Family time is to be treasured, be it through Skype sessions or cuddling while watching Sesame Street. The key is cherishing the moments in whatever shape they take.  For me, that often comes in the form of meals together, since one of the ways I show my love and appreciation is via my cooking. The way to the heart is through the stomach, according to the cliché, and I can’t disagree! A recent addition to our weekend routine has been the “Everything But The Kitchen Sink” Quiche. It’s a fantastic way to get through some of the miscellaneous items in our refrigerator, while simultaneously giving us the opportunity to enjoy an easily-prepared meal together.

I’m hugely opposed to wasting food, so every Sunday night I take whatever leftovers I can find (within reason), and throw them into a quiche.  It never fails to surprise me just how amazing the result is! It just goes to show that anything is good once you mix it with cheese and eggs. The idea of the weekly quiche began courtesy of my friend, Lila. When I gave birth to Gray, all of my girlfriends got together and planned a meal schedule for me. Every few nights someone would show up with food for us, which was an unbelievable show of love, support, and encouragement at a much-needed time. Let’s be honest– in the throes of the steepest learning curve you’ve ever experienced, when you’re more preoccupied with changing diapers instead of making spaghetti, or you’d rather gaze at your newborn instead of making a pork roast, how awesome is it to receive a homemade dinner?! Casseroles have never been such a prized possession. But Lila one-upped the typical dish, and brought us a meal that exceeded the bounds of dinner. She brought over a quiche, and even included the recipe. It fed us for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and we’ve been hooked ever since. I’ve made a multitude of variations on it thus far, using her basic recipe as a foundation. Here’s our favorite version:

The “Everything But The Kitchen Sink” Quiche

 (This basic quiche recipe came from an unknown source- maybe Bisquick? But the rest is all me!)

 Recipe created by Jenna von Oy

Ingredients:

2 Eggs

1 Cup milk

½ Cup Bisquick mix

2 Cups shredded cheese (for this particular recipe, I use 1 ½ Cup sharp cheddar & ½ Cup grated parmesan)

1 Tbsp. butter

1 (14 oz) Can of Artichoke hearts

2/3 (3 oz) Package of chopped prosciutto

~ Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

~In Sautee pan, melt butter on medium-high heat, until browned.

~Add prosciutto, and turn heat to low. Cook for 30 seconds to one minute, or until lightly browned. Set aside on a paper towel, to drain the grease.

~In a mixing bowl, combine the eggs and milk. Whisk until well blended.

~ Add the Bisquick mix, and cheese.

~Chop the artichoke hearts, and add to the mixture

~Add the cooked prosciutto.

~Pour into ungreased pie plate or tin.

~Bake in oven for approximately 45 minutes, or until cooked through.

~Let it set for five to ten minutes before serving. Salad and wine are wonderful accompaniments!

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

                 In honor of my first Mother’s Day, I wanted to share some of my favorite mother/daughter photos from this past year. I’m thankful each and every day for the fact that Gray made me a Mommy, and there are no words that can really do my love justice. In lieu of a long blog post, I think I’ll just let the pictures say a thousand words instead…

Happy Mother’s Day to you all! Wishing you a day full of love and blessings.

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

                 It may be self-indulgent, but I’m taking a week off in celebration of my birthday (May 2). Consequently, there’s no long blog to update you on anything baby-related. Actually, the only baby-related news is the fact that 36 years ago I was a baby. Who knew I was a future lover of sarcasm, wine, tattoos, and Scrabble? Who guessed I’d be an actress, singer/songwriter, avid reader, amateur photographer, vocabulary maven and blog writer? But most importantly, who imagined I’d eventually be a devoted wife and mommy? I suppose at some point, I was certain of that fact, which is why I celebrated my 36 years on this planet in the best way possible… with my husband and baby girl. And we are still celebrating, so this week’s post is less loquacious than normal. (But maybe that’s a good thing.) In the meantime, I’ve included a photo from last night’s birthday dinner!

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

It’s the little things… A tattered blanket becomes a superhero cape; a worn out pair of gym shoes is transformed into enchanted ruby slippers. There’s just nothing quite like a child indulging his or her imagination. (Except, perhaps, an adult who still indulges her childlike imagination! My inner kid is four-years old, in case you were wondering.)

