Day One Hundred Nine

Monday Monday

Okay, so it wasn't a "real" game. Not even a preseason one. But did the Steelers really have to play so badly last night? We were geared up for a game - finally! My grandkids wanted to hear me scream for joy, not watch their grandmother throw things at the TV! And it's just so awful when they have to hear me swear like a millworker...

Got those Terrible Towels swinging!

At one point my grandson asked me where number seven was? That's Ben Roethlisberger's number. He's the Steelers' number one quarterback who alternates between being loved and reviled (mostly by me.) Anyway, he didn't play. My six year old grandson, dressed head to toe in Steelers gear, looked down at his shirt and said, "But look, Gigi. That's the number I'm wearing and he's not even playing. That's not fair!" Yea, Bud. Life's not fair.

But life goes on. I wasn't expecting much of Monday morning. Andy's wasn't so great. He had to hurry to get the trash to the curb and then he spilled a pound of dry pasta in the pantry. A "good wife" would have offered to clean it up for him. I poured a cup of coffee and went back to bed.

To get back at me, in this forty five year game we have going of "Tit for Tat" - he "accidentally" let Eli into the bedroom. I prepared myself for the onslaught. You may recall, Eli likes to express his love (or disdain - jury's still out on that one) for me by climbing onto my head and digging into my neck with his talons. I put up with it for awhile, until I want to throw him against the wall. Relax, I always stop short of that. Instead, I peel him off my head and, through gritted teeth, ask him to just lie next to me. That lasts for about a minute then he slowly creeps back up and the assault commences. It's a great way to start your morning. So I give up and get up.

That's when the real fun begins. It's a carefully choreographed game of feeding everybody at precisely the same moment, and making sure Dash doesn't get too close to Jack or use Rooney as a bridge to get to wherever he wants to go. Fancy stands over me to make sure I am giving him the same, or more than, everybody else. The dogs go out before and after they eat. I know they're just messing with me.

Jack. He's a control freak. There, I've said it. The screened porch has two doors. One is near the porch; the second one, way on the other side of the pool. On any given day, he will choose the opposite of what you'd like him to do. Even when it's raining and the closer door would be the obvious choice. But Jack is an immovable force who usually gets his way. I mean, if he decided he wanted to go out through the skylights, I guess I'd have to go get a ladder. So, I schlep across the deck to let His Royal Dogness go where he wants. Trust me, if Jack wants to go somewhere or do something, I can't stop him. I'm just lucky he has a kind heart and really loves me. Otherwise, I'd be screwed.

Happy Monday!