Retch-tables

As I mentioned a while back, my parents are staying with me whilst they build a new house. Now, I have to say... when it comes to all things foul-smelling, I thought pit bull farts were bad, but my friends, there is something much worse and far more nefarious, I must tell you. Mom and Dad eat a TON of vegetables. Like, vegetables coming out of their ears. In particular, beans, broccoli, and cauliflower. You may be thinking that I'm going somewhere else with this - maybe that parental farts are worse than pit bull farts. But thankfully, that's not the problem since they take Beano like it's their job.

Some slogans Beano rejected...

Beano: "So you don't smell like you pooped your pants."

Beano: "Ew, you're nasty."

The problem is the veggies themselves. Mom is constantly cooking some abominable smelling retch-tables in my kitchen, which then stink up the whole house. If rotten eggs had armpits and didn't wear deodorant, this is what it would smell like. It's like a diarrhea factory on fire. It's what it would smell like if poop had a bowel movement*. The worst of the lot is the batches of exceptionally malodorous kraut, broccoli, and cauliflower that Mom cooks to smithereens. And in particular, Cauliflower was my enemy numero uno until a new smelly veg moved in last week. I submit to you... the Brussels sprout. Mom has started roasting these things, or frying them, or just torturing them to death, or something. I don't know, whatever. The point is, the stench is so horrifyingly putrid. It's like a rotten cauliflower crawled up a Brussels sprout's butt and died. But before any of that happened, 43 pit bulls farted on a skunk and then the skunk got hit by the smelliest garbage truck in the world, which was incidentally being driven by hippies. The skunk unfortunately got stuck to the tire of the garbage truck like a piece of old chewing gum. Then the truck proceeded to drive into the cauliflower's butt. Really just a chain reaction of unfortunate, stinky events.

I think this may qualify as child abuse. Does anyone know of a hotline I can call or something?

*EDITOR'S NOTE: My brother, Jake, insisted on me giving him credit for this one since he came up with it. I don't mind doing that. He got his sense of humor from me anyway.

Um... anybody still out there?

I know, right???

I have not made a peep on this blog in LITERALLY millions of years (my definition of "pet peeve": using the word “literally” completely wrong).

So since you are dying to know, and by “dying to know”, I mean “couldn't care less”, I will update you on my stellar life…

My niece, Piper, is still the awesomest thing since unsliced bread. She’s now a year-and-a-half and the new things she does every time I see her are just amazing. And hilarious. She is so awesome, it is just beyond.

Behold the cuteness.

My nickname is “Aunt Tootle”, so she calls me “T” and that just simply rules. Also, she is turning out to be SO much like her Aunt T, and of course you know I just heart that. For one thing, she laughs really hard and really loud, with a bit of a scream-y edge at times, which only serves to make me go like this: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! And then I go “neener-neener-neener” to my brother because he always gets mad when I laugh too loud and wake the baby, and now I get to say, you better get used to it, buddy!

Second, I took the Pipe shopping with me and when I was ready to pay for my purchases at Sephora, she grabbed my credit card from me and handed it over to the cashier as if she’d been doing it all her life. Oh, the pride that swelled within me. On a related note, she’s also resembles a much younger but equally cute me in that she already has a killer fashion sense. She almost shattered the Richter scale of cute when she recently wore tiny baby boyfriend jeans complete with dark wash and fat cuffs and a long cardigan thrown over it. ARE YOU KIDDING ME.

Wearing the ultra-hip owl jammies I got her for Christmas.

Modeling for her one-year photo shoot.

And she’s almost as crazy about animals as yours truly…

Exhibit A: The “chore” that she’s taken upon herself to do at home is letting the dog out of her crate. She goes straight into Annabelle’s room and opens the latch on the crate (by herself usually) and then it is all business as she leads the little foofy Yorkie-Poo to the back door and commands her to “pee-pee!” And she FREAKS OUT if you try and do her “chore” for her.

Exhibit B: She’s also bonkers about my pit bulls. She yells to them incessantly, “Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup-pyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” 43 times in a row if they are not perched right next to her. She yells this as she beckons with a come-hither hand signal and then pats the spot next to her. She has taken to leaning in for a kiss right on their moufs and going, “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmwah!” as she puckers. Then giggles like a school girl when they kiss her back. Also, she doesn’t mind when they try and eat her, as pit bulls are wont to do with small children.

Fear me.