I’ve heard many a parent claim they can occupy their tyke with merely a crate and a crayon, and I know this to be true based on first-hand experience. As a youngster, I recall being inspired to turn boxes into pirate ships, lush rainforests, cloud castles, underground caverns, and haunted houses. I’ve even sailed across the ocean blue on a trampoline a time or two, thanks to the fantastic and fierce power of illusion. The trick is to see right through the cardboard and plastic, to the world that lies beyond it. Somehow, I think I never left that special place entirely behind me, and I can’t wait to travel back there with my daughter in the years to come. Fostering Gray’s creativity and affinity for daydreaming is something I eagerly await. I’m already anticipating the trips to Disneyland, the teddy bear tea parties, and the impromptu dance routines. I’m pining for the days when our linen closet doesn’t merely hold board games and a vacuum. Perhaps it will be a detective agency, or a three-ring circus, or an African safari. The sky is the limit. Imaginary friends? Invite them over for milk and cookies! But, alas, since Gray is only eleven months old, we are still quite a distance from the land of make-believe. Or are we?

It turns out babies enjoy the wonders of parcel packaging too, albeit for slightly less inventive purposes. Gray has discovered the magic of climbing into an empty container for amusement. It’s wildly entertaining to watch her bounce, rock, shake, laugh and clap, as she sits inside of what I generally prefer to think of as recycling. And it doesn’t end there, thanks to her unbridled curiosity. Gray has found temptation in a plethora of banal items including socks, reading glasses, dog bowls, pens, pots and pans, coffee coasters and tea tins. Mind you, some of those are a little more baby-friendly than others, so I don’t always allow her to follow through with the exciting adventure she sets out on. But her enquiring mind definitely wants to know, so we’re adapting. We are gradually rearranging our house as she develops a fixation for each new off-limit item. For example, all of our votive candles are currently hiding in the pantry as if they are escaping Hannibal Lecter. (This is courtesy of Gray’s teething inclinations.) We also recently removed the batteries from one of our less functional TV remotes, in an attempt to deter our budding technology guru from interrupting our tapings of The Mentalist. It’s worth noting that she never manages to erase Sesame Street. Go figure. Another fondness seems to be “reordering” my office shelves and our DVD collection, as well as “perusing” my script pages. This mostly culminates in a floor full of miscellaneous junk and scattered pages, though the other day she displayed her enthusiasm for one of my auditions by taking a bite out of the final scene. Picture the Cookie monster, only with paper. I suspect curbing that habit is going to be a unique experience. We have to watch her like a hawk.

In short, we are steadily watching the unraveling of every room in our home. We may already be able to eliminate “housekeeper” from the list of Gray’s possible future careers, and we live in the house formerly known as organized. But in the midst of the clutter and mayhem sits an empty diaper box, and in that empty diaper box sits the happiest empty diaper box-loving girl in the world; so I’m at peace. It signifies that our days of make-believe are right around the corner, and it’s comforting to know that, thanks to Gray, I’m never far from Neverland.

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

PPS. You can also see two hilarious childhood photos of me, that go along with this post, by visiting my corresponding blog on People.com!

1. Diaper Wetness Indicators: Sure, diapers can be foul, stinky, messy business. That said, so is peeling shrimp, forgetting to take out the trash after deboning a chicken, and getting stuck driving behind a truck carrying hot tar… and those things don’t smile and say “Mommy,” or sweetly kiss us goodnight! I don’t imagine any of us would rank diaper changing as our favorite part of motherhood, but I’d like to think we take it all in stride. It’s a small price to pay in the larger picture, right? That said, we run into our share of grimy stuff on a daily basis, so why make dirty diapers more dramatic than they have to be? (Otherwise known as: why wind up with poop on your pants in the middle of a church service, if you don’t have to?) In the first couple weeks of being a mom, I was thoroughly impressed to discover there are now moisture meters on several brands of diapers. Genius! I love being able to see that Gray needs changing well before her diaper is so full that urine is running down my favorite silk blouse, or that immediately identifiable and malodorous scent hits my nostrils, or the dogs start sniffing around her bloomers for the source of the funk. Loving the lack of leakage!

