Flat Ellie

Mama Jo: You’ve heard of Flat Stanley? This is Flat Ellie. She went with us to Ireland. The poor thing had a complex by the time we got back. We could never remember her name: Fast Eddie, Slick Willie, Fat Albert…

When we went to kiss the Blarney Stone, we handed Flat Ellie to the assistant, a little old man (who, we decided, if we were to take a fall and go head first to our untimely death, there was nothing he could do to stop us—he was going too). Anyway, the assistant looks at Ellie and says, “Ooooooh Stanley, you’re not looking too well these days.” We assured him that he was mistaken: it was Flat Ellie, not Stanley.

I don’t think Ellie has recovered yet.

Who’s the most spoiled?

Mama Jo: Most definitely me!

Significant Birthday + Trip to Ireland = Most spoiled.

Oh yea!

Loathing

Jemima: This is Spike.

He loathes me. And Mama Jo too!  In fact, he hasn't sat on her lap or paid any attention to her since the day she brought me home.  Actually, that is totally OK by me.  

St. Paddy's Day

Mama Jo: Believe it or not, my favorite holiday is St. Patrick’s Day.

Christmas? I never have my act together. But, by March 17th I usually am able to send out Christmas, um, St. Patrick’s Day Cards…at least every other year!
I love to make a St. Patrick’s Day feast with Corned Beef and Cabbage, Irish Soda Bread, Potato Soup (yum), clover leaf rolls, green jello (and just about anything else green I can think of). I invite everyone I know. Actually, I invite anyone who is willing to come and enjoy GREAT food. (The folks who think we eat Klingon food can just stay home!)

Anyway, a few years ago we weren’t having a McCelebration for our favorite holiday (waaaa). BUT I found what appeared to be a fantastic recipe that we would enjoy. It was a Corned Beef and Pickled Cabbage concoction that looked oh-so-promising…enough that I tripled the recipe. Little did I know that it took the enamel right off of your teeth and was truly awful. (little sob) Mr. Incredible looked down at the super sized bowl or St. Paddy’s McAwfulness, looked at all the little Incredibles with their plates full of same St. Paddy’s McAwfulness, and suggested that they start eating because he wasn’t going to eat McAwfulness all week as leftovers in his McLunch. As tears welled up in the eyes of all the little Incredibles, Mama Jo made the executive decision that this new recipe had failed on every level and was going down the McGarbage disposal. (Except for the heaping helping we gave to our neighbor who happened to stop by during the McFeast and was sure her husband would like it. We found out later he didn’t and it went down their McGarbage disposal.)

Usually things we don’t like we just give to the dog and, depending on her enthusiasm for the McDisaster, let her judge just how bad it was. (It was so bad even the dog wouldn’t eat it!) We decided that it was soooo bad that we couldn’t subject the dog to it.
Jemima: Whew! That was a close one.

Ice is nice...

Mama Jo: Jemima LOVES ice. I don’t know why. I’ve never heard of a dog who can hear the crack of the ice tray, from ANYWHERE in the house, and come running. She patiently waits for me (or any one of the Incredibles) to toss her an ice cube. She picks it up, goes and lays down on the carpet, and then completely enjoys her frosty cold treat. Crunch, crunch, crunch. It’s not like it has any flavor! I don’t understand it, but I always give her an ice cube treat. Or two.
Jemima: Hey, I don’t question why you like CHOCOLATE. Don’t knock the ice.

Woeful Wednesday...

Jemima: Woe, Woe is me. I need to get my toenails clipped. It isn’t a pretty picture. It’s hard to hide the fact that I need to have my nails clipped (even though I try). I think the “clickity-click-click” on the kitchen floor is my giveaway. Sigh. The takedown goes something like this:

1. Peanut butter jar removed from the cupboard.
2. Spoon removed from silverware drawer.
3. My name being sweetly called from the family room.
4. “What else do I hear?” My squeaky toy. That’s dirty pool. I have no resistance when the squeaky toy card is played…I am a gonner.
5. I am tackled in the family room by my former best friend and bed partner, GoBot.
6. Yabb holds the peanut butter laden spoon in front of my mouth. (Do they think I am going to bite someone? Oh yeah, probably…)
7. GoBot holds me motionless. (Good thing for the peanut butter)
8. Mr. Incredible clips as fast as possible. I occasionally yelp (just to let them know that the peanut butter isn’t fooling me…at all.)
9. Mama Jo goes into another room, feeling my pain.
10. Mr. Incredible acts a little less incredible and may occasionally say some unkind words…
11. Mama Jo reminds Mr. Incredible that she would rather just take me to the vet to have this done.
12. Mr. Incredible grumbles.
13. Mama Jo wonders about Mr. Incredible’s true heritage…he probably is really 100% Scottish.
14. The deed is done and I plop over on the other side of the room, trying to act all peeved and everything. (Actually, there is peanut butter EVERYWHERE and I must lick off every remaining molecule.) It’s a dog’s life…
Mama Jo: Jemima forgot the vacuum cleaner part…evidently that’s my job.

All the Whos down in Whoville, the tall and the small...

Mama Jo: So tonight we’re eating “who hash” for dinner. (No Cindy-Lou-Who wasn’t on our plates…it’s just one of those “incredible-isms” we spout at random.) We had some amazing left over BBQ’d pork steak which we sautéed with onions, mushrooms, and left over baked potatoes. Major yum! Anyway, Jemima was sitting by me, not exactly begging, but sort of begging (I was reading her mind…it was begging.) And so I give her two potatoes bits from my feast of who hash. Evidently beggars can be choosers because Jemima “chose” to ignore her humble potatoes and hold out for some succulent pork steak. Yabb gave a Jemima a talking to, informing her she should be grateful for potatoes, that her potatoes would feed a starving family in Ethiopia. GoBot told Jemima that starving families in Ethiopia would probably eat her instead. Jemima, feeling her shame, decided to eat her potatoes. (Our vet would have vetoed potatoes…period.)
Jemima: Yeah, I ate them. It was the whole visual imagine of “Jemima-hash” that got me. (Don’t tell the vet.)