Exhibit 12: She loves the zoo. On a recent day off work, Christy, Piper, and I went to the OKC Zoo mainly so that Christy and I could torture ourselves after watching The Cove. If you haven’t seen it, it will shatter you. Anyway, we had a great time despite our guilt over oppressed dolphins. Piper kept yelling to the buffaloes, “Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup-pyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” I mean, it was pretty cute when she called the wolves “puppies”, but come on… gigantic buffalo puppies, Piper? Now that’s just getting a little ridiculous. Despite being in a zoo around lions and tigers and bears (I will not say “Oh, my!”), her favorite animal was always the “duckies”. I taught her what the goat says, which wasn’t difficult because they were “maaaaaaaaaah”-ing away locked behind the fence in their pen. I was pissed because the petting zoo was closed that day and we couldn’t even go in there and play with them. Besides, I really wanted to interview one of them and ask why their eyes are so creepy. Like Satan. Christy and I were gonna teach The Doodle what a giraffe says, but then we decided we don’t know what a giraffe says, so instead we taught her what the goose says. We saw some puppies (AKA foxes) going nigh-nigh (AKA sleeping) on a big rock in the sunshine, then listened to an old man regale his wife with fascinating trivia about the little critters he referred to as “MeerRATS”, and later we caught a glimpse of the rare Great North American Domestic Housecat as he stealthily stalked a trashcan. The trashcans got spooked and started a stampede and it all got a pretty crazy and I think I blacked out for a little bit shortly after yelling to my sister and her daughter, “SAAAAAAAVE YOURSEEEEEEELVES!!!!!” But the best moment of the day by far occurred in the ape house. There was a scholarly-looking nerdy dude sitting by the exhibit window sketching a gorilla. We sat down the way a bit right next to two other gorillas, one of which was pressed up against the glass as if he was leaning on Piper for support. We were pointing out the “monkeys”, naming them thusly for simplicity’s sake, and we were having a rousing game of “What does the monkey say?” when the artist guy, who was clearly on holiday from his home country Pretentioustan, dryly remarks, “AK-tually, these are apes.” *facepalm* I think Christy and I rolled our eyes so hard and so high up into our brains that we actually had a collective stroke. I think even Piper was heard to mutter, “OMG, what a buttmunch.” I’m pretty sure I heard her say that.

In other news… I’m going to be an aunt again!!! Christy is 6 months along and due late April. Just as Piper was nicknamed “Tater” before her gender and real name were revealed at birth, we have nicknamed the new baby “Beanie” because of that one time when Christy told us she was the size of a bean. Which leads me to the next thing… she... is a SHE!!! Just as they have with all other things baby, Christy and Jake announced this bit of info in surprise fashion. When they found out they were expecting Piper, they showed up to my parents’ house and took off their jackets to reveal these shirts they had made:


Then at my 31st birthday dinner this last September, their gift to me was the tee-ninesiest little onesie that said, “I heart Aunt Tootle.” My reaction? “This is so cute! But…………. it won’t fit Piper………?” To which Christy replied with a knowing look, “That’s because it’s for a newborn.” It took literally a bunch of seconds before it finally dawned on my dad, mom, and me what that meant. Best birthday present ever, though! Even if I was a little slow on the take.

And so, on par with the aforementioned shenanigans, my dad opened a package on Christmas morning labeled “From: Beanie”, which contained a DVD. Jake and Christy said it was the ultrasound they’d just had done. We were so excited, even though we knew that they had planned to wait for the birth of the baby to find out the sex, just as they’d done with Piper. We popped it in to watch and after several minutes of cooing over the grainy moving images, the song “Sisters” from White Christmas suddenly started playing. Thing is, we had watched White Christmas the night before, so at first my parents and I thought something was messed up with the sound and that we were hearing the other movie somehow. Which made zero sense because that DVD was no longer in the player, mostly due to the fact that the ultrasound DVD was. We are not rocket surgeons as you’ve surely surmised. And yet again, it was forever and a day until we finally figured out they were trying to tell us something. And that that something was that Piper would be having a little sister. We didn’t even notice at first that the labels came up on the screen pointing out the “girl parts” as the scan caught the, uh, business shot. Can’t get anything past us, no sir. We’re about as sharp as a feather bed upholstered in velvet floating on a sea of bubbles. As is typical, the response was in this order: me screaming and laughing, Mom bawling her eyes out, and Dad just sitting there with the proudest grin on his face.

