Tequila Mockingpets

This is the last post of the Sauza sponsorship, and I apologize for both the semi-awkward timing and for...well. You'll see.

In honor of the Sauza Fireman & Kitten Amazingness video, I ordered a twee little beret for my own animals. Oh, how funny that would be! They would look so dashing and jaunty! Like this!

ZOMG.

But alas, the beret, it was backordered. I was thwarted by upside-down supply/demand economics! A run on the kitty-beret market! Dump your orange juice futures and invest heavily in felt!

I SHOULD HAVE STOLEN THAT PINK ONE I KNEW IT.

So in desperation I went to the local big-box pet store in search of the Most Ridiculous Thing I Could Put On My Pets' Heads. 

I found it, all right. In the form of a doggie doo-rag and some Super Ironical pink skull-and-crossbone hair bows. These items may or may not have come from the "Bret Michaels Pets Rock" apparel collection, which is actually something that actually exists, God save us all.

Anyway! Maximum LOLCAT potential unlocked! Now all I had to do was put said Most Ridiculous Things on said pets' heads and the Internet laughs would flow like tequila. Right? Right.

NOT AMUSED. GOIN TO MURDER YOO IN UR SLEEP.

Our photo op was a bit more...challenging than the one I witnessed at the commercial shoot. 

NO.

NO HATE NO

hate everything goin poop on her bed then murder in sleep hate no

THIS IS NOT EVEN THE CORRECT WAY TO TIE A DOO-RAG! DID YOU LEARN NOTHING FROM "ROCK OF LOVE," WOMAN?

Seriously. Just don't look at her. Pretend she's not even there. It takes away her power. 

YOU CAN TIE IT PROPERLY ALL YOU WANT NOW, BUT TEH MOMENT HAZ PASSED. LEMME INSIDE FOR WAFFLES.

So it seems, much like tequila recipes, putting things on animals' heads is also best left to the professionals. My pets are clearly warped from their early days as child blog stars, back before the human babies took over around here. Uncooperative divas, I suppose. 

PS: Max is totally going to eat my eyeballs tonight, and I will have deserved it. 

PPS: DON'T CARE. WORTH IT. HAAAAAAA.

PPPS: I think we should declare June 7th a national holiday where we all drink tequila and put stupid things on our pets' heads. Who's in? I think it could rival Cinco de Mayo. Séptimo de Junio! Hats for all! Dignity for none!

PPPPS: Okay, I'm done now. Thanks for sponsoring these posts and for letting me be so weird, Sauza.

Post-Vacashunzzzzzz

Oh. Hey. 

We went away there, for a few days.

It did not suck. No.

Babble and Westin hotels have been sending a few of us Babble Voices folk to various Westin resorts. They sent us to...Aruba.

What the hell, right? We're such assholes. I hate us too, it's okay. 

I'll be writing about the trip at my Babble blog, of course, but also here, all uncompensated-like, because we took approximately four hundred thousand photos and the campaign at Babble is only five posts, and that means I might not force quite enough of the Internet to stare at my vacation photos. And that just goes against everything I believe in, frankly. 

First, though, is this little problem:

That's roughly the amount of dirty laundry a family of five accumulates during a five-day vacation. 

That's also the amount of dirty laundry I would currently be tackling if the airline had not lost that particular black suitcase right there, which was our designated Dirty Gross Laundry suitcase.

I suppose I should be thankful for the temporary respite from the Dirty Gross Laundry...the suitcase HAS been located, after all, and is currently en route home from an extended layover in Atlanta...but I also really miss my toothbrush. 

(Noah, during our briefer-than-our-suitcase's time in Atlanta. We were totally able to watch it not get loaded on our plane outside that window right there! Super amazing and enriching. Also fun were the looks of terror on the faces of every other person in this waiting area as they silently prayed for seat assignments far, far away from us.)

One

One year ago today, I took this picture.

And then a few hours after that, I took this one.

And probably a few hundred others, just like it. 

It's difficult to write about the day you were born without lapsing into lazy clichés. One of the best days of my life, one I'll never forget, like no other experience in the world, a day full of joy and love and endless promise and tinged with mystery. Who are you, little boy? What will you be like? How are you different? How are you the same? 

Everything stood still on the day you were born. We stayed locked together, even after you were so abruptly pulled from your cozy womby home, because I could not get enough of holding you, smelling you, kissing you. When others handed you back to me we'd both emit the same satisfied sigh as you settled back into my arms. Yes. That's better. That's right. 

At some point the fast-forward button gets hit, and the days and weeks and months hurtle by. Milestone after milestone, pound after chubby delicious satisfying pound. You're smiling, cooing, rolling, babbling, laughing, scooting, sitting, eating, crawling, standing, cruising. Doing everything a baby is supposed to do, when a baby is supposed to do it, yet it all still feels new and novel and unique because it's you.

Who are you, little boy? 

You are our bright-eyed...

Ball of quiet mischief...

Who has everybody you know completely wrapped around your fingers and toes and swirly baby curls.

You're Baby Ike, that's who, and you're amazing.

Happy birthday, Ikey. 

Baby Ike's First Birthday from amalah on Vimeo.

Music: Perpetuum Mobile by Penguin Cafe Orchestra