Push-Ups: The Night Song of the Canary

There are things that I'm most proud of in this world. And more than a few items which cannot be described using pride in any form. For instance, I'm modestly proud of spotting this sedate fat bumblebee on my hyacinth bean plant and taking the patient time required to snap his picture before moving on with one of my busy days this past week. Ain't he a beauty?

Or how about the serendipitous landing of these two joined flutterbyes on the door of the Yukon just as I pulled out of the Hobby Lobby parking lot. They remained affixed, both to one another AND my car door, all the way to Lowe's: about a mile and a half and breezy all the way! (Gotta take the camera everywhere.)

CHECK OUT THE DETAIL ON THE EYE!

To unfairly balance the equation and provide a rounded example of my opening statement, there is no pride attached to the moment earlier this evening whereby I remained in the locked and upright position on my couch watching the MTV Video Awards with my two stay-at-home kids (new term: take note) and had my eyeballs and eardrums indecently exposed to a heartwarming half-ballad-half-rockin'-rap-song replete with so many motherf****** references that the network censors could not keep up with them. Oh! Sorry! Identification, please: the 'artist' presently known as L'il Wayne. He IS definitely a compact man. As fit as he is, I'm unclear as to why he needs to wear his shorts below his buttocks, thus revealing his bright blue underwear beneath. And were those platinum-set diamonds on his teeth? The tattoos and abs I understand. I don't GET Mr. Wayne at all; my son quite enjoys his music, if I can really use that term. (Trust me when I say this is more than a generation gap issue: we both adore Adele.) There are no pictures to attach here. I think that is for the best.

Now, along the lines of award shows, I'm thinking of a few to mark my own stellar, a-a-nd not-so-stellar, moments this day, this week. The winner of today's high point came when my husband grinningly referred to me as his canary after taking in my yellow shorts and t-shirt upon my return home from a training session with Hank the Wonder Pup. That's almost as good as the time he saddled me with the nickname "Show Pony" after watching a rather amusing English judge on one of those reality dancing programs. That was good for a month or more!

THE CANARY CALLER

COULD HE BE A BLUEBIRD?

In the running for today's low point, it's a three-way race. You be the judge. First, arriving late to regular church service after promising to attend Bible study beforehand: I was running behind and adjusted my schedule to arrive EARLY to church rather than LATE to Bible study. HOW GOOD IS THAT?! But there was a need to contact my neighbor and this created interaction which ate up minutes. The Yukon was low on gas and required filling. I promised my husband coffee from Starbucks (I had NONE) when I thought I was in early status and though the clock shouted out my tardiness I felt I should still deliver the goods.

MY SON IS KNOWN FOR HIS NAP-STYLE SERMON-ATTENTIVENESS!

For those not in the know, I have a reputation for quietly rushing through the back doors of Cross Point at least ten minutes tardy. Usually closer to twenty. Never, ever, EVER because I have slept in. My compulsive need to "get everything done" before heading out the door is the root cause. I'm the butt of many jokes and references and ribbings, and I deserve it. We all decided today that if I did happen to show up early or even on time one Sunday morning, than Jesus surely HAD to be coming on that day!

EVEN LATE GALS ARE ALLOWED FREE ZINNIAS!

Second, sneaking in the door a full half-hour late to Hank the Wonder Pup's second Sunday afternoon of training at Sit N' Stay deep in the heart of Christiana, Tennessee country. Just TRY sneaking in anywhere with Hank. Just try! I double-dog DARE YA! To be fair, I did call ahead. And I thought the logistics of running a short errand for my dear sweet ma and squeezing in a brief visit with her, complete with her own Starbuck's special order delivery, would not interfere with returning to my home for a wardrobe change and pup retrieval . . . and dashing at legal speeds to make my 2 o'clock training session. I simply thought wrong. Could have happened to anyone. Just happened to fall on top of me! Twice in one day. I sound somewhat awful at this point, eh?

But wait for the third and final runner in this hotly contested race before you make up your minds! After a time-consuming, energy-sucking month of caring for an energetic and dynamic lab-pup mix AND nursing an ailing old girl through the remaining dog days of her final summer -- not to mention the feeding, ignoring, throwing out, allowing in, petting, brushing and overall general caring for the princely Fabio the Feline -- Gloria's veterinary clinic almost came to an abrupt close for cruelty to animals late this afternoon. If I'd gotten ahold of handsome Hank, there'd be NO almost. Fortunately, he was stubborn and my knee was weak.

MY TEEN BOY DOG

NAUSEA-REDUCING PILL FOR PANDA

TWO- TO FOUR-A-DAY MINI-MEALS A DAY WHENEVER
PANDA IS NOT VOMITING: EXPENSIVE SPECIAL FARE, TOO

THE COVETING OF THY NEIGHBOR'S DOGGIE DISH

A SAFE VANTAGE POINT

SO, I OPENED THIS UNSCREENED KITCHEN WINDOW TO TAKE PICS OF THE ELUSIVE HUMMINGBIRD WHICH SHOWS UP EACH MORNING.
HOW DOES FABIO KNOW THAT?!!!

OUR AGED CANINE: SHE PREFERS TO SIT AND PANT IN
THE GRASS MOST OF THE TIME.

HANK WANTED TO TAKE THIS SWEET LITTLE THING HOME FROM HIS VISIT TO THE FARMER'S MARKET THIS PAST SATURDAY!

He blatantly tore down one of my only two sunflowers even as I ordered him to cease and desist in my sternest voice, with the most insistent and forceful of NO's ever to be uttered in a suburban back yard, and then dashed around and around the lawn, under the low wide branches of the red bud, and practically through my legs . . . with the fat seed-laden flower head in his slobbery puppy mouth! Never once did he heed my commands, calls, warnings, threats, or even the appearance of the leash. My PMS'ing brain had no heart for humor. No head for understanding his breed and age. No! I was ticked with this mutt for his wanton destruction of my mini-eco-environment for the winged seed fanciers who flit in and out of my life.

THE ONE PLANT I BLAMED HANK FOR PULLING BUT TURNED OUT
TO BE MY HUSBAND, WHO CAN'T DISCERN A TOMATO PLANT FROM
A WEED AND DIDN'T THINK TO ASK ME FIRST!!!
I'D BEEN WAITING FOR THE FRUITS TO RIPEN!

Eventually, I huffed back inside, defeated, irritated, and my eldest child took her turn at rounding up the little dogie. She was successful. Hank was unceremoniously led to his kennel and held there without attention and praise for the time it took me to drive to and from Starbucks with my treat receipt. Upon my return, Hank and I made up and moved on with out lives. Without grudges. Without the letting of blood or loss of canine life with subsequent creative stews and stir-fries. Tomorrow, I will harvest the remaining seeds from the flower and scatter them near the bird feeder. Hank lives to see another day.
Which means another Sunday training session followed by a wrestling match with his new friend, Rosie the Radiant, who is the first female dog to ever "present" herself to my teen pup, and thus is the first female dog to receive Hank's neutered "amorous attentions." Oh, it makes a mother so proud!