My children, Snuggles and Clover, are still the cutest and funniest inventions since breadboxes were invented in order to store sliced bread. They are just complete dorkwad nutcases and they make me laugh everyday. I bought them backpacks to burn off some of their energy on our walks. I’m excited about that. Plus, they can carry all my crap. Like bottles of water. Poo bags. Trail mix. Mace. Trolls. A first aid kit. Emergency flares. My Smith and Wesson. Red lipstick. And spaghetti. It’s pretty handy.

Yes. Those are trap door jammies.

So……………………………… my parents moved in with me. They say it’s because they’re building their dream house and need a place to stay since their other house already sold, but really I just think it’s a classic case of “failure to launch”. It’s a pretty funny dynamic. Usually it’s a kid moving back in with his hapless parents and things quickly go south. Like when I moved back into my parents’ house in Oklahoma after having lived in Indiana for three years, one of which was spent solo in an apartment, only to find that the parentals were ready to reinstate the 8:00 o’clock curfew I hadn’t had since I was a toddler. During that first summer back home, I spent a lot of time of an evening at a coffee house located in an artsy, granola-type part of town. I would chill with my homies in the outdoor café area until the wee hours, just taking in the sounds of poetry slams, the wafting scent of patchouli, the snatches of conversations between self-righteous atheists, the wafting scent of clove cigarettes, the bitter taste of herbal tea that’s supposed to taste good but really it just tastes like freshly-mowed ragweed, the wafting scent of what I like to call “The Reefer”, and the mournful strains of an acoustic guitar behind an open mic. My Dad didn’t like this one bit. He would chide me, insisting, “Didn’t you know that’s where all the Vietnamese gangs hang out, Heather?” Dad likes to remind me that he grew up in Oklahoma City and knows everything about it, including, apparently, the fact that art snobs and Asian gangstas like to kick it together. I tried to tell him that all I had to be afraid of was dirty hippies. The worst they could do was kidnap me and force me to not shower. The fit really hit the shan the night I was “accidentally” out past 5 AM. Come on… 5 AM is not that late. I mean, actually, it’s early since it’s technically the next morning. So uh, yeah.

But that was then and this is now. And we’re having so much fun. I probably should mention that I sold my house and bought a new one back in April. I moved into an awesome 1938 Cape Cod/Colonial on a historic block and it's like a dream home. I will post pictures soon. My parents have an entire guest suite to themselves since the top two stories have a guest room, bathroom, and TV room. The dogs think they’ve died and gone to heaven what with Nan-Nan and Pa being accessible 24-7. And I have to say, since one of my parents usually beats me home after work, they go ahead and let the dogs out of their room and it’s so nice coming home to butt wiggles at the front door. Mom and Dad are roughing it, though. They’ve had to downgrade from their king-size bed to the queen in my guest room. And since the garage was converted years ago into an office, which has now became my dogs’ room, they are having to get used to the idea of parking Mom’s beloved Mustang and Dad’s F-3000-or-whatever-it-is gigantor monster truck out in the weather. In the driveway! What’s worse is my dad had to rent a storage unit for his Corvette. It must be rough. My heart bleeds for them. In all seriosity, they are model tenants and never complain even though I’m charging them $3,000 per day for rent. What? Baby needs a new pair of shoes. Preferably Louboutins. Speaking of, I get to indulge my love for dressing my mom up like my very own life-sized, middle-aged dolly. I think she doesn’t mind that part either. She’s also declared that she is taking over kitchen duty. And it’s not rare for me to walk out in the yard and find my dad raking the leaves. Word.


Let’s see… what else…

Oh yeah, almost immediately after turning 31, I received an AARP membership card in the mail. Not just once. But TWICE. Really? 31? Oh, and my little brother just turned 30. LOL. Wow, getting older is so weird!

We are so mature.

Other updates…

I am a rapper now. You read that right. I will put the videos up soon.

I am no longer addicted to “Words With Friends”. That ship has sailed.

I have never played “Angry Birds”.

The group I sing with actually got to perform the National Anthem at an NBA game recently. I will post more about that later.

I haven’t read any of your blogs in ages so I’m sorry for that and will try and get caught up soon.

Michael Jackson is still dead.

Snuggles and Clover have been asking to post more on the blog. Thus demonstrating that their mom thinks that just because she enjoys reading dog blogs that everyone else does, too. But how can I tell them no when they are just so darn adorable?

My hair is now a deeper auburn shade of red.

I still hate Nickelback.

