Cookie Monster FOUND!

With the odds stacked against him, a courageous stuffed toy, "Cookie Monster" crawls his way through the brush and out from a dark hole in the Christie yard, collapsing on the open grass, where he is whisked away by a preschooler with a toy helicopter to the laundry room. When his ruthless attacker, Hell Hound, the family dog, stalks him there, Cookie Monster bravely stands his ground from atop the washing machine, shouting Robert DiNiro's infamous catchphrase from Taxi Driver, "You talk'in to me?!!" After several agonizing days of being held captive by Hell Hound, who reportedly moved the poor stuffed toy to several holes throughout the yard, Cookie Monster is physically drained. He is currently in hiding under baby Bigfoot's toddler bed.

(Editor's note: Yes, reader, I am crazy, but here's a secret, life is more fun this way.)

Cookie Monster: "You talk'in to me!?"

Mommy "Be's a Tective"

It's another adventurous day in Mommy Land, where trouble is brewing thanks to my nemesis, Hell Hound. The princess approaches me in the garden, out of breath. "Mommy, Mommy! We have to be tectives. Hell Hound swiped Cookie Monster! You bring your shovel, and I'll use my tective sploring device. Follow ME!"

Reader, I know you remember "Duck" and his dramatic rescue a few posts ago. Unfortunately for this high-profile celebrity stuffed toy, I'm afraid it may be too late. Cookie Monster was last seen this morning on the foot of baby Bigfoot's big boy bed, sprawled face down, resting comfortably. It seems that Hell Hound, while wandering the house looking for something evil to do, passed baby brother's room where she discovered the victim, whom she has been stalking for several months, within reach on the toddler bed.

Next thing I know I'm running through the yard behind the princess, shovel in hand, looking for anything blue and furry. This is actually a normal day in the life of this stay-at-home mom. It's an odd, and sometimes "ri-dick-oo-lous" job, but highly important, none-the-less. Grabbing the camera from the kitchen table, I decide to pressure the beast Paparazzi style, but she nearly eats it, citing her right to an attorney.

After three grueling minutes of searching for poor Cookie, the princess and I are faced with a hard choice: keep looking, or go and eat lunch. We choose the peanut butter and jelly.

Will Cookie Monster ever be found? Only Hell Hound knows.

The Disappearance of Duck, Part I

The dog, whom I affectionately call "Hell Hound," is a plush toy psycho killer. When she was a puppy, and I was childless, I thought it was funny that she ripped every stuffed toy I handed her to shreds. I guess the Dog Whisperer would give me an "F" for my pet parenting skills. I say, if I had to mess up my first try at parenting, I'm glad I practiced on my dog.

Just when I think all are sleeping peacefully I hear a shriek from Princess' room. "MAMA! DUCK IS MISSING!" I play dumb. "Where did you see him last?"

The princess lets out a heavy sigh. "I left him outside and now he's lost at the spooky night in the dark, dark forest." Her lips quiver and form that sad look that makes me want to trek out into the mosquito filled yard to dig up a stuffed duck.

Thinking quickly, I decide to lie to the little angel. "Don't worry about duck! Mommy found him, but he is dirty! So he decided to take a swim in the washing machine and you'll have him back tomorrow."

The princess smiles, squinting. She closes her eyes and falls back asleep, still smiling.

Nice job mommy. Now I have to find that duck before sunrise.

The Disappearance of Duck, Part 2

Hell Hound is sitting on the back stoop staring into the darkness when I approach. I lean really close to her face. "Alright, Where's Duck?" Hell hound looks down at the ground, and fakes a sneeze.

"That duck better show up alive by morning or you're moving out," I warn her. She stares at me with droopy eyes, feigning amnesia no doubt. I look out into the yard. It's past dusk now and bugs are everywhere. I'll never find duck without light, so I decide to get up early the next morning to begin a search mission.

Hell Hound avoids me for the rest of the evening. At two a.m., she's attempting to jump on my bed. I hear, "Tap, Tap, Tap, PLOP!" She's trying to gain the momentum for the leap, but the size of her furry rear prevents her legs from take off. I roll over to catch her by surprise. "Where's Duck," I hiss. We're nose to nose in the dark. Startled, she mutters a quick growl and retreats to the corner to settle on the floor.

I rise early the next day, and grab the garden shovel from the shed. Hell Hound follows me, suspicious. I decide to act busy and spy on her. She doesn't disappoint me. She goes right to duck and moves him to a new location in the yard. I'm relieved because it looks like he's still intact.

Hiding behind the basement doors, I watch Hell Hound bury duck again. When she settles down next to her hostage to keep guard, I roll my bait in her direction. It's a chocolate chip cookie. Her nose lifts and she stands. I pounce on her when she approaches the cookie. I tie up Hell Hound on her leash and go to save duck. I find him full of mud and slightly battered, but otherwise unharmed. In the hole where Hell Hound buried her, there is an interesting assortment of lost objects: an old library card, a piece of junk mail, a chewed blue ball, a rusty key, one of my husband's dress socks, a soda can, a broken cell phone, a chewed leather wallet, a police badge, and remains of countless other stuffed animals.

I retreat to the house with duck, ready to put him in the wash before the princess wakes up. Hell hound is panting. She knows I dug up her stash. I unleash her and she runs directly to it, moving things to some other place. Some of those objects are really bizarre. Maybe she's planning an escape. I wonder, could I be that lucky?