I’m the Dog. I’M THE DOG.


Best. Movie. Ever.

So, in today’s post, one of us is going to be the dog.

And, as so often the case, I really REALLY think if you just stay with me, it will all make sense at the end.

That’s how I feel.


Today I’m linking up with my oh so happy place, favorite people: Five Minute Friday!  The theme??


Right now, I am writing this on the couch, because I can’t move. I can’t move because of two neurotic and highly co-dependent beasties have wedged themselves in on either side of me so closely that I can use one as an armrest and the other ones heartbeat is thumping up against my thigh. That sounds kinda weird, but she has a really pronounced cardiac rhythm going on. I am kinda impressed. She must have just finished her bootcamp  workout.

I give you… exhibit A:Photo on 4-28-17 at 11.59 AM #2.jpgI loooooooooooove you. That shiny, silver thing has come between us, yet again, but still, I loooooooooooooove you.

And, also, exhibit B:

Photo on 4-28-17 at 12.00 PM.jpg

I loooooooooove you too. Not quite as effusively as the Missing Link dork-dog to my left, but you know.

Anyhow. Here I am. Stuck in the middle with you.

And, as I am typing away, I hear it: A sort of squeaky rumbling. It’s a weird sort of gurgling, actually. I look around the room for the culprit, but my living room doesn’t house a lot of things that… gurgle.

It’s the dog. I’ll just take the suspense away, right here. Hosmer’s stomach is jangling with such intensity that, clearly, he’s hungry. Like, LOUD hungry.

Honestly, it’s hard to type over all this racket.

But, yet… he remains varnished onto my side. His precious bowl of Doggie Lickums is right there, in the other room, but he’s seemingly content to sit here and rumble.

It is rare that I ever allow my stomach to get to this stage of gurgle (Hosmer is at, like, DEFCON level light red or two or whatever is really, really highly bad), but if I did… and about ten steps away was a bowl of chips? I would get up and go to the chips. It doesn’t really matter if I was cuddling with the husband prior or not. Food wins, when the stomach is in high alert.

Besides, I know too that I can always eat a few chips and then GO BACK to the husband on the couch.

So… basically? The dog would rather starve to be near me.

Perhaps I am exaggerating a little, but you’re not here. The rumbling is like that scene when the T-Rex finds the poor people in the jeep in Jurassic Park. Ominous. Thumpy. Has its own soundtrack. Jeff Goldblum is involved. That sort of thing.

Ok, so HERE IS MY POINT (Hallelujah!)

We need to be the dog. We need to be like this with God. And… since I am so happily wedged into my Congo fast these days… I get it. I am needing to be more dog like. Content. In the moment. Furry and sacrificial. That sort of thing.

I apologize for making you the dog. It’s the best I’ve got today. And truly? Dogs are awesome. We all know that.


And then, there’s this guy:Photo on 4-28-17 at 12.13 PM.jpg



Linking up with my favorite people today!!

It’s Five Minute Friiiiiiiiiiiday!!!!

The theme?


Ok, the so obvious route to go here would be the plague-sickness that had descended on our family since what feels like Christmas. The weakness, you know. Wee tired cherubs, and one taller version (the husband) weakly asking for juice and popsicles and Tylenol all around.

But for some reason I am tired of writing about… being tired.

So, instead, I am going to write about my cat, Steve.


Steve has serious swag.

Steve is a large. Like, if he was a car, Steve would have passed comfortable mid-sized sedan a long time ago. Steve is a Hummer. With fur.

In the morning, when I head downstairs to some coffee and quiet, I hear Steve get up. What I mean by this is: He is upstairs and I CAN HEAR HIM WALKING DOWN THE HALL.

This is no delicate flower, this cat.

Photo on 1-2-17 at 2.17 PM.jpg

He’s holding my hand.

But, there is something about Steve that is a bit… lacking in natural cat-ness.

He can’t purr.

Somehow, Steve totally missed the bus on the purring thing. He emits this sad whispy sort of wheeze, instead of a purr, when he is petted (which is often). It makes me feel like I should offer him an inhaler, or at least some Vicks Vapo Rub or something.

Here he is, the king of the house cats, but when he purrs he just loses all credibility. He sounds like a squeaky toy.

Ok, so my point here…

What looks strong can sometimes have a really weak end game.

But also this: weakness is SO not the point. It’s what we DO with the weakness that matters. Steve does not seem to care two claws about his death-rattle purr thing. He still struts around like he owns all the kibble in this house. Also, he lives his life like this:img_6120

Steve is a cat of love.

He is giving his human a hug in this picture. I mean, just look at him. His whole body is purring. Pathetically, but you know.