And Michael Vick is still a grade-A, 100% certified, genuine douchebag.

What's new with you???

Heather Cherry Comedy Roast of...

... Wiener Dogs!

Look at you, wiener dogs. You're so short. Yet so long at the same time. How does that even work? What's the deal with those tiny legs? Did someone chop them OFF while you're weren't looking? Pay a little more attention, wiener dogs. I mean, really.

You're so little but you think you're big and brave. For crap's sake, you fight badgers! Haven't you heard? Dooooooood... those things are, just totally... mean, evil little critters!

Why would you go up against these guys, huh? Come on. You have nothing to prove, wiener dogs. So quit showing off, srsly.

And what's with this nonsense? You dress up in ridiculous Mexican outfits? Tiny hats? What did I say about showing off?

Oh, hardy-har-har. A hotdog bun bed. How ironic and adorable. NOT!*

*Except it totally, totally is.

My little buddy, Deuce. Yep, my mom totally made that bun-bed up there.

Visit Carmen's blog for other weenie hijinks.

The weather is here, wish you were beautiful.

Beach update: yep, as anticipated, it's awesome here. We've been pigging out on gelato, sweet tea, seafood (not me, ick!), chocolate, fruity drinks and ice cream.

And I miss Snuggles like the deserts miss the rain. It's the first time I've been away from him for more than 8 hours or so. :o(

He did send me a text this morning, though. It said eiakkd;gjabdukjgficnmke. Cuz his paws are really big.

Fun with Catalogs in the Bathroom at My Office

Catalog copy can be fun to read. Maybe it reminds me of the J. Peterman stuff from Seinfeld. I don’t know. But there is some really ridiculous copy floating around out there. I found this catalog at work. It’s like a fancy-shmancy catalog of décor and gadget-y things for really nice houses. There are some interesting things to be read and seen in there. For example:

“Hey, kids! I’ve got a great idea! Let’s put on our church clothes and go out to the backyard and roast marshmallows!”

“Daddy, I’m cold.”

“Shake it off, honey. Shake it off.”

Check out the dull look in this guy’s eyes. What he’s thinking: I could stay awake, just to hear you breathin’… don’t wanna close my eyeeeeeeeeeees, don’t wanna faaaaaaaall asleep cuz I miss you baby, and I don’t wanna miss a thaaa-aaang!

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! I got you a fan! Can I have your Jag when you die?

“Others are mere angel hair compared to the World’s Thickest Noodle.” Well, hardy-har-har. This is the World’s Dumbest Product to Apply a Superlative To.

European Beanbags: Hip outdoor seating.” Paradoxically, it’s the squareness that makes them hip. And European.

“The drama of fire complemented by the soothing sound of water. Our sculptural masterpiece pays tribute to two earthen elements in one self-contained piéce de résistance.” More like piéce de cráp.






It looks like this guy is wearing a long white nightshirt. He doesn’t know whether to enjoy the hammock with his wife or declare “Bah, humbug.” Hey buddy, say hullo to Jacob Marley for me. Really bad photo composition on this one, methinks.

“We set out to create the greatest beverage tub on Earth—behold the impressive result.” Well, congratu-freakin-lations. But maybe you didn’t get the memo. It’s a BEVERAGE TUB.

Oh no? You didn't get the memo either? It’s a FAKE ARTICHOKE. Not a Ming Dynasty vase.

*******************************************

Quick note: for the next week I'll be on vacation with my family at the beach. Suck it - bwahahahaha! Just kidding. Anyhoo, I'll probably be a bit absent from the blerg but I'm setting up some posts to auto-publish while I'm frolicking in the sand. You know, to please the unwashed masses.

Miss me bunches! XOXO!

Desperate Plea for an Introduction... to... YOU!

This is my query: are you out there? Are you reading this blog? If you're not "following" me or haven't ever made a comment, wouldn't you please comment on this post? I'd like to know who's out there reading all anonymous-like and such. Or, as Mountain Muddah likes to say "blurking" (blog-lurking).

Pretty please?

Hi everybody! Happy Mother's Day to all ye mums out there. And most of all, Happy Mother's Day to my mom. I love you like I love cake! (Actually much, much more...)

Vintage Advertisements: Inappropriate Juice Drinks Edition

Here are some not-to-be-believed juice drink mixes from Pillbury's old line of Funny-Face Drinks.

