about how my eardrums feel like they are being stabbed with knives”. I’m not sure how she contracted this illness because it’s not like we did anything fun over her holiday, we were snowed in the whole time. We will be taking a little trip to the doctor later today because dammit, we know how to have a good time.

Since Zoe has been too sick to babysit while I use the computer play lovingly with her brother, he’s taken it upon himself to make a friend.

Meet Dolly, she is Troy’s new best friend.

She has eyes, just like us. This is mind blowing to Troy, who jams his finger into her eye socket and tells us, “EYEZZ!”.

They do everything together. She comes in handy when they are kicking back watching those crazy cats on Sesame Street. Dolly doesn’t mind being used as an arm rest as long as you hold her hand.

Also, “MOUF!”.

Dolly is pretty low maintenance. She just gets a little thirsty from time to time and is very grateful for milk with a bit of Ovaltine from the sippy. Sometimes she doesn’t pay attention and so Troy yells, “DINK IT!” (drink it) to help her focus.

I asked Troy what he thought his Dad would say when he came home and we introduced him to Dolly.

I’m sure Jeff will be fine with Dolly, he can teach her all about Nascar. And if he argues with me about his son having a doll, well, I’ll just show him this photograph.

Because you totally can’t argue with that.

My poor, sun deprived Colorado children. Nothing says Spring Break like a blizzard. Perhaps later I’ll make myself some jello shots to cheer them up.

You Capture-A Moment

My husband is not in love with the internet. He checks his email twice a year and only uses the computer to check Nascar points. So when I mentioned to Jeff that I was going to meet up with another chick blogger who happens to live nearby and go to a concert, he thought it was a terrible idea.

Jeff: “You are just going to go somewhere with someone you don’t even know? BAD IDEA.”

Me: “But we’ve been reading each other’s blogs for two years. And we are friends on Facebook.”

Jeff: “Don’t call me if you get murdered.”

Me: “I don’t think you’re Asian.”

Jeff: *leaves room*

Cut to Monday night. I have plans firmly in place, gather up my things and load up the car.

And by things, I mean champagne. Because who would murder you if you brought champagne?

While driving down the interstate, my cell phone rings. I answer and Jeff tells me he had just spoken with his ghetto superstar friend (GSF for short) that works at UPS and he had mentioned to GSF that I was going to see Jay-Z with a person I have never even met. GSF informs Jeff that I am probably going to get stabbed with a MEAT THERMOMETER because that is what criminals are into these days.

I pull into the parking lot and get out to meet my fate. I clutch my purse and my huge ass bottle of champagne. If I even suspect she’s going to make a move that looks like murder, I can turn the bottle into a weapon. My champagne is no match for a little meat thermometer.

I am happy to inform you that my internet friend, the lovely Scented Glossy Magazines, did not kill me. She greeted me with a smile and was wearing a sparkle top, which instantly set me at ease. Everyone knows murderers do not wear sparkle tops.

We had such a fabulous time, even if we had to stand behind the tallest man alive that knew every word to every Jay-Z song ever invented. Just so you know, Jay-Z was totally all about us.

And while I was going through my pictures from the AMAZING show (it will seriously rock your face off), I discovered a little something that made me happy.

Nothing is better than a secret concert ninja. I wish all my photos had ninjas, like Where’s Waldo, but with ninjas.

Thank you, Jay-Z and Scented Glossy Magazines. I had a lovely time. You both are just as fabulous as I expected.

There are some things that are a given, almost predictable. I expect Jeff to get out of bed every day and step on Troy’s army men, I expect Zoe to roll her eyes 29 times a day and Napoleon expects to eat his daily bread heel.

I think the daily dose of 100% stone ground wheat with no corn syrup added is doing wonders for his coat. Look how shiny he is, quite possibly the healthiest cat/rabbit/squirrel/fox/lynx/chupacabra/jackalope in all of Colorado. Here’s Napoleon searching for his daily bread. This is right outside my kitchen window, the spot where I place Napoleon’s snack every day.

Unfortunately for Napoleon, a very MEAN and RUDE bird decided to swoop down and grab his lunch. When this dramatic scene played out before my eyes, I immediately thought the bird was trying to snatch up Napoleon and was prepared to throw down for my little bundle of sunshine.

To say Napoleon was disgusted is a complete understatement.

I’m sorry I failed you as your caregiver, Napoleon. I won’t rest until I find a way to prevent this from happening. Actually, that’s not true because this happened on Monday and I have slept quite peacefully all week, but you catch my drift. You are like a child to me, Napoleon. You hold a special place in my heart because unlike the other two children that live here, I don’t have to bathe you (yet) and do your laundry and you don’t talk back and this might automatically put you in first place for ZDub’s Favorites. I know our relationship basically consists of me throwing bread off my back deck every day in the same direction and taking 43 photos of you when you eat it, but I do it out of LOVE.

And with the hopes of him some day wearing this sweater.

Ten years ago, I tied on my Converse and headed to work. My job was to pour drinks for the celebration of all things Irish. Green beer was on special and there were thirsty people stacked four bodies deep for hours. I would crack open a Corona, drip blue food coloring into it, put my thumb in the top and turn it once to ensure optimal mixing.

At the end of the night, my hands were stained a nice color of Smurf, I had a fat wad of money,the tops of my Converse were covered in blue splatters and I had a meantastic buzz from the green beer I served myself.

Today, I wake up early to iron Zoe’s skirt. She is excited about St. Patrick’s Day, the cafeteria is serving Shamrock pretzels and Charmed sugar cookies and today is the last day of school for awhile, tomorrow she starts spring break. I look for the food coloring, but it isn’t for beer.

And as I reach down to tie a pair of Converse to my best girl’s feet, I realize I wouldn’t change a thing.