Advent of a T-Rex

I need to write up T-Rex's birth story soon, before I forget it. But in the meantime, in case you hadn't heard:

T-Rex was born November 20 at 2:23 a.m. Eight pounds, three ounces and 21.25 inches long.


Mostly he's a quiet and curious (and hungry!) little guy, long and skinny with big blue eyes.

He hates the Moby wrap and ring sling because he wants to be able to look around and neither of them let him until he's strong enough to hold his head up. His favorite is being carried around with his head flung backward over your elbow so you look like you're about to drop him.

I'm having problems with all the cloth diapers gapping around his skinny little legs. Hopefully he'll grow into them a bit better, because right now he practically lives in wet onesies, which is gross and uncomfortable for everyone involved.

Jayne is more or less indifferent to him since he can't throw the kong, but he likes to say hello and lick T-Rex's face a couple times a day. Kaylee took a few days to get adjusted. She was freaking out with jealousy and anxiety over having been left alone for several days while we were in the hospital. But now she's very protective, following him around everywhere and getting upset when he cries. Jayne and the DDH were playing fetch while the DDH held T-Rex; T-Rex let out a squawk as Jayne tried to give the DDH the kong and Kaylee lunged and growled at him to BACK AWAY FROM HER BABY. Pretty cute.

I have a terrible chest cold that doesn't want to get better because I can't actually get more than three hours of sleep at a time. We're all tired, though I'm letting the DDH sleep through the night as much as possible since he has a huge trial going on right now (good timing, right?).

In conclusion, T-Rex is pretty much the best baby ever and we're mostly having a good time, though it's only just now I'm starting to feel like I'm adjusting and able to get things done.

Happy December, everybody!

(For some unknown reason Blogger's not letting me add photos. But I have Instagram now and there are some there as ktindeed.)

Donkeys, Dogs, and Worst Case Scenarios

The dogs and I dressed up for Trunk or Treat at our church Sunday evening:

Mary on the road to Bethlehem with her
donkey and a stray sheep.

Jayne made an astonishingly patient donkey. He not only did not attempt to remove his blanket, but he stood nicely at the DDH's side, stretching out his head for the kids to pet but not jumping up and attacking them with friendliness. Everybody loved him.

In the alternate universe where I have lots of free time, I am getting him his therapy dog certification so he can heal people through the power of animal awesomeness.

In the real universe, he's going to waste all that talent playing fetch at home.

Kaylee hid behind my legs most of the evening but tremblingly allowed several toddlers pat her head. This bodes well for her interactions with T-Rex. I hope. She also tried to kill the DCE's little Bichon Frise dog, but that dog probably had it coming. It was probably making fun of her sheep costume, since it already looks like a sheep, and Kaylee was clearly a beagle with some spiderweb wrapped around her head.

The other dog is at my MIL's house, though whether this arrangement is temporary or permanent I'm not sure.

Two weeks left until the due date! There's a lot left to do but I simply can't muster up any sense of urgency about any of it. I can't muster up much of anything that requires energy right now. The DDH cleaned half the garage yesterday (a herculean feat, I assure you). I fell asleep while folding socks. That tells you something.

I started packing a bag for the hospital on Saturday. I have a little list of recommended items that the hospital gave me. Going down the list in random order, I put in three T-Rex outfit choices, a toothbrush, some CDs (the DDH gave the go-ahead on the Christmas music!). Then I got to the bullet point "Important phone numbers."

"What do they mean by that?" I asked the DDH. "I think this list predates cell phones."

"You might want to write a few of the numbers down anyway," he said. "Just in case something happens."

I think by "in case something happens" he meant "our cell phone batteries die." My mind, however, jumped immediately to, "in case I die." So I wrote down our parents' numbers, the number for our church, and that of our elder. Because, clearly, if I die, the DDH will probably sit there in shock and possibly never inform anyone, but probably the church has a little protocol for walking people through funeral arrangements or whatever and I bet Don would come over and make sure the DDH continued to feed himself for at least the first few days.

By that point, I had decided that obviously I was going to die while in the hospital and so there was no point in packing shampoo or clothes for the trip home and I might as well go do something else, like watch an episode of Castle.

So I did.