I mean, wow. There's just not much to say here. Why does the Chinese Cherry have a bow on her single "hair"-stem? Are they supposed to be leaves? And what's up with the snaggleteeth? My favorite things on Injun Orange are his war paint and the little navel butt-chin.

Wisely, Pillbury eventually came out with new flavor names to replace these two and came up with Jolly Olly Orange and Choo-Choo Cherry.

Come on! That's terrible! Making fun of jolly people and trains?! Awful! And what about Loud-Mouth Lemon and Rootin'-Tootin' Rasberry? Some people just cannot control THE VOLUME OF THEIR VOICE! and others have embarrassing gas problems. They can't help it! Or Lefty Lemon? He was BORN that way! UGH! And I know my mom won't appreciate Freckle Face Strawberry, considering that she is entirely befrecked and also a natural strawberry blonde. I'm so disappointed in you, Pillsbury! What's next, huh? Um... like... "People Who Can Curl Their Tongues Tamarind"? "Pocked-Marked Pumelo?"

Thanks to Juicy Jules for the find!

Mute Monday: Places Revealed

Here are the answers. Because inquiring minds want to know.

Destin, Florida

(A.K.A. my family's vacation destination every year and in a couple weeks!)

Black Hills, South Dakota

(A little "burrito" walked up to our Jeep on the side of the road and said hi. I freaking WANT one.)

Kauai, Hawaii

(There are feral chickens ALL OVER the island; some with the most beautiful, bright colors)

Natural Waterfall ~ Kauai, Hawaii

(We got to swim and cliff-dive --only Jake took the plunge; I swam -- at the waterfall where the beginning of the first Indiana Jones movie was filmed. We also saw the cave where that big-ass rock came rolling out after Indy.)

Kauai, Hawaii

(Mom and I horseback riding on the beach. ABsolutely incredible experience.)

Dreaming with Lunesta

I have ADHD. Which sucks sometimes. Especially when it comes to trying to fall asleep when your mind won't shut its freakin' hole. But add to that the fact that I actually have a related sleep disorder, too. It's called Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome. Basically, my body's internal clock is off by several hours. What that means is that my mind and body want to sleep around midnight or later and then wake up around 10 or 11 a.m. I also sleep "backwards." Most people fall asleep quickly at night, sleep deeply, and then spend the early morning hours slowly waking up. I'm the opposite. So for example, if I try to go to bed around 10 p.m. I will toss and turn for hours and slowly fall asleep after a long time (if at all!). Then I do my deepest sleeping and dreaming in the morning, just before having to get up for work. You know that feeling of abruptly being woken from a very deep dream sleep? You know how sort of shocking that feels to your system and how groggy you feel and very irritable? That's how I feel every morning if my body doesn't get to sleep until its preferred time.

HOWEVER, for the last oh, 6 months or so, I've been taking Lunesta. Oh Lunesta, how I do love thee. It has been a miracle for me. I take it and in 30 minutes I'm out like Seacrest. I sleep really well and wake up like a semi-normal person the next morning. The interesting thing, though, is that I have the most bizarre, detailed dreams that feel supremely real.

So, submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society (does anyone else remember that?), I give you my latest Lunesta dreams...

I frequently dream that I am back in high school and that I've forgotten my locker combination (and also its location) and that I've not been going to class and I suddenly am in class having to take a big test, not knowing the material whatsoever. I had that dream but this time my classes were quite interesting. I went to Math class wherein, for some reason, we were reading and being tested on children's books. I can't remember any of the book titles. Then there was English class, being taught by a German woman but we were studying Spanish. She liked to make class fun by passing out multiple bottles of pink nail polish for the girls to paint their nails in class. Don't worry about the boys. There were none in this class, apparently. The instructor also made madeleines on some sort of panini maker thing during class for us to eat.

Suddenly there was a tornado. No warning. Just that the building was picked up and then hurled back to the earth. Immediately my classroom became one of those college stadium-type lecture halls where the chairs are affixed and in descending rows like a theatre. Folks were rushing around helping the wounded. I helped pull some people out of where they were stuck between the seats. Also, curiously, I helped some pit bulls in danger of falling (?) out of the seats. Then I went and found my brother, who was on the other side of the school. We had a happy and relieved reunion and then I began to rap.

