Introducing....

The newest member of the Gumpert household.

Eva Gabor - age 8 weeks.



Eva was my Christmas present per se. We adopted her through a rescue group out of Bremerton. She was part of a litter that was born to an outside-only cat and with the snowy conditions they were taken in by Collar of Hope.

She was the only Tortie of the bunch.

Considering the fact that we already have two Torties - Magda and Zsa Zsa - and know how quirky they can be and the various medical problems they can possess -we decided "what the hell" and brought the little furball home on Christmas Eve.

It was perhaps one of the best decisions we could have made. Both Zsa Zsa and Magda took to her within a day. She is the perfect combination of both their personalities and can hold her own.

Zsa Zsa has not eaten plastic since Eva has been here. She's too busy following her around like a mother hen.

We even caught Zsa Zsa and Eva snuggling last night on the bed.



And unlike when we adopted the older girls 3 years ago, we are very happy with the rescue group Collar of Hope.
The director Theresa was great to deal with and even drove through crazy snow to hand-deliver Eva to us.
Eva came to us happy and healthy unlike Zsa Zsa and Magda who were not only kept in disgusting conditions but came so ill that we found ourselves with nearly $500 in medical bills for them within the first week.

All I can say is I am relieved the place we got Zsa Zsa and Magda from is no longer part of Pet Finder.

And while you may hear my husband grumbling about the fact we have another kitten, when no one is watching he's cuddling, baby talking and playing with her.

Whose Christmas present was she again?

When the weather outside is frightful.....

Let me just say it.

Snow blows more than hooker playing the trumpet.

It's cold.
It's wet.
It's slippery.
And most of all it has the capabilities of making me willingly commit myself to an institution after a matter of days.

This past week we received nearly a foot and a half- if not more- of snow at our house.



Being that we live on a gravel road outside the city limits, plows are only a figment of the imagination. They do not exist for those who choose to shun cookie cutter subdivisions and say no to paying the city for utilities.

With so much snow and ice I was literally stuck in the house with a stir-crazy toddler for ONE WEEK. Add my husband into the mix for five of those days and I seriously was ready to flee to Mexico.

Despite my best cleaning efforts, my house is now trashier than a trailer park on the Fourth of July.

I mop the floors, my husband walks over it with is muddy boots.
I do the dishes, my husband leaves his all over the counter.
I pick up toys, my toddler dumps them as soon as I leave the room.
I fold laundry, my toddler dumps it and my husband tosses it back into the baskets for ME to re-fold.

Yeah snow just doesn't work for me.

Letting myself go.....

Things have been a bit nuts here in the Moose household for the past few weeks.

An unexpected visit from my husband at Thanksgiving was great but threw our toddler's schedule into a such a tizzy it's left mommy a sleep-deprived shrieking shrew the past few weeks.

Nothing says Suzy Homemaker like two hours of sleep with a side of night terrors for two weeks straight.

So what do I do with myself during these sleepless hours?

Clean - NO
Crochet - NO
Compose symphonies in sync with my toddler's tantrums - NO

Instead, I read useless celebrity gossip on the computer.
Why?
Because it makes me feel somewhat better about my pathetic existence. Nothing makes me better to be a chubby housewife than reading about Madonna's 76 million dollar divorce or what Nick Lachey and his family ate for dinner at a restaurant

But there are times when I come across something that just makes my chubtastic butt madder than a neutered Charlie Sheen.

A few days ago I came across a People Magazine article about Michael Phelps. Being a former competitive swimmer plus the fact that well.... hell.... he's just plain HOT, I of course couldn't resist reading it.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving me feeling giddier than Nicole Richie eating a cheeseburger, this article made me feel like poo.

According to People, Michael Phelps is "Letting himself go."

Why?

Because the fat ass is apparently tipping the scales at 205 pounds and taking "a break" from his training schedule.

WTH?!!

If Michael Phelps, a 6 ft plus swimmer is letting himself go at 205 pounds than I - a 5-ft-3-inch 203-pounds SAHM - have not only let myself go, I've hailed a cab and found myself sipping Mai Tais and scarfing down pizza in Blubberville.

It's bad enough I feel like the wart on the underside of a Monkey's ding dong most days when I look in the mirror. It's even worse when I read things like this, condemning someone for actually looking NORMAL.

Weight is only a number.
Just because Phelps isn't at the peak of Olympic fitness right now doesn't mean he's an overweight lazybutt.

He's probably in better shape at 205 pounds than I ever was at 135 pounds. I could only dream to have that kind of physical fitness.

I'm slowly working on getting in better shape. It's going to be a long haul and filled with frustration and probably a few french fries, but I'm not going to let articles like this eat at my confidence anymore.

I'm fat.
I know it.
I'm dealing with it.
Get over it.