The end.

I am the animal whisperer.

Animals are swarming to our house.

Monday night, I went outside because Jayne was barking his Serious Business bark. He was lunging at the end of his lead toward the corner of the backyard by the shed. I looked that way and saw two glowing green eyes staring back at me. Creepy.

I fetched a flashlight and shone it in the direction of the eyes. Turned out they belonged to a little dog, who for some reason had invaded our yard and was just chilling in the corner out of Jayne's reach. So I brought Jayne inside and then coaxed the dog to me and brought her inside, too.

Anybody want this little dog?

We don't really need a third dog. Especially a dog who jumps chain link fences and is crazy hyper. But we have yet to find her owners, and the DDH is getting suspiciously attached to her.

Then last night, I was taking the trash out when a fox dashed out of our yard and across the street. A real, live, honest-to-goodness fox.

(I know what you're thinking--this is like the squirrel story, isn't it? NO. It really was a fox. Our neighbors have a bright light in their front yard and I got a good look at it. Hmph.)

We don't live in the boonies, or even a suburb on the edge of town. Our house was built in the fifties. We're in the middle of the city. But there was a fox, just hanging out. Probably hunting for possums, because did I tell you about the times (plural, as in, more than once) possums have invaded our kitchen? Yeah.

Maybe it's more that all of Tulsa is the boonies....

ANYWAY. Then I was taking out more trash, and this little orange cat dashed up from across the street. He rolled on his back and I pet him a couple times. Then he tried to follow me into the house, because apparently he's the stupidest cat ever and wants to waltz into a house with three dogs in it.

I don't know who hung out the "All Animals Welcome Here" sign, but this is getting extreme.

I am another year older.

My birthday was ridiculous. It was like one of those games of Good News/Bad News. Remember those?

Good News: Breakfast in bed! Scrambled eggs with cheese curds and ananas melon. Yum.

Bad News: I was attacked by a swarm of yellow jackets when I walked out my front door. They stung me in the neck and terrified me into hyperventilating.

Good News: I had no reaction at all to the sting (so maybe it only struck me a glancing blow). My coworkers brought me a cake and took me to lunch.

German chocolate. With candles and everything!

Bad News: In the insanity of the yellow jacket attack I completely forgot about the peach I had stuck in my purse for my mid-morning snack. It took a direct hit from something heavy. Peach ooze everywhere in my purse.

Good News: I was the last appointment of the day for my doctor so he gave me a bonus unscheduled ultrasound. T-Rex wiggled around adorably. He's growing right on track and seems to be perfectly healthy.

Bad News: Walked in the front door to discover the dogs had left no fewer than three piles of diarrhea and one puddle of pee on the carpet (never on the linoleum, of course). The carpet that the DDH had just spent hours and hours cleaning a week ago. Sigh.

Good News: The DDH bought me a big fat ribeye steak from the butcher that we decided to save for a more relaxing evening. Then he cooked some chicken instead.

Bad News: The surviving yellow jackets staked out the front door and we were all out of yellow jacket spray. We had to go in and out the back door until the DDH got more spray, and they finally seem to have dispersed. *crosses fingers*

Okay, so those don't really flow the way the Good News/Bad News game items are supposed to flow. But it was definitely a birthday to remember!

I am letting go of the ideal.

I'm over at Every Breath I Take today posting about my iffy, ever-changing, miles-away-from-ideal yoga practice.

The stillness of the early morning. A refreshing hour spent in a roomy, calm space. Flowing smoothly through an intricate and varied series of poses as grey dawn brightens the world outside my big bay window. Beginning my day strong, centered, and at peace, ready to face whatever the day may bring.

Well, that’s the theory, anyway....

If you've ever struggled with keeping a resolution because your reality looks so far from the ideal (or even if you haven't), hop over here to read the rest. I think you can relate even if you aren't a yoga fan.

Either way, go check out the cute bonus pic of the dogs in "Begging For Breakfast" pose!

While you're there, I encourage you to poke around Jennifer's beautiful blog. She categorizes her posts into four Intentions: Yoga, Parenthood, Relationships, and Faith. And if you do enjoy yoga, be sure to check out her Virtual Yoga Studio. Jen's son Max is due any day now, and she kindly responded multiple times to my lengthy emails with lots of useful advice for practicing yoga while pregnant.

