Jenn LeBlanc

Littleish Womens…and other nonesuchery.

Posted by Jenn on April 28, 2011 · 1 Comment 

I have four daughters. (three above are, from left, Sugar, Sass, and Crank.) Like how I did that, I just outed myself like that. FOUR. Insane right? Oh yeah, just ask my husband, poor only boy (save a dog and a cat…which are cancelled out by a female dog and female cat…) I suppose we could poll the mice in the garage.

Anywhoo. My eldest daughter is now 18 and the youngest is nine. It’s a little disconcerting to think I have a legal adult for a daughter. Yeesh. We have been through a lot together. I have always hoped to help my daughters become strong beautiful women. Able to stand up for themselves and those in need. Able to laugh at themselves and others. Able to use humor to bring out the best in people and to diffuse ugly situations. Yes. My goal was to raise a group of superheroes. I can only hope I have succeeded in some small measure, and in some of them I can see it.

Crank —18— is a bit unsure of herself, but funny when she wants to be, though her death-stare could explode heads at 50 paces without warning, and has enough heat you can feel it through walls. She can also whip out a mean Snoopy dance, so watch it. P.S. she is also a ginger…you know what that means.

Sugar —15— was blessed with my hair (I am SO sorry) but has figured out how to tame it at a much younger age than I did. (In my defense— the tool of my day was a crimping iron, she has a straightener, I call so not fair.) She is sweet and bubbly and everybody loves her, I mean LOVES her. But watch out when you turn your back because that is when her eyes narrow and the daggers shoot out, measuring you for truthfulness and sincerity. If you are found lacking she will be able to compute your error in moments, and turn you on your ear before you can say “Hey blondie!”

Sass —14— I actually had nothing to do with until she was 2. But then the game was on. Fixing all the crazy her Dad had pushed on this poor girl. Nothing but sports and shorts. Kidding, but she is her father’s daughter. This one doesn’t wait for you to turn before her steely-eyed glare is unleashed. You’ll know it’s coming with a slight widening of her eyes, and the cock of her lips to one side. All I can say is…duck. And if she laughs…run.

Danger —9— is just plain evil. No. Seriously. I’m just hoping to stay in her good graces so when she takes over the world I have an ‘in.’ A front row seat on the winning side. I think she does complex scientific notations in her sleep. When awake she is generally cooking, destroying the house and terrorizing the animals, as well as running experiments on her older sisters. Yes. Human reactionary experimentation. I will walk into a room where 18, 15 and 14 are yelling at each other and 9 will be sitting in the corner watching with her Pinky and the Brain grin on her face. You know she has just masterminded the perfect coup.

I would be remiss to not introduce Mr., who is usually hiding in his man-cave, watching Raylan on the DVR and wishing there was more balance to the universe, and more racing in Denver.

The animals, in order of appearance of course, (the only fair way to do it) are as follows:

Baci (officially the very pretentious: Rocky Dane’s Baci per Tutto out of somedog and some other dog I can’t remember) is an almost nine-year-old great dane. She is the most hyperactive great dane I have ever met. Regardless of her age. And if you know danes, you know 9 is OLD for a dane. So we expect her to slow down…any day now. Aaaanny day. Like tomorrow. Baci, my sweet is a boston. So she is black with a blaze and boots, and now has grey whiskers. The only giveaway to her advanced years. Last year the little [redacted] sweetheart jumped a four foot fence, but balked at the last minute and tore her leg open on a spike. We thought for sure the 12 inches of stitches was going to slow her down. mmmnope.

Samsun. (named as such by the pound, and someone who said “get it? Sun because he is orange! tee hee”) And we didn’t rename him because, well, I don’t do that. (Usually). Anywhoo, he is a big beast of a cat. Or in the word of the dude who fixed my furnace “DAMN!!! That cat is HUGE!!!!” Yeah, he’s big and awful pretty. He also has the love of all the girls, and there was only one whisker cutting incident with Danger, to which he promptly taught her he wasn’t game for that sh!t and piss off.

Zeus is our second dane and the last of the men in here, though he is the biggest chicken I’m pretty sure Sam would disavow that statement before the world and the mailman. He needed a temporary home, and was promptly ‘forgotten’ by his forever home. Whatever. If you don’t want your animal just say so. COWARD. Ridiculous. Zeus is a registered fawn. That is all I know because we have no paperwork on him. She told us he came from a breeder out of Florida with his brother, Leonidas, who she kept. Whatever. He has a home, though Baci is getting crotchety in her old age and the poor boy rarely has a bed by morning. She is such a bitch.

The fourth and final four-legger is Delilah. Crank found her down the block in the middle of the night and brought her home, because we have coyotes. We thought she was feral at the time, but the next day learned she lived at the opposite end of the block with a family whose children liked to throw her on the trampoline, carry her by her legs and tail and feed her nothing but bread crust (boy that was a fun habit to break.) So we just kinda…kept her. Shhh. Oh, they moved a couple years ago so whatever. Spawns of satan. D is a bit of an oddball, not much of a people cat (uh…duh) but she has slowly warmed up to us…and four years later she might let you pet her for a couple strokes…but not too much. Back off man, she likes her space. She also like to beat the hell out of Samsun. Yes, Samsun and Delilah. Crank brought her home and said I’m calling her Midnight, and I said, no. Her name is Delilah. (in my defense, she had the previous name for all of 5 minutes, and Delilah totally fits.) Also she looks like the night fury, toothless, from How to Train a Dragon. Except with hair.

There it is. All this chaos packed into 2,000 square feet. (Oh now you’re scared right?)