Category Archives: Musings

Larry the wandering goat

This is Larry the goat. He lived in captivity at a friendly Alabama zoo. But sometimes he got lonely and busted that joint. He wanted snuggles! And cuddles!

It was Larry’s personal mission to greet each and every one of the visitors to the zoo.

Larry the goat loved humans, until one day someone fed him a leaf.

He took a nibble, thinking it was some kind of wonderful goat-treat. He quickly discovered that he had been fooled, and immediately spit out the dried-up piece of vegetation. “You betrayed my trust!” Larry exclaimed, and realized he should stop being so gullible and simply bite the hand that feeds him. And that is why my sister no longer has a left hand.

Larry had many goat friends.

Paul, the floppy eared dog-goat:

And Myrtle, his snippy sister. She was always on her high horse, except in goat language they say “on her high human.”

And then there was Christa . . .

Christa had always hoped Larry would invite her out on one of his capers. She envisioned afternoons of frolicking down the pathways, sniffing each others hind ends and affectionately butting each other out of the way. She spent a lot of time with a quietly hopeful expression on her goaty face, standing around by the phone. Larry was never good at dialing a girl up since he never could figure out how to press those little buttons with his hooves.

Little did they know that many years into the future Larry would have the opportunity to gain opposable thumbs via some mean genetic engineering, enabling him to dial up all the girl goats on the phone. But that’s another story for another time.

As soon as someone sent up the alarm that Larry was out again, the other goats would all come for a look-see.

They gazed out wistfully, wondering what it would be like to roam free.

Sometimes the fence area got quite crowded with eager onlookers.

They all secretely feared the horned one (Paul the floppy eared dog-goat), who always tried to butt his way forward.

His horns were quite convenient though for some chin-scratching.

Larry loved this girl because she petted him with a stick.

“Hello, lady friend,” he bleated, moving in for a kiss.

The End.

Dave fights dirty

My new brother-in-law Dave has turned the tables. Some of you may recall my baby-making instigation right before their wedding in which I urged the general public to push Dave and Erica towards multiplying and filling the earth.

About a week later I was calmly riding the bus on a hot Sunday when my cell phone buzzed. My sisters are pretty much the only sources of texts on my phone, so I was surprised to see an unfamiliar number. Curious, I opened it, not knowing the torrent I was about to tap into.

I relay to you the content; “D” is each new text from Dave:

D: Hi jenna its dave, erica and I have exciting news-we’re going to have another little nephew or niece! SO EXCITED! So get crackalackin! We await the good news!

Side note: I was very confused here, since our sister Heidi is indeed pregnant, but nobody else in either family is. I didn’t realize at the time that he was using what is called “assumptive language” in the sales industry. Talk like it’s going to happen, and chances are much higher that it will.

Me: Heidi is having twins??? And you two had better get “crackalacking” yourselves in 1 week!

D: Little hands and little feet-so cute. The world needs your progeny.

D: Tiny baby curls . . .

Me: Are you trying to brainwash me?

D: Teeny little shoes

Me: Stop! Stop! I know exactly what you’re up to Dave!

D: Itty bitty feeties

D: PINCHABLE CHEEKS!

D: Aaaaaaaaand . . . GO!!

Me: Thankfully my hubby is out of town this weekend. By the time he returns tuesday this brainwashing session will have lost its effect . . .

D: Maybe you’ll start getting random baby catalogs in the mail…just sayin

Me: What!?!? You little manipulator!!

D: Yeah. We are prepared to fight dirty.

D: Imagine tiny fingers wrapped around your man’s pinky…

D: How precious would that be?

D: Teeny tiny itty bitty scrunched up noses …

D: Little noses scrunched up right before a little sneeze …

Judge for yourselves, but Dave does indeed fight dirty. Who can withstand the onslaught of imagery in these texts? Powerful stuff, man.

Later that evening I started telling the story to a friend at church. I pulled out my phone and showed her the long line of texts from the same number. I meant it to be funny, but instead of laughing as I expected to do, suddenly I started crying as the image of tiny fingers curled around my husband’s pinky took hold. With the threat of a lagoon of mascara, I grabbed a tissue and tried to pad away any black streaks.

Dave made me cry. And he almost made me really mess up my make-up.

This all means something–but what??

About a week later, I got a follow up text that just said:

D: *achoo*

Then about a month went by. I thought he had probably forgotten about our little battle. But don’t let the innocent looks of this young couple fool you.

They’re just not to be trusted. My 5 year wedding anniversary rolled around, and whaddya know–my phone went “ka-bling.” I had a new text.

D: Happy anniversary! Just think, sweet little baby toes, soft baby ringlets, and a sweet baby voice chirping happily and cooing . . .

3 hours went by. My phone went “ka-bling” again.

D: . . . Little one all snoozy and snuggly warm in footie pajamas, wrapping his baby arms around your neck and nuzzling his precious face into your shoulder . . .

D: Are you ignoring me??

Me: Um…yeah! That’s what my mom told me to do with bullies!

D: Hey!! I’m your sister!

Me: Using Dave’s phone, eh?

D: Yes. I have no coverage with mine and his job doesn’t allow them.

Me: Was it ever Dave sending these, or was it you all along?

D: Him til today.

So there you go, folks. My sister has been revealed to be a manipulating baby-instigator as well. Dave, I’m sorry, I thought you were the only one fighting dirty. But it turns out you have corrupted Erica via being married to her, turning my own flesh and blood against me. I knew there was going to be trouble the moment that whippersnapper was born. I was completely justified in the suspicion you can see written all over my 2-year-old face.

You just wait Dave and Erica, because I have plans. Plans to, um . . . to um . . .

I mean, aren’t babies just the cutest thing? And aren’t young families just precious??

. . . but let’s stay focused here people.

I’d also like to mention that after reading my Blokus post in which I confessed to being a competitive game-player, Erica told me that Dave has decided to challenge me to all sorts of board and card games and take me down. Dave, this blog was not designed to give you the keys to my demise. But I am realizing that I may have unwittingly given them to you anyway. Thinking I was simply sharing my heart, I was actually revealing my Achilles heel to a man who apparently must win at everything, be it baby-instigating wars or game-playing tournaments. I’m starting to be afraid. Very afraid. Erica, who did you marry? And why must he win all the time?? I should have known he was a punk the minute this picture crossed my email account:

If Dave beats me at Dutch Blitz, I will be forced to retreat to a hermit’s cave and suck on my toes for the next 5 years. And lemme tell you, my husband wouldn’t appreciate that one bit, and would shortly become malnourished based on his exclusive diet of ham sandwiches, apples, and carrots. Do you want to be responsible for that, Dave? Huh?

OK (breathing slowly). Let’s make peace, Dave.

But I will completely smash you at Dutch Blitz.