In what areas do you struggle because reality never matches the ideal?

How do you let go and be good enough be good enough?

I am busy (busy, dreadfully busy).

It's busy busy busy around here lately.

My best friend (since sixth grade, which is impossibly long ago. I mean, it was the nineties. Pretty much ancient history) is stopping in Tulsa on Saturday with her grandparents on the way home from a funeral, so we plan to meet up for dinner. It's not much of a visit, but it will be something. I haven't seen her in more than a year.

Tuesday evening my parents and baby brother will be rolling into town. The 'rents will head up to Michigan on Thursday and Misha will stay with us until we head up Friday evening. I haven't seen them since Misha's college graduation last May (2011, not last month), and rarely get to spend quality time with the bro anymore. How is it possible that that kid is twenty-four?

Friday is also our big ultrasound at the hospital. It will be fun to peek in on T-Rex again.

Then we're trekking on up to Michigan for a Dad's-side-of-the-family reunion and will be there about a week. I haven't seen my extended family since my wedding or even longer, and those who didn't make it to the wedding have never met the DDH. I don't really know my family that well, but still. It should be fun. Hiking and shooting and a day trip to Mackinac Island and all kinds of fun stuff (including a grandparents'-80th-birthday-celebration at a vineyard--NOT FAIR being pregnant).

I have a To Do list a mile long, but I enjoy checking things off lists, so that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Have a picture of a beagle curled up very small to break
the monotony of this long and rambling post.

My sister can't come to the reunion, so I'm sending her a thinking-of-you card and $10 to WalMart. Mostly because I remembered to send Misha said gift card for his birthday last week but did not remember to get Sasha anything for her birthday in February. So. I'm a terrible older sister.

I made the DDH a lovely little packing list for the trip, with things he should remember to bring that he always forgets (cell phone charger, toothpaste) and the itinerary so he can plan what he's wearing each day for different activities (my grandpa's a pastor at a fancy historic church in downtown Detroit, so he needs to dress a little more nicely than he does for our church, for instance).

Somehow the DDH just was not as excited about my neat little list as I was. Whatever. My own packing list is four times as long (I'm putting myself in charge of remembering things like a first aid kit and bugspray), with much more detailed daily outfit blanks. And there's a separate packing list for food. He ought to understand he got off easy.

I'm going to try to get some posts wrapped up this weekend so y'all will have something to read over the next couple weeks, but guess what? The intarwebz have mysteriously quit working at home.

When the DDH called the Cox guy, the guy said that he had called to complain about the internet not working exactly one year ago to the day. Mid-June, I don't know why you and the internets don't get along, but y'all need to sit down and work through your differences. You're messing with my plans.

Cox can't come out to look until Saturday evening, so it's not going to be fixed before then.

Hopefully you will understand if I just go silent for awhile. I might actually have to do work at work next week since I'll be gone for a whole week. Alas.

Here's another picture of a beagle as a reward for reading
this whole post.

I am looking back and forward (and have pictures of puppies).

I caught Jayne trying to dig a hole right next to the one we filled with the bag of cement sand yesterday. That said, they haven't successfully escaped in about a week now (knock on wood).

Also yesterday, Kaylee had another seizure. She'll go for months without one and I sort of forget she gets them, and then bam. Poor thing.

Also our neighbors got a new puppy.

So the dogs are keeping me busy.

***

There was a dog show in town over Memorial Day weekend, and this year's Tibetan Spaniel specialty was held here as well (a specialty is a show just for one breed of dog. For popular breeds, it can be a real prestige event; for less popular breeds like Tibbies, it's a great way to pick up majors toward a dog's championship).

Trail of Tibbies.

We primarily showed Rhodesian Ridgebacks in our dog-showing days, but my sister wanted a little fluffy dog and we ended up getting and showing a Tibbie. As with many things ostensibly purchased for my sister (such as the fish tank), I think Howard the Fluffrat* was really my mom's dog. He has since passed on, and she has replaced him with two girl fluffrats, Ruffles* and Apple*.