I think I have a pathetic purr too, in many areas of my life. Like, my wimpy attempts at keeping the house clean. And my parenting skills after 8:30 at night. Or my battle with my squishy tummy.

That sort of thing.

We don’t honor weakness.We should. We get to give it to God, after all. He WANTS the weakness. And anything that He wants, I am more than happy to give.

If he wants our weakness, he must want us. We are pretty weak on some days. It’s ok.

At least you don’t sound like a squeaky toy when you purr. That’s just silly.Grumpy-Cat-Purring-Meme.jpg

Paws on the Path

6ir5kBdbT.jpgI was watching Steve the cat this morning. I was sitting on my couch, waiting for my child to figure out how to dress himself because he forgets up until 8 am. He also forgets how to eat, brush his teeth and walk in a purposeful way. But that’s another post for another day.

Anyhow, as I am sitting, rather dejectedly, on the couch, mainlining coffee, I watch as Steve saunters past. He head butts Red, as if to say, “Dude. Don’t rush. It’s all good, brah.” And then he heads for our dining room table which has become The Table of Tiny Legos That You Must Not Move, Clean or Touch. That Means You, Mommy.

And then, our four hundred pound, linebacker of a cat, proceeded to daintily leap, like a whispy ballerina, right into the midst of the Legos. I gasped. Red gasped, and then I yelled at Red because FOCUS FOR PETE’S SAKE WOULD YOU GET DRESSED LOOK AWAY FROM THE CAT. DON’T LOOK AT HIM. DON’T. STOP. YES I KNOW HES CUTE YOUR SHIRT’S ON BACKWARDS. MOOOOOOVE.

Steve turned to me and I swear, winked. And then, he flitted across the table, on soft little cat feet, without even LOOKING. And NEVER TOUCHED ONE LEGO.

I don’t know how he  does it, with the Legos. You know Legos are magnetic, right? They find feet with deadly accuracy, as pretty much every five am walk across our living room floor will prove.

Steve just sauntered about, like a boss, and then proceeded to smush his fat furry torso into a box the size of a postage stamp and purred away. All content and smushed up on the sides, like a  ball of dough rising up in a bowl. A furry ball of dough.

So, it was then that Steve said to me:

“You know. I’m a symbol.”

I lifted my coffee cup to him, and decided to book myself some therapy, real soon. Red flitted past with his shirt on, no longer backwards, but inside out.

And Steve gestured with his fat furry paw at the Legos. “I can do this, without even looking. You humans. You crash through stuff, all day long. Always complaining. Your feet! Your work! Your schedule! Your feelings! Why don’t you just, you know, slow down? Look around and sniff at something? Watch where you’re going?”

“You didn’t watch where YOU were going, Steve. Remember?

“Yes. But but I’m a cat.”

I’m linking up with my happy place today, Five Minute Friday. As I like to have deeply symbolic conversations with a large, white cat, The Five Minute community might not invite me back anytime soon. But today’s theme?



Slow down. Look around. Sniff at things little. The path is rocky, and filled with tiny sharp things. We do best when we watch where we’re going.




“Hey, did you know that goats don’t like leashes?”

This is my vantage point:


Look closely. The cat is also helping.


Chair. Coffee. Lots of coffee. Oatmeal. Computer. Listening.

Four small boys are circling the table in dining room. The table looks like Lego Land walked by and puked all over the table. Like, all over it. Also on the floor. Maybe also in the living room too. A bit.

They are discussing various things. It’s pretty technical at times. “No! I LOSTED MY HEAD! Do you guys see my head anywhere? It’s ok, though I still have powers. *whispers* In my tiny hands.

Then the conversation takes a rather interesting twist:

“GUYS. GUYS. Did you know? If you put a leash on a goat and try to walk him? He’ll chew your face off.”

I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that either.

I don’t know how the goat thing started. Is there a Lego goat? Is there a teeny tiny leash in there that can of course get lost and then become REALLY IMPORTANT?

Then, one poor soul says: “Cats. Cats don’t like leashes either.”

They all look, as if on cue, at Steve, Mr. Sweet Fluffypants, who is lounging by the table in all his furry glory. He eyes them with the cool confidence. “Bring it, small people,” he says.

And so, they put a leash on him. I am still watching from the chair, wondering at which point I should get involved. Prior to the face chewing? Or maybe after just a small nibble?

And then Steve allowed himself to be drug across our wood floors, like a kitty Swiffer. It should have been on film. Instead, I watched in awe as he actually put one paw up to groom his ears while being dragged around.

Like a boss.

