Musical dog amnesia

This child has stopped talking altogether. She sings everything - and everything is a line from a musical. It's like a bad dream where I'm trapped in the audience for Lion King and I can't find the exit. I don't want to discourage anything here, but if I want her to empty the dishwasher, I just want to hear, "Okay," not, "It's a Hard Knock Life" from Annie.



On the good side, tap lessons are paying off. Glad to know I could send her downtown with a cardboard sign and tap shoes to help feed the family. She took a few days of fight choreography, so now she can throw a punch and slap your face like a pro.

Adam took off for six weeks in Crested Butte. He is supposed to be sending us a photo a day with a description of what he's doing. The reality: blurry photo of mountainside and "Gonna bomb down this hill..."

Update: Just $814 later, the Apple computer is back. On the counter. Right there next to a glass of ice tea. I could scream.

Thoughts on why I wouldn't be so good in an emergency...

The other morning, I woke up to helicopters swirling overhead. I thought, well, just another {awfully close} aerial search for a criminal and went back to bed. Then the doorbell rings, and I realize Bruce is probably in the office and it's up to me to get up and be the he-man in the house.

All I remember seeing is a German shepherd the size of a small burro in my frontyard. There was a sheriff standing next to it, but I hardly notice him. I did get the point that he wanted to search our backyard for a gun. {How CSI is that??} And he wants me to get my dogs inside. So I go running out the backdoor like a cowboy with a lasso trying to get the herd rounded up, and the dogs are going berserk.


As I am doing this, I am wishing I was not wearing these particular pajamas, but there is no time to make it better. I fill a bit like Pioneer Woman left alone to defend the homestead from Indians in my underwear and the rifle is across the way leaning against the barn.

All dogs are inside except for Wayne {of course}, but guess what, it is at this moment I cannot remember Wayne's name. I know he is named after a movie, but the only movie with names in it I can remember is Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, and I know it's not one of those.

By now the sheriff is at the back gate ready to take Thor off the leash -- I can hear him talking to him in German - and I am stopped mid-backyard looking dazedly at Wayne, willing him to come to me nicely, but I can't THINK OF HIS NAME.

It's at this moment that husband enters scene from office and nonchanlantly starts conversing with sheriff (it's three guys on the loose and one was caught hiding on the property directly behind us - and they robbed a tattoo parlor, took off in a van, were chased by police, crashed into a gas stand at a nearby gas station and took off on foot. They think one guy maybe tossed a gun over the fence into our yard.) Note: we do not live near a tattoo parlor.

Luckily Husband remembered our dog's name. Personally, I was disappointed that Thor did not find a gun. All were apprehended.