Please look at this other place where I'll be

I now have a blog over at Redbook! Celebration!

Please, my friends, please do not worry that this means you are losing Finslippy. It does not. I will still be here. This only means that you are gaining a me who is also over there. I can be in both places! You will see.

I will be using my Redbook soapbox to discuss issues pertaining to ladies who are mothers and our special mom-lady-problems, with an emphasis on Other Blogs and The Interesting Conversations That Can Be Found Therein. In stark contrast, I will be using Finslippy to discuss my dog's breath, and my pants.

Please register to comment, and then comment. I agree that registration is a pain, but there's no way around it, and you only have to do it once. And then, at some later date, when you're especially enraged by something I've written, you can fire off a furious missive without worrying about registering first. Because you're already in. It's like you're part of an exclusive club. That anyone with an email address can join.

The name of the Redbook blog is "The Mom Moment," and they're amenable to a better name, but I haven't been able to find it yet. So if you have any ideas, hit me. WIth ideas. Figuratively. Bonus points if it doesn't have "mom" in the name.

Now: Charlie's breath. I don't get it. Is he eating poop? Is he pooping, and then eating it, and then throwing it up? He is the cutest dog of all time. I mean, come ON:

Charlie, showing off his new Mod Dog collar

But then he yawns near my face and it's like an old Warner Brothers cartoon where a green cloud spreads out from his mouth and everything that it touches either dies or runs screaming from the room. I think the last time he licked me, my nose cried out "Yipe! Yipe! Yipe!" and grabbed a tiny suitcase from out of nowhere and took off down my face.

On the other hand: he's 13. That's 91,000 in human years. He's earned his horrible death-stink mouth.

Next on Finslippy: my pants! Oh, you'll see.