I did put a stop to the dragging after one full rotation of the room. For one, poor Steve’s fur was now coated in dust bunnies and I needed to squeegee him off. I did consider taking him upstairs and throwing him under our bed a couple times, though. He really picks up dirt and lint with amazing finesse!

I could market this.

Anyhow, also, the leash thing was morphing into, “Hey! Lemme put this on you! I’ll take YOU for a walk! Around the block! Outside!” to the littlest brother and we have enough rumors, about general parenting practices at our house, thank you. We don’t really need leashes added to that mix.

Also, safety. Basic safety. Don’t email me. I shut the whole leash thing down, I promise.

And then, the boys just kinda stared at each other. Bereft. Their weird game had been snuffed out and what to do? I, always helpful, pointed out there was basically the population of China in Legos within two feet of them. One of the boys melted to the floor in despair. The Legos were old and tired. They had just drug a cat across the FLOOR, woman. You CAN’T GO BACK FROM THAT.

Until one of them* said,

“Hey, I can make a bubble with my own saliva.” And they were off to find a mirror and set up the Disgusting Saliva Bubble Olympics 2016.

I would like to say, just for the record, that usually I would intervene on this because EW and We are a Nice Family, and we Don’t Do That. Etc.

But it’s been raining for the past two hours and it’s August. You get the idea, you moms of huddled children at the End Times of Summer. You know.


Notice the way this cat likes, literally, to live in the edge.

*This was not my kid, who said that, about the saliva thing.

*Well, it might have been.

*Not sure. I can’t recall exactly.

The Fourth of July, as Told to You by My Pets

The Fourth of July: A One Act Play

Performed by:

Hosmer, the Dog and Not the Player

Steve the Cat

Cameo: Bob, the Other Cat


Opening scene, The Front Door:

Steve the Cat: I’m just gonna lean on this glass door here. Glass is transparent, did you know? And all the large booming noises and all those sparks flying all over? They do not merit even a switch of my whiskers. In fact, I think now is the time to pick up my back foot and just start grooming myself. In front of this door. Right here.


Steve the Cat: Suck it, canine.

Hosmer: WHAT is UP with the blowing up of stuff out there? I am not in the military, but I am pretty sure this is what they call an ATTACK. THEY ARE ATTACKING. WE NEED TO RETREAT. RETREEEEEEAT.

Steve: This family does not retreat. As General Patton said, “Cats are superior beings.”

Hosmer: I can’t quite hear you as I have wedged myself underneath the refrigerator.Wait, what?

Steve: I believe it’s time to now flop down and show my large white underbelly to you. Because I can. Because, look. The belly. It’s hypnotic.

Bob: *Oh for heaven’s sake this is not Showtime.* (from the closet, stage left. WAY left. Like upstairs, left.)

Steve and Hosmer: Shut it, tiny, nervous, invisible cat. No one believes you even exist.

Bob: That’s because I haven’t come out of the closet since 2012.

Steve: (giggles) He said, “Come out of the closet. You know. That’s kinda funny. But not in an intolerant way. Oh dear.”

Hosmer: Good one. You just lost half our readership. Geez. Anyway, it’s kinda hard to discuss anything with you right now as I am now trying to figure out how to make the ice maker stop going off because it TOO is making me nervous. And with basically the END TIMES knocking on our door I cannot do ICE TOO. THIS WORLD IS SO HARD IF YOU ARE FURRY.

Husband: I’m furry! It’s not so hard! (har har har)

Bob: *eye roll towards husband Human because he’s got Dad humor and it’s a hot mess* Look, being furry is not so hard. Just live in the closet. I have been perfectly content lacquering my owner’s clothing with hair and furballs for four years. As realtors say, “It’s cozy.”

Hosmer: Has anyone  noticed that this play is really boring?

Steve: I know. There goes the other half of the readership. We need to rally. As General Patton said, “Cat’s are going to take over the world.”

Hosmer: I see what you’re doing.

Bob: People, the solution is clear. Come to the closet. Except, find another one. You can’t be in here with me. I’m too twitchy for that.


Hosmer: Ok, my Human came back! She is back in the house! It’s been so long! I missed you so much! Thank you! Thank you for coming back to meeeee!

Steve: Dude. Have some pride. She was gone for ten minutes.

Hosmer: I have my pride but first I am going to crawl up her front side and perch right here on her shoulders like a couture doggie backpack. No problem! Comfortable for allll!

Steve: You look ridiculous.

Hosmer: I am! I know! I don’t care! My Human will help me! Only if I basically try to fit myself onto her skull, but that’s how all the pet owners do it on the fourth of July!