**PS. I thought I’d skip a photo on this one… sometimes a picture is not worth a thousand words.

2.     The Original Ba: Though Gray has graduated to a sippy cup these days, I spent a few months of her infancy trying to encourage her to drink water (or breast milk, every now and then) from a bottle. Being a strictly breastfed baby, she wasn’t terribly enthused about that notion. I certainly didn’t want to force her into it, and I absolutely did not want to wean her from the breastaurant. However, I knew there would be several benefits to the introduction. For example, I wanted to have the option of allowing my husband some father-daughter bonding time, by pumping and letting him feed her. I also wanted to make sure there was an alternative if I had to go to work… you know, since I can’t really leave a breast behind for the sitter. Ultimately, since I have been blessed with the opportunity to stay at home with Gray, she was (and still is) never far from the booby buffet. This means I didn’t have the need for an overabundance of bottles or the accompanying equipment. Nevertheless, when Gray finally took to the bottle, there was one thing that really helped her along… a fancy contraption called The Original Ba. If M.C. Escher had created baby products, the Ba might be it. In actuality, the progressive design was invented by four guys who possess creative imaginations and slightly contradictory career paths: a single dad, a lawyer, a designer, and a rock & roller. It sounds like the start of a really wacky joke, right? But they’ve come up with something neat; a holder that makes it simple for babies to hold their own beverage. Way to think outside of the bottle, gentlemen!

 3.     Smart Teething Toys: Let’s be honest, when your kid is in the throes of the teething woes, you’ll try just about anything to ease their pain… and their screaming. I’m no exception. I’ve experimented with everything from a common household washcloth that I dampened and then froze for a few hours, which is cheap and effective, to the relatively trendy amber necklace. In all honesty, I’m not entirely convinced the latter isn’t someone’s attempt to make millions off of pulling the wool over our eyes. I tried it anyway. I’ve administered homeopathic chamomile powder, and offered Gray every rubbery toy she owns. The good news is that some of them have worked for a few minutes here and there, which I’m grateful for. Here are the two soothers she loves most… by a landslide.

~Sophie the Giraffe: So far, Sophie the Giraffe still reigns as Gray’s favorite. Vive la Sophie! Trust me when I say it’s like catnip for babies.

~Toofeze: This product was gifted to Gray by the generous folks at Toofeze. They even went so far as to engrave her name and birthdate on it, which was incredibly thoughtful. Gray is hooked! I definitely think they’re onto something, as you can also stick the Toofeze in the refrigerator (though the freezer is off-limits) for a colder teether.

4.     The Wubbanub Pacifier: You’ve heard me say it before, and I’ll say it again… Wubbanub has been our saving grace. In terms of calming and consoling Gray, this pacifier is unparalleled. I’m grateful for every plane ride, shower, photo shoot and dinner it has gotten us through. If your child is willing to take a pacifier at all, this is the one. With a stuffed animal at one end, even infants can manage to hold onto it. The ONLY downfall? My dogs find the stuffed animal equally fascinating. Recently, when I failed to keep a close eye on its whereabouts, the Wubbanub monkey met a tragic end. Gray has buried Mr. Monkey, and moved on to the giraffe.

 5.     The Backseat Baby Mirror: I don’t know what I would do without this thing. My sister in law gave us one for our baby shower, and I am indebted. Truthfully, I initially chalked the product up to some sort of car company gimmick. You know, just one more thing they can trick you into thinking your baby needs, during your five thousandth pre-birth Target run. Boy, was I wrong on this one! Though the mirror certainly has its merits in terms of baby distraction, it turns out I’m the one who reaps the biggest benefits. Do you recall bringing your child home from the hospital? It’s terrifying to be out in the big world with your baby for the first time! If you are anything like my husband and I, we drove at snails pace, out of fear we would damage the tiny blessing in our backseat. In fact, a ninety-year old man in bifocals drives like Mario Andretti relative to how we drove that day. While my husband navigated, I sat in the back and stared at our daughter all the way home. I’m not sure I blinked. But in the weeks that followed, I had no choice but to bundle up our newborn and run errands on my own. This meant I was stuck driving, while Gray rode in her safety seat behind the passenger side. I desperately wanted to check on her every five minutes, and I remember being alarmed by the silence. Despite the fact that no mother enjoys hearing her child cry, there were moments I would have given anything for it… just for a sign that Gray was still breathing. Cue the backseat mirror. As soon as that thing was mounted, I became the only gleeful person stuck in traffic. As long as I can glance back and see that my kid is asleep, or looking out the window, or smiling contentedly while listening to The Little Mermaid, I’m golden.