Then I was magically on the beach in L.A. It was crazy crowded and instead of sunning themselves on the sand, folks were all perched atop multiple tiny stilted buildings, sort of like lifeguard towers. My mom was there and we started talking to a guy with a Scottish accent. He was wearing an Irish football club shirt, though. Mom was all, "Are you from Ireland?" and I was all, "MOM! Can't you hear his accent? He's Scottish!" and then he and I had a good laugh at my mom's expense with high fives all around for good measure.

The End.

Por fin, I would like to say that Lunesta has been a God-send. Now, if I can just get rid of that damn green glowing butterfly that hovers around my night table...

Vote for Me at Humor Blogs!

For Obladi and Carmen

This post is for a friend and fellow dachshund enthusiast who blogs over at "From 0 to 3 in 90 days" and at "Carmen-Wiener Princess." So if you're not her, you can feel free to bypass this. Then again, if you like doxies, then let me introduce you to my parents' weenie dog Deuce. He's a bit rotund and quite loveable and squeezable and squishable and soft.

This is him when he was a tiny bitty baby.

This is his hotdog bun bed. My mom made it for him!

And here he is, doing what he does best. Basking in a rectangle of window sunshine.

A free t-shirt. I can die now.

I took my dad to an NBA game last night. I didn't take Mom because she hates the squickety-squeak-squeak-SQUIIIIIIIIIICK noises the players' sneakers make on the court. My mom cracks me up. She has the strangest pet peeves. If you don't believe me see my post on the Top Ten Things that Creep Her Out. In addition, she hates those Charles Schwab commercials with the freakishly realistic cartoon people. She can't stand "Old Lady Perfume." And she is deathly afeared of spiders. That last one is really weird, I know. Oh, also wreaths on car grills at Christmas time really annoy her. Aaaaaaand she thinks Beyonce is "just a big ol' nuthin'" (she likes to point this out every single time she sees her on TV. Without fail.) My mom is so awesome.

So Dad and I went on a father-daughter outing to the Thunder/Jazz game. It was fantastic because my boss gave us his tickets to use, so we were on like the 7th row. By the way, do you guys know how tall NBA players are? They're really tall. And the court looks surprisingly small up close. But maybe that's just cuz of the tall players dwarfing everything else.

During timeouts the obligatory launching of free t-shirts via compressed air-gun would begin and people would start frantically waving their arms to catch the attention of the Powers That Be... Givin' Out T-Shirts. Which brings me to my point. Why. On earth. Do people freak out so much over a dang t-shirt? Seemingly normal adults turn into crazed maniacs, tackling small children and senior citizens in order to get their chance.

What. Is the big frikkin' deal? They're always like quintuple XL anyway. I mean, I suppose you could stuff a blanket into one and use it as a duvet cover on your guest bed. Or perhaps reupholster a couch. I dunno. I just DON'T get it. Maybe it's just me.

Hed. Asplode. From too much cuteness!

Instructions for chasing all your blues away:

Step 1: bottle feed a puppy.

The end.

Several weeks ago a gal named Carrie found a litter of 5 pibble puppies in a shed on her property. Momma was nowhere to be found and the babies' eyes hadn't even opened yet. Carrie contacted Forever Friends Humane Society and after a lot of scrambling around by a group of folks, the pups were rescued. Two stayed here with my friend Sabrina and three went to Missouri with my friend Lillian. Both of these women have bottle fed puppies before so they were eager to take on the challenge.

So a couple weekends ago Brina let Mom and me come over to visit her 2 babies. Words cannot express the extreme cuteness. We even got to bottle feed them ourselves. Holy crab. Just. The best thing. EVER! Tiny puppies whining and grunting and crawling around like little army men with milk mustaches and goatees.

I mean.

Just.

What.

I can die now.

And the puppy breath... oooooooh, the puppy breath. Did I mention the puppy breath? I was kissing one of the pubbies goodbye and he started biting my nose and I almost had a seizure from the complete and utter adorability of it all.

Here are some pics of the visit. On your mark... get set... be jealous!!!

Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-TINIEST BURP EVER!

Parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say "goodbye" 'til it be morrow...

(taken with my mom's iPhone - that's why these 2 pixes are iBlurry)

Here are a couple of short video clips I took, too.

Can you even believe the itty-bitty growlage? ACK!

Sigh...

Lilly sent me some pics of the other three babies this week, too. Here they are, being ridiculously adorable, making out and playing with the rest of their puppy play group.

Thanks, ladies! Brina and Lil, you two are my heroines (the girl version of "heroes"... not the kind you have to detox from. Although, truth be told, I may have to check myself into puppy rehab after this.)