Steve: *Really loud boom* Wow, that was kinda a loud one. I think I might have to blink at it a little and slowly amble my way over to you and stare while you levitate off the couch in total fear of the endtimes. And, I’m going back to the licking thing. It’s hypnotic, isn’t it? Oh and wait! Here’s the grand finale! The big finish! Furball!

Hosmer: Wow. Can I just say? That scene in Galaxy Quest with the Chompers? That is exactly, EXACTLY how I feel about fireworks. *Turns to audience* And did you know? Galaxy Quest is now streaming on Netflix! Great movie! *winks*

Bob: I would like to state for the record that I am not participating in shameless plugging of the Netflixes. I never watch it. Because I am here. In the closet. Forever. Perhaps one day the Humans will get me a tv in here. Maybe a cushion or two. It could happen.

Hosmer: I would also like to state for the record that the following clip has potty language. But you know? It really does pretty much sum up my view of blowing up stuff on this holiday. I got an idea, Humans. Why don’t you just throw tennis balls around? The really slobbery kind? Those are so fun. And, you could eat the things you call the hotdogs so I can wait for them to fall to the ground. But no one ever listens to me. I’m just the dog.

Steve: Very true. You are just the dog. And, as General Patton always said-

Hosmer: Oh go choke on some catnip.


The End.

Stay tuned for the sequel:

Halloween! Let’s Freak Out Every Five Minutes!

Coming soon to a off off OFF Broadway location near you. Maybe. Probably not. Ok, you know, it’s about as likely as the tv in the closet thing, but you know.



Surrender is not an option.

Well. I am going to do it. I am going to write about politics.

This clearly goes against my contract. It states, in article 42, section 7:

“Any undeclared war, civil war, insurrection, rebellion, revolution, warlike act by a military force or military personnel, destruction or seizure or use for a military purpose, and including any consequence of any of these. Discharge of a nuclear weapon shall be deemed a warlike act even if accidental.”

Um. The words “discharge of nuclear weapon” and “accidental” don’t seem to fit together, do they?

Also, there is:

“For services rendered and to be rendered, it is agreed between the Author and the Author’s agent that the Author does hereby irrevocably assign and transfer to said agent and agent shall retain for the life of the Work a sum equal to fifteen percent (15percent) as an agency coupled with an interest of the gross monies accruing to the account of the Author per the Agreement and any subsequent agreements for the life of the Work in all its editions, revisions and adaptations, prior to deductions from or charges against such monies for any reason whatsoever.” (No, this was not my author’s contract. But it was close. It made my head hurt.)

Oops. Wrong section. I found all that charming legalese  here.

Section EIGHT says:

Momsie doesn’t do politics. Politics are whack.

Linking up with Five Minute Friday, today. And wouldn’t you know it? The theme is:

Screenshot 2016-03-04 09.11.45

Well played, Kate Motaung.

All right. Brace yourself. I am now going to talk politics for the remainder of this blog post. It’s a rare and rather frightening event, much like spotting Big Foot, but also if Big Foot was going to knock on your door and ask to SPEND THE NEXT FOUR YEARS HANGING AT YOUR HOUSE.

Here are my thoughts on politics:

  1. I never really knew what a caucus was until this year. This admission is making my father and at least ONE of my old students who now teaches Social Studies growl at me. I always thought a caucus sounded kind of risque and salacious. Therefore I avoided them. Momsie doesn’t do salacious.
  2. I now live in a small town. The caucus does not come to me. It must be searched out, hunted down and fought for. Cue up, again, the SAME movie clip that I seem to use for every blog on here ever:f92e423d19364d85f10361f51b9c717d

Hey, if the Last of the Mohican moccasin fits, wear it.

In other words:

3. I’ll give you my caucus when they pry it from my cold, dead hands.

Bit over the top? Bit too dramatic? Perhaps. As we all know, Momsie feeds on sugary dramatic overstatement for breakfast.

4. Evil, and evil people, are simply those who are unwilling or unable to deal with true self awareness.

I know. Think about it. I came up with that in the shower this morning. I thought it was pretty good.

If we really were able to deal honestly and thoughtfully with you we are, we would be walking towards God. God made us that way. He crafted humans to lean to the light, to seek justice, to be clean. And, our leaders are human. No, really. They are. So, I am praying praying praying that all of those who are so intent on leading this country would really be willing to tackle their motives, their deepest heart. Their true nature. And that goodness would filter to the top.

5. Finally. It’s possible the candidate we want to win, won’t. It’s possible. Very possible. And yet, as my pastor says, “God will still be on the throne, no matter who is president.”

God is. God was. God will be.

I believe that the world seems very scary and sad and angry when we look at facebook, at twitter, at the news. It is understandable. Know why?