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

PPS. I wasn’t paid to promote any of these items, and I feel it’s important to put that out there. Though some of these products were gifted to us, my comments are based on our tried and true experiences with using them. Hope you have an opportunity to try them out as well…

Don’t let the title of this week’s post fool you. Consider it my very belated April Fool’s Day joke. Though Mayim Bialik and I keep in touch, I have no fabulous news of a very special Blossom and Six reunion any time soon. That said, I thought you might appreciate this hilarious pseudo-reunion that took place between me and someone else dressed as Blossom. What does this post have to do with motherhood, you ask? Well, we just might talk about it in the interview. Check out my discussion with Geeking Out‘s Kerri Doherty!

Click here to see my interview on Geeking Out!

And if you’re a fan of the show Girls, or even if you aren’t, check out our fun parody of it!

Click here to see our Girls meets Blossom parody, and witness me wearing one of my fabulously awful 90′s hats that I swore I’d never wear again!

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

PPS. Follow Kerri on Twitter too. She’s damn funny!

If the title of this post made you think I was planning to wax poetic about a masterfully sexy, avant-garde position that you could excite your husband with in the bedroom tonight, you’re out of luck. (Unless, of course, you enjoy experimenting with food…) That said, you might find the subject matter speaks your language anyway: this week, I’m dishing about chocolate! I’ve honestly never been the kind of girl who craves chocolate. When I do, one little semi-sweet chip is more than enough to satisfy me. I typically lean more toward the salty and savory, rather than the sweet. I have gone through phases where I’ve salivated over the thought of spicy tuna sushi rolls, dreamed of homemade pappardelle pasta with lamb ragu, pined for eggplant parmesan, and hungered for an all-American hot dog. There was even a week or two, a few years back, when I couldn’t get my mind off of radishes. Seriously… radishes. No, I wasn’t pregnant; I was just being weird. But lately, I seem to be headed for Chocoholics Anonymous. I’m fairly certain the obsession began with this year’s stash of Girl Scout cookies, which I suppose I can credit to my husband. I’m sure he didn’t know he was contributing to my confectionery delinquency when he so sweetly surprised me with them on Valentine’s Day. But he has created a full-fledged Girl Scout cookie monster. We’re down to only a few boxes of Samoas and Tagalongs, my two favorites, and I’m not sure what I’m capable of once they’ve been consumed. I may become a cookie poacher. Hide your kids, hide your Girl Scout badges.

If I’m being honest with myself, a love for chocolate was inevitable. When I was a little girl, I recall my mother taking me for leisurely “walks” around the block, during which we would somehow wind up at the nearby market. We would often leave the checkout counter with a gallon of milk and a grocery bag full of candy bars. Miraculously, those candy bars would disappear in no time flat, leaving me to wonder who was stealing all of our treats. A bonbon-burgling bandit, perhaps? Of course, in retrospect, I chuckle shrewdly at the memory. I’m glad my mom got her self-soothing in somehow. With four kids, sitting down with a glass of milk and a Mounds bar must have felt like a vacation to Tahiti. But, despite her strong affinity, I’ve never really indulged my sweet tooth. Until now, that is. It isn’t to say I haven’t enjoyed dessert while out to an anniversary dinner with my husband, or that I haven’t made a Thanksgiving pie from time to time, but the instances have been few and far between. You won’t find me drowning my sorrows in a pint of double chocolate chip ice cream; you’ll find me drowning them in a glass of full-bodied Cabernet, accompanied by a medium rare steak. I am my father’s daughter. So it has been strangely satisfying to find myself desiring chocolate with the sense of urgency my mom used to, and I’m having to get creative now that Girl Scout cookie season is coming to a close. Which brings me to…

