Governor's 7!

Governor turned seven years old today.  And, so far, all we've managed to do is go on a very long car ride to Ballard**, run into Target, the dry cleaners, the post office, and the gas station.  All the while we listened to Mary Poppins (yet again), as Emilia periodically chimed in with the fact that she did not want to throw up (on account of her feeling car-sick).  Meanwhile, I've just discovered the lovely trick of rolling the window down right when she says she does not want to throw up, it seemed to help her immediately.

Typically, when it comes to Governor's birthday, we cook up a lovely dinner -- a roast chicken or Neapolitan Meatballs are his absolute favorites.  In fact, any kind of seasoned meat would likely do the trick.  I think we will be grilling salmon tonight, which would be his fourth or fifth choice, but what can I say?  At least it isn't tofu.  Anyway, once Emilia is up from her nap, maybe we'll go for a long walk to see the horses or something.  That ought to make the little bugger happy, or at least a bit happier. 

Since my mom and David left yesterday, Governor has been downright despondent -- laying on his bed and giving me dirty looks all day.  Whenever my mom comes in town, Governor takes up position on the couch next to her and does not move until they pack up the car to go.  In fact, I'm fairly certain that my mom is Governor's favorite person in the world -- unless you happen to be holding a seasoned meat of sorts -- then you will be his best friend, albeit temporarily.  He loves to cozy up to my mom, who always has twenty blankets around her, and sleep hour after hour after hour.   

And then when mom and David (and Sugar, too!) get in the car to go, poor Governor is relegated back to one of his beds on the floor.  Because really, as much as I love that little guy, I do not -- I repeat, I do not -- relish the thought of sitting on an extension of his dog bed every time I want to plop down on the couch for a bit.  And as sweet and pathetic as he is, he is also a smelly little thing that sheds.  And to quote Emilia, 'that's grody to the mak!'

Emilia said, while nose-to-nose with Governor last week as we were out on the grass brushing him, 'You're grody to the mak, Gubner!'  Naturally this made me laugh and laugh at the time.  It also made me immediately re-evaluate my own vocabulary and use of slang.  Something tells me I need to update and maybe step into modern times when it comes to the things that sometimes come out of my mouth.  Emilia has also taken to calling him a 'nasty bugger' from time to time, but she also says this about herself before she gets in the tub at night.   

And so, with that, our nasty little bugger gets to enjoy his seventh birthday sleeping in the discomfort of his own bed.  He also gets to enjoy a nice walk (unless it starts raining as NPR has been threatening all day), a tummy-full of salmon, and lots of loves from us all.  He will get a belated present in a week or so, once we can think of something interesting and not junk, that will go in the trash ten seconds after opening it.  Until then, Happy Birthday, Governor.  We love you so much.

**I've decided I don't care if I never go to Ballard again, it took an hour to get to the dealer so we could swap out our newly fixed car for the loaner they assigned to us yesterday.  Besides last time we were there I shamefully locked the car with both Emilia and the keys inside.  (That would be two weeks ago, to be precise.)  While I nearly had a meltdown, about ten men from the dealership stood out there and helped us unlock the car.  One was using a wire hanger and this blow-up device, another drew a picture of all the buttons on the door -- hoping against hope that Emilia could decipher his drawing and recognize which button to push in order to unlock the car.  (Seriously? Even I couldn't figure his drawing out, let alone our two year old.)  Anyway, another stood tapping the window and yelling one of two things: 'push the button!  no, not that one!', and then to me, 'your perfume is delicious!  What is it?  Maybe I ought to get it for my wife.' 

Finally a bonafide genius came walking over to us carrying an entire door in his hands, and showed it to Emilia (who was happily sitting in the driver seat having a grand ol' time, mind  you).  All he did was lift the door up high enough so Emilia could see it, showed her the handle, and pulled on it.  Emilia immediately followed suit, pulled the handle of the door and, there you go, she unlocked the car herself.  And yes, as everyone stood cheering, she said, 'Mama, do it again!'  No thank-you.  However, if you are ever going to lock your child in the car with the keys inside, might I suggest the car dealer as the prime location?