The world is a very scary and sad and angry place.

I also believe:

The world is lovely, loving, and new every morning. And that Good will prevail. And that glory reigns. And that, thank you, EASTER IS COMING!

I also believe: too many fearful news posts can be combated with:

  1. Prayer
  2. Kitty pictures.
  3. Or, perhaps, both,  AT THE SAME TIME.



‘Purr-fect peace’. That’s cute.

Now, go vote.

Small print and lawyer-y diclosure: Momsie is not in any way trying to endorse one candidate over the other because that’s your darn responsibility. Also, the she has never been more confused and holy cow the options are totally weirdo this year so far be it from her to try and tell YOU how to vote. Good Lord almighty. Also, she is not trying to make light of something very serious and important but oh let’s face it this whole situation needs some levity else she will just have to throw in the towel. She’s going to let the other people post the serious stuff and pictures and articles and statistics and horrible clips and videos and ugh this social media thing sometimes just makes me want to go sit by a pond and feed the sweet non-partisan ducks.

I got your Christmas letter right here.


We have had a great year. Better than most.

Sincerely and Merry Christmas,



Ok, I know, that’s probably not worth the postage. Here’s the truth of it:

  1. No one was arrested or deported. Steve the cat is always on the cusp, I tell you.
  2. Right now is Christmas “break” which, by its end, will have “broken” me, but for now, we’re still merry. We’re decorating things and listen to a lot of Christmas music. Like, a LOT. We especially love that our Pandora station keeps dialing up Neil Diamond’s Christmas album. Mr. Diamond, I think, is Jewish? So, this makes this even more special?
  3.   My precious cherubs got a hold of my phone.



I like to call this piece Furry Despair



This one is called I Might Kill You



Title: My Resentment Will Mean I Pee on Something

I know these cat pictures are totally enthralling, but the catch here is that my children took over 100 of these things. I mean, how much furry white anger can you capture with an old iphone?

4. Then, we did this:


Yes, the second kid is not mine. She’s in there because look at her. She’s adorable. We did the whole “Hark! I bwing great tidings of JOY!” pageant thing and they sang “Away in da Manger” and my head exploded because of the cuteness. For real. Before the pageant started, both boys had me sign a waiver. It was that good.

5. Also, last night at dinner, Red pretended he was a raptor because thank you, Wild Kratts. And then, afterwards, he said, “Mom, I’m full. Can I save my chicken for later? Raptors like chicken.” And I beamed with pride because wrapping up leftovers is My Thing and makes me feel like my mom, and I said, “Sure honey!”

And this is what he did:


Note: this is not chicken.

Note also: I am leaving it in my fridge even though the shelves are at that “move everything around to just get to that one container in the back” kind of full, because every time I see it I laugh.

And who doesn’t need a good chuckle every time they look in the fridge? I know I do.

6. Also, Blonde would like to ask: Why are there scary ghost stories in the tales of the glories of Christmases long ago? Why? He asks me this, all very Cindy Lou Who, and all I had to relate it to was the Mickey Mouse Christmas where Donald is Scrooge,(Netflix plug!) but still, no comprehendo. So I dialed up my favorite: A Muppet Christmas Carol* and the Marley scene made them both almost burst into tears with total frozen fear, and we now have a therapist on speed dial, thank you. So you’re welcome, children, Christmas is terrifying.

7. Which it is, kind of, when you realize you have to go to the Big Blue store later today for That One Thing You Forgot on the List, and the horror. The horror.



7. I totally realize this Christmas letter has jumped the shark. But, that’s who I am. A shark jumper.

Merry Christmas, y’all. You are one of my most precious gifts. I love you.

When you find yourself getting buried under all of it – the lists and parties and stocking stuffers and how do we wrap a chainsaw? kind of stuff, remember this:

Jesus didn’t ever rush. He never did. You never read about Him saying, “Come now, apostles! Let us hasten on to the next village! I got a parable presentation at four!”

Jesus took His sweet time.  He knows how precious time is.

Take some of your time, and take a breath, and allow God to bless you this season.

Oh, and also this:

8. I think he got over being mad. I like to call this:

I Will Strangle You With My Love


God bless us, everyone.

*A Muppet Christmas Carol is wonderful. It really is. I have tried to get my boys to watch it for TWO years now and for some reason… I dunno. It’s the muppets + real people part that gets them. Like, one day, they’re gonna be walking around and shazam! Some muppet creature is going to pop up out of nowhere and start singing at them. They just can’t. They’re little brains get all freaked out and they start backing out of the room. But I will not give up. One day, my pretties. You me, and a bunch of tropical rats are going to have a movie date.