*Not their real names. I took an adolescent dislike to the small dogs, being a big-dog kind of gal and loyal to my Ridgies, and renamed Ch. Royal D's Kokopelli "Howard." Though they've grown on me, I insist on carrying on the tradition. Ruffles I think is really Ch. Royal D's Diamond in the Ruff and Apple is something something Queen Mab (different breeder, so not Royal D, and she's a pet so was never shown and is not "finished," so no Champion). There's a peculiar logic as to how I got Apple out of that (Ruffles is obvious and Howard just looked like a Howard), but I won't bother you with it here.

I think her name is Bailey.

ANYWAY, all this to say that Howard's breeder was in town for the specialty with Apple's littermate Bo and some bitch (above) that I'm sure is related to Howard or Ruffles in some way but I don't really know. Anyway, we stopped by to watch Sunday's Tibbie classes and say hi to Ruth and the Tiblets. The bitch is a pretty one (see above; adorable, right?) but didn't win anything that day; however she did pick up a major on Friday, which was the last one she needs for her Grand Champion title. She only needs one more point now to finish that and anyway this dog show talk is probably boring.

The point is: cute fluffies and a chat with a friend of the family.

***

This upcoming weekend we have a surprise sixtieth birthday party for a friend at church (when I was younger, I thought sixty was ancient. And it still sounds old, but it doesn't look old. I never guess that my friends who are sixtyish are that old, because in my mind sixty is still a doddering old lady) and my step-sister-in-law's wedding. Party party.

The story of my life at this moment is celebrations: birthdays, weddings, wins.

Or perhaps the better term is connections. The connections that bind me to the DDH's family and his step-father's family to his and my step-sister-in-law to her almost-husband's family. Ties that bind.

The connections we're finally forging at church, making friends as slowly as only a pair of shy introverts can.

The connections between my mom and her friend who is my old dog's breeder and between all the dogs and all the people that own and breed and love on the dogs.

The connections that are forming order out of chaos as I organize the craft room and clean and purge the rest of the house--connections made and connections severed.

The connections broken and reformed when the dogs leave and return. (And a seizure is a kind of leaving, as she becomes completely unaware of her surroundings during it, supposedly.)

Celebrating the connections. That's what I'm up to these days.

***

Some weekend reading for you:

Anne at Modern Mrs. Darcy recommended this post last week, and I'm still pondering it: Legos, Spaceships, Breasts by Kate Bachus. My thoughts might eventually be worthy of their own post, but in the meantime, I leave it for your consideration. Where are you on the boy/girl toy divide?

Speaking of marketing to children, Kathleen Quiring's post today on Children as Consumers and the Invention of the Toddler is interesting reading, as well.

And to go along with the marketing theme, the foodies among you might be interested in this book excerpt posted at The Atlantic, How Vegetable Oils Replaced Animal Fats in the American Diet, by Drew Ramsey and Tyler Graham.

***

What are your weekend plans? What connections are you celebrating right now?

Have you ever been to a dog show?

I am good enough.

Weekends. They're not always what you hope they'll be.

I often come off long weekends (so rare and far between, since we work a number of holidays when the stock exchange is closed) feeling disappointed. Like I've wasted it, somehow. They seem so rich and full of possibility at the beginning, and when I look back at the end, I never seem to have done as much as I wanted to.

No matter what I do, I'm nagged by that feeling of I-could've-done-it-better.

This happens in all aspects of life. It's why traffic drives me absolutely bonkers--because I have the sneaking suspiscion that if I were only good enough--smart enough, fast enough, clever enough, skilled enough, paying enough attention--I would be able to negotiate my way to smooth sailing.

If I were good enough, I'd always pick the shortest and fastest line at the grocery store.

If I were good enough, I'd pick the best route through traffic, the best lane for each segment of my drive.

If I were good enough, I would have a fresh meal on the table every night, my dogs would never run away, the DDH and I would never fight, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

But I can't be good enough to be any of those things.

Some things I can make active efforts to improve at--like meal planning and communicating kindly with the DDH--because improvement really does lie within my control. That's why I set goals and keep track of them.

But not meeting my goals doesn't mean I'm less of a good person than if I hit all my goals on schedule every time.

