Last week, we finally got around to celebrating my girl’s birthday … which was in May. Don’t judge. We all have busy lives, right? Anyway, we had a roller skating party for a bunch of her little girlfriends. And I LOVE how important it still is for her to say “Mama, come skate with us!” I DON’T love that my butt still hurts from the two spills I took at the party. (The first was a shoelace malfunction so I chalk only the second up to genetic spazzery.)
Anyway … my point is that we’ll pretty much do anything for our kids. Right? Of course, right. Which is the perfect lead in to today’s post. Remember that hamster my girl’s been angling for since last Spring? The one she swore she could keep Milo from ingesting?
Yeah, THAT one.
Well, a mother can only take so much begging. I guess I kept thinking about the cats … and dogs … and birds … and gerbils … and newts … and fish … and whatever else we managed to coerce MY parents into getting for us as kids. And I broke down. As always, Dave was there long before I was. But he had a pet nutria as a kid, for freak’s sake.
Yes, I AM serious.
Isn’t his expression (and the hind saddle portion of his meat, according to my Cajun friends) delicious?)
Three pet store visits and $50 later … and we had him.
We must have seen at least 30 hamsters that night but my girl honed in on hers immediately. She liked him because he was the runt and he was all wet because he kept spastically falling into his own water bowl. (Sigh.) Do we really need another clumsy little freak around here?
So, anyway, without further ado, please allow me to present the latest member of our family …
- the one Milo is most excited about …
- he poops in your hand but not in your … (Bet I could turn that into the world’s grossest M&M slogan)
- your hamster … and mine …
(Pause for applause … or laughter … your call)
Are you thinking of Fantasy Island, too? Because I just can’t shake it.
… and please don’t kill me.