A few weeks ago, during our weekly Costco trip, my hubby spotted a rather large box of brownie mix. Given my recent fascination with sweets, I agreed we should splurge on it. Though I am quite passionate about cooking, finding time to bake is not on my radar. After a long day of keeping Gray and five dogs out of trouble, picking up miscellaneous squeaky toys, prying hardened crackers off my clothes, and trying to get work and dinner done, baking sounds as delightful as a carriage ride to Hell. But boxed brownies? If the road to Hell is paved with pre-made brownie mix, I might just saunter down it. (Did I just write a metaphor that suggests I’m willingly going to Hell? Geez. This sugar high is making me loopy. I thank you not to take that literally.) Anyway, we brought the brownie mix home, and I discovered I don’t mind baking after all. You know, as long as it just means adding a few ingredients together and throwing a dish in the oven for a while. Yes, yes, I know; by definition, that’s what “baking” is. Please bear with me here! Being a serious foodie, I thought I couldn’t possibly find any culinary inspiration in boxed goods. I was wrong. A few batches of brownies later, I became motivated to doctor up the store-bought mix and create more unique variations of the easy, no-fuss dessert. And isn’t ”no fuss” what it’s all about? Unless, of course, you’re someone like the fabulous Sandy, at Firefly Confections, who somehow manages to be mommy to two kids AND make the most killer caramels you could possibly dream of. My envy of her skills is unbecoming, but present nonetheless. I’d like to be her honorary family member for a week, so I can feast to my heart’s content. (Hint, hint, Sandy!) Instead, she’ll probably wince at my pseudo-baking recipe listed below. But I digress. Even if you don’t have hours to spend whipping up desserts worthy of Paula Deen, you can still manage this recipe… It is simple, swift, mommy-friendly baking at it’s finest!

My “Hot Mamasita” Brownies

(To be consumed after the kids are asleep, with no judgment passed if you eat all of the gooey goodness in one sitting!)

Recipe created by Jenna von Oy

Ingredients:

1 Package Ghirardelli Triple Chocolate Brownie Mix

1/3 Cup water

1/3 Cup vegetable oil

1 Egg

1 Handful semi-sweet chocolate chips (Go big or go home!)

2 Tsp. Finely ground pink peppercorns (I grind them in our coffee bean mill)

½ Tsp.-1 Tsp. Cayenne pepper (the amount is directly related to how ablaze you’d like your tongue to be…)

½ Tsp. Cinnamon

¼ Tsp. Cardamom

~Pre-heat oven to 325 degrees.

~Follow the instructions on the brownie mix box, until it tells you to put the pan in the oven. It will incorporate the water, oil, and egg.

~Add chocolate chips, peppercorns, cayenne, cinnamon and cardamom. Mix well.

~Pour batter into lightly greased pan, and continue following brownie mix instructions for appropriate baking times.

Voilà!! Wishing you some quiet time that satisfies your inner Chocoholic…

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

Pushing Mommy Away…

             It’s independence day! Nope, we’re not talking about the July 4^th holiday here. We’re talking about Gray’s ever-growing stubborn streak. With my own propensity for being opinionated and obstinate, I suppose this attribute was an inevitable part of my daughter’s character. And a character she is! Truth be told, I’m quite fond of her newfound headstrong tendencies. Most of the time. There’s something wonderful about the mischievous glint in her eye when she heads for the glass vase for the thousandth time, even though I’ve made it clear it’s “not for Gray.”  Of course, I’m likely to change my stance the day that vase winds up in pieces on the floor. Regardless, there’s a certain pride in knowing my daughter already has her own convictions… even if they are slightly wayward at the moment. Gray’s personality has definitely made its presence known, most often in the form of being contrary, but I suppose that’s the natural progression of things. She has begun wiggling out of my arms to commence crawling adventures (which typically involve getting into trouble), shaking her head “no” when offered something she isn’t interested in, refusing a nap in lieu of more play time, and getting mad when we won’t let her mess around with our cell phones (I can’t believe that obsession has already entered the picture!).  A few months ago, I suspect Gray was interested in food merely because I was the one offering it; now she has discovered she’s in control of whether or not she’s hungry. It’s really neat to witness her growing self-awareness! Her steadfast views also extend to other decision-making, and I’m trying to allow her as many opportunities to indulge that as possible. I hope to bolster her sense of reasoning and preference by letting her take a stand on innocuous issues. For example, one afternoon I might let her choose between watching The Lion King Disney Sing Along and the Winnie The Pooh movie. Some mornings, it’s the navy blue ballet slippers vs. the pink converse high tops. Perhaps it sounds silly to let a ten-month old pick out her shoes, but I find that she always prefers one pair above the other. And, more often than not, she comes to the conclusion quite quickly and resolutely! Suffice it to say I’m a huge proponent of self-expression. I wouldn’t have the creative spirit I have today if my parents hadn’t encouraged it. Right now, I’m relishing the fact that my daughter is only casting her vote for roasted veggie puree or spinach with pears. I know there will be plenty of times in Gray’s life where she desperately wants to weigh in, and it will be inappropriate for her to do so. A few years from now, I imagine she’ll be begging me to wear that mini skirt to school. And that’s when the real fun begins…