Some things I can try to account for--like filling in the dogs' holes with cement sand, or keeping an eye out for little old ladies writing checks at the grocery store, or checking a traffic report for construction--but are ultimately out of my control. I can't pave the entire backyard or cut off the dogs' digging paws or account for the stealth check-writers or sudden traffic accidents.

Except there is always something I could do. I could pave the backyard (or get rid of the dogs entirely, since they obviously don't want to live here anyway*). I could do all my grocery shopping online and end the tyranny of check-writers and price-checkers forever. I could refuse to leave the house (or at least refuse to drive) and thus never get stuck in traffic.

I'm stuck in frustrating situations because I choose to put myself there. Maybe that's where the feeling of not being good enough comes from, the acknowledgement that ultimately it is my choice (and thus my failure?) for being in the situation in the first place.

But when I look at the alternatives as being, not having chosen the shorter line, but having chosen to forego all grocery stores forever, I realize how ridiculous I'm being. I realize that beating yourself up over choosing the wrong lane of traffic is a silly way to live.

(The fact that if Tulsa's city planners had just done common sense things like include center turn lanes in their stupid roads, so many of my frustrations would evaporate, is another post entirely.)

I am good enough that a few extra minutes in line won't kill me.

I am good enough that I can be patient in traffic (and note to self: being impatient really could kill me).

I am good enough to set wise goals, to work on them, to fail and learn and try again and sometimes, to give up.

More importantly, I am not in any way and never will be good enough to control everything.

I'm not in control. I never was, and never will be, and figuring out the balance between personal agency (doing things) and personal subjecthood (having things happen to me) is, perhaps, the key struggle for this INTJ. They don't call us Masterminds for nothing.

I'm not in control. But I am good enough.

And for Pete's sake, it's time to stop raising my blood pressure over the dratted traffic four times a day.

The fewer cars, the better.

What makes you feel inadequate? And how do you remind yourself that frustrations are not personal failures or character flaws?

*Not really.

The seasons are turning. I am not.

I wish the seasons meant something to me anymore.

You know?

I wish summer still meant long, lazy days. Reading on the couch, collapsing under the swamp cooler, lining up my toy horses on the front porch. Running errands with my mom and siblings. A soundtrack of talk radio. Dinners on the back porch, talking into the night. Sibling sleepovers in the living room, in carefully constructed blanket tents and kitchen-chair beds.

That almost-endless span of nothing-to-do in which Everything could be accomplished.

With a super awesome birthday in there somewhere, my brother's a month earlier like the warm-up act for my own.

Dog days of summer.

Monsoons, that comforting pattern of sun and cloud and lightning and rain, cool/warm rain to quench the earth's thirst, and ours, for something to break the tyranny of the sun in the desert.

And then the thrill of school shopping, poring over schedules. Planning and dreaming and scheming to make everything about this year perfect. Notebooks and pencils and backpacks and pens. The change of pace, the comfort of routine.

Leaves in the fountain.

School begins in early August in New Mexico, so it always came before cooler weather. The crisp scent of fall didn't tickle our senses until midterms. And then, as it got colder, the excitement of Christmas: another break, another abandonment of now-stifling routine. Trees and lights and church. And presents--presents to request, presents to buy, presents to make, presents to wrap, presents to hunt for in the backs of closets.

The quiet, sated week between Christmas and New Years. The final party, welcome, new year! The return to school, docile with celebration hangover.

Lights in downtown Tulsa.

The hard slog of January, February, March to Easter break. Cold (though not wet like Tulsa, blech). Working day in and day out, routine to the extreme. Ordinary time. 

Spring Break, a much-needed respite. Warmer weather. Lilacs in bloom. The year's most pleasant walks to and from school (or are those in the fall?).

Backyard flowers.

The jittery excitement as summer approaches. A whirlwind of end-of-year activities, yearbooks and goodbyes, final concerts and awards presentations. Exams, later, and scores and grades that mean something. The frantic buildup and the sudden release, all of summer stretching before me in its hazy, fertile glory.

