TITLE: Welcome to My Mother 'Hood
I barely got out of the way of the dog, Snarl, and the cat, Psycho, as they tore past me deep in the throes of "catch me of you can," both heading up the stairs, fur and drool flying.
Our oldest son, Sullen, loped into the house, deposited his guitar on the dining room table and his sneakers on the living room rug I'djust vacuumed. Soon I was being treated to ear-splitting levels of Guitar Hero. As I was trying to grab the tufts of fur floating through the air, the phone rang.
"Hey there, Donna Reed! You coming down with something?"
Jane knows I hate that nickname since it conjures up the image of a perfectly put together housewife, which, since I'm usually in desperate need of a dye job and my make-up disappears within an hour of application, I am decidely not.
After disloging and errant tuft of fur from my mouth, I said "Just dodging the third installment of "If I catch you, you're toast!"
"Ah, Snarl and Psycho at it again?" Jane chuckled.
"Oh yeah," I answered, moving quickly out of the way as they tore past me coming back down the stairs, followed by our youngest, Surly, who was egging them on. Hearing the crash of the food and water bowls in the kitchen, along with Surly's resounding "Cool!," I tiredly sat on the bottom step of the staircase and sighed.
"What's up with you?" I asked Jane, while trying to remember where I'd stashed the Motrin.