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. That famous phrase may pertain to A Tale Of Two Cities, but it also pertains to a tale of ten-months. Getting through the nine-month mark has made for some very trying moments in our house, filling our halls with the not-so-subtle discord of bawling and blubbering and boohooing. My typically happy-go-lucky girl has been going through some emotional growing pains and, consequently, I have too. Separation and stranger anxiety are severely cramping our style, and Gray’s relatively newfound mobility has me on perpetual damage control duty. Not to mention, our naptime training endeavors have been painfully unsuccessful thus far, which is putting it mildly. Gray is no longer the quiet infant who keeps her hands to herself or allows me to get my work done while she sleeps peacefully in her swing… though I feel blessed those instances ever graced us to begin with! This new stage of the game is both fun and exasperating, but I’m preaching to the choir, right?

She Who Crawls, Exhausts Her Mommy.  You know how a tornado leaves mass destruction and ruin in its wake? Apparently, so does a ten-month old… As well as, I suspect, every age hereafter. You probably have better stories about that than I do! I’m finding that chasing after Gray is more effective than any gym membership I’ve ever possessed. In fact, I’m becoming quite the triathlete. That is, of course, if the triathlon involves lunging to fetch purposely flung rice puffs, sprinting to take the TV remote out of Gray’s hands before the recording of The Bachelor is interrupted (Say it ain’t so!), and diving for every plummeting teacup, decanter, and perfume bottle before it smashes to smithereens. A balsamic vinegar carafe I brought back years ago on a trip to Italy was our first real casualty of war. Needless to say, I can no longer display nice tchotchkes in my house. This is otherwise known as: if it’s breakable, it’s attic-bound. I dare say the days of paper plates and drinking wine out of Dixie cups are upon us. I’ll admit baby proofing is a hell of a lot more involved than I’d anticipated. Sure, it’s easy to buy little outlet covers and doorknob protectors, but what does one do with the family heirloom china cabinet that has fragile glass doors? I suppose the simple answer is, you teach your child the meaning of “No” and “Don’t touch that.” Easier said than done. My daughter currently finds those words to be more than a little amusing. She laughs wildly when I raise my eyebrows, my stern face causes her to squeal in delight, and God forbid I shake my finger while admonishing her. Your prayers for my sanity are much appreciated.

This particular blog installment happens to coincide with my once-a-month contribution for People.com. You can read the rest of this week’s post by visiting my blog there… Please also check back here next Friday, for an exclusive Cradle Chronicles post! In the meantime, if you haven’t read last week’s “A Bone Of Contention,” you’ll find it if you scroll down or check out my archives!

Until next time… Peace, Love, & Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

Some toys bite the dust, and Gray enjoys being in the middle of a Pug sandwich

Fair warning: This blog post is rife with pun and double entendre. It was just too easy…

My life is going to the dogs. Lately there have been some doggone frustrating moments in our house, so I’d like to “paws” and contemplate the fact that I live with five pups and a baby. (I’ve excluded my husband from this equation, since he is capable of doing laundry and cleaning up his own messes… for the most part.) I know it sounds like a reality show waiting to happen, and many of you are probably thinking, “Five dogs? What the hell is she thinking?!” Well, throw me a bone here, folks. Brad and I are animal lovers through and through, and we’ve rescued the majority of our little four-legged friends. As my husband says, “We have too much love to give, not to take in a few strays that need it.” I couldn’t agree more, though I admit it gets “ruff” from time to time. For example, there was a recent no good, very bad day during which I wound up cleaning dog vomit off our couch, while Gray simultaneously puked all over my sweater. It was no walk in the park, I promise you. I’m used to being constantly hounded by both progeny and pooch, since someone is always asking to be let out, be fed, have nap time, have play time, get water, get affection, or be left alone to slobber all over the floor. Since Gray is teething, that last one actually works surprisingly well for both baby and fur-baby… But I digress. While I cherish every moment of being mommy to all of my kids, there are some hairy moments too. Which leads me to…

I have a bone to pick. Recently, the dogs have been stealthily stealing Gray’s toys and taking them out one by one. I have my very own pillaging pups. For some odd reason, they tend to chew stuffed animal feet to bits. (Is there a doggie psychiatrist for that?) Last week, one of our hellions, who shall remain nameless, perfected her bath toy thievery. She managed to nab two out of three of Gray’s favorite tub time friends, which I feel really bad about. In fact, I’m finding that I’m more sentimental about floatable trinkets than I ought to be. Let’s be honest, they are silly little plastic pieces that are nothing to bark about, right? But I feel like I’ve failed my kid in some way, by not protecting her personal property. Each time I discover a half eaten rubber ducky in the hallway, I am filled with the sense that I’ve let my daughter down just a tiny bit. (You know, because nine-month olds are so judgmental…) While I tend to refer to my dogs in a human capacity, I realize they don’t have human thoughts. They aren’t biding their time plotting, “That little girl is taking over our mommy. Let’s jack up her stuff!” I know they have animal instincts, so a squeaky toy is impossible to resist. I also realize that there’s no way for the dogs to decipher ownership; any item that winds up in their path is pretty much fair game. Not to mention, Gray is hurling her playthings on the floor with such frequency it’s virtually impossible for me to keep up, so every room contains an adventure waiting to happen. Still, I hate that this has meant the demise of the poor tub toys. Oh, and did I mention the infamous Wubbanub monkey pacifier was massacred in a similar fashion? Now that was a serious fatality. We are still reeling from the tragedy. In fact, let’s take a moment of silence on Mr. Monkey’s behalf.

As if pacifier robbery weren’t enough, here’s another “tail” of woe for you. My husband keeps coming home to find our bathroom trash strewn across our entire downstairs. Since I spend the majority of the day upstairs with all of our rascals, and I keep very close tabs on them, we can’t figure out who the culprit is. I should probably note that I also keep our stairwell door shut, and there’s no other access. Either one of my pups has grown opposable thumbs, or I own Houdini’s canine reincarnate. I’ll leave you to speculate.

In the past, our Basset Hound (Mia) has been largely to blame for any destruction; she is our resident mischief-maker and rabble-rouser. We’ve lost many personal items to her villainous tactics. This includes, but is not limited to, baseball caps, underwear, and a headlamp. Yes, a headlamp. As in: a light which one wears on one’s forehead. Are you envisioning us spelunking through our kitchen yet? (Chalk this one up to my husband’s affinity for anything that illuminates, and imagine my reaction the first time he came around the corner sporting that wonderful gem… I nearly lost my lunch.) The death of the headlamp involves a funny story, however, which almost makes it worth having had the thing in the first place. One day, I heard a constant clicking noise that I’d never noticed before. After a few years of being in our home, I’m relatively familiar with the typical creaks and groans. This sound was definitely out of place, so I set off to sniff out the source. I immediately went to the kitchen to be sure our refrigerator wasn’t about to fall apart. Nope, all good. I listened for the air conditioning unit, in case it wasn’t engaging properly. That wasn’t it either. Suddenly, the clicking was accompanied by faint barking noises. I crept into the living room and discovered Mia coveting the (now mangled) headlamp; she was turning the light on and off with her nose. Each time her attempts were successful, she barked at it warily. She looked up at me guiltily, and I howled with laughter. That girl is a whole new breed of crazy.

Mia and the infamous headlamp!

Despite all of the recent doggie drama and disobedience, I couldn’t be happier that Gray is growing up with so much love around her. The affection of a pet is something I think every child should experience, if at all possible. Watching my daughter cuddle on the couch with all of our Pugs makes me forget every torn up pillow, muddy paw print, and wayward dog hair tumbleweed. I’ll leave you with this… Giving unconditional love is our eternal dogma.

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

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