Now it seems like life consists of nothing but that January/February/March slog. The endless routine, always the same. Nothing changes. Nothing to anticipate. The same dreary work, the same evening routine of gym-chores-dinner-tv-bed. Weekends longed-for but wasted in more chores and commitments and an unfulfilling laziness that is only a cheap imitation of rest. The same bleary-eyed awakenings, begrudging the alarm.

Sometimes it's hot, sometimes it's cold. I'll wear sweaters and boots or tanks and sandals. But it's the same stuff I'm doing. No breaks. No vacations. No completion.

And maybe that's fine. There's nothing wrong with my routine, with the tasks that fill my days and weeks and months and years.

I just wish the seasons meant something again.

You know?

I am hunting rabbits.

Hunting rabbits. See the tail?

My mind is aswirl with a million thoughts.

Like the dogs in the backyard, chasing a million rabbits that they'll never catch.*

But few of them are happy ones, and sharing would be whining.

What it comes down to is this: I'm doing too much of what I don't want to do and too little of what I do want to do.

But what it comes down to even more is this: I don't actually know what I want to do.

Or perhaps: I don't know how to do what I want to do.

And then there's this: I haven't showered in almost a week (which isn't too terribly unusual for me, actually) because sewage keeps backing up into our one and only shower.

I mean, Timothy showers every day and it's fine. It mostly only happens when it rains a lot or you run the dishwasher and washing machine at the same time or you run the washing machine more than once a day or for any other combination of reasons that involve the water and/or sewer pipes. But I just know that as soon as I'm standing there covered in shampoo, that's when it will choose to back up next.

And I will never, ever, ever get over the feeling of standing in sewage. So it's best to just not tempt fate.

Of course, there's also this: the dogs have dug under the fence and run away twice in the past week. Once they got more than a mile, across a very busy street. They are going to die because that idiot Labrador likes to dig holes and the moron beagle just tags along behind him.

And it's ridiculous how unloved that makes me feel. Like I'm not good enough for them, and they'd rather be anywhere else.

Then there's the fact that my car's making a funny noise. Or that I barfed Salisbury steak all over the back yard at lunch today and drove pale and shaking back to work clutching a bag of stale tortilla chips. That I've had a miserable sinus headache every day for a week. That a lady at the gym yesterday when I walked in said, "Oh my gosh, Katie, you're showing!" but I think it's just that I haven't been eating well or working out as hard and so I'm getting fat. That I'm whining to a bunch of strangers on the internet (and crying at work) because I don't have any real life friends to talk to.

But Critter had a nice strong heartbeat Wednesday (this maddening Critter that I already love so much that I'm miserable at the thought of abandoning it to daycare the way I know I'll have to).

The DDH's work life is going swimmingly and he seems to still mostly love me and bought me candy yesterday just because I said I wanted something sweet to eat.

We don't have enough money to fix the plumbing or the car but we have enough money to live so long as I keep plugging away at this miserable job that I hate. Even with the cost of daycare. Which was the depressing/comforting realization I came to yesterday after an afternoon spent crunching numbers: we can't survive on just the DDH's salary even if we cut out every extraneous expense. But with mine we can afford the nicest daycare (though maybe not also the gym). Assuming my boss doesn't fire me once he finds out I'm pregnant, of course.

The sun is shining and the weather's supposed to be beautiful this weekend.

I have one whole morning to myself tomorrow with nothing to do but the farmer's market and Zumba and I'm going to make the most of this oasis in the middle of an otherwise drainingly busy weekend.

And I guess for now that will have to be enough.

*Actually they did catch one, once. All that was left when we found Jayne slurping on it were three legs, a head, and a spine, all loosely attached by hollow, bloody, fluffy skin. You're welcome for the mental image. Nature red in tooth and claw....

I am a dog parent.

I have come to the awkward conclusion that most of my parenting theories are based on dog training.

Oops.

But I mean. Prevention and consistency are basically the keys to a well-trained dog.

Don't want him to eat the trash? Don't leave the trash out where he can get it. Because he will never, ever, ever understand why he's not allowed to help himself to the smorgasbord of awesome that resides in that can. He will learn not to do it when you're watching. But as soon as you're gone, all bets are off. That's prevention.

And consistency. If you want to train your dog to sit before he's fed, never feed him without making him sit first. Always use the same command word and/or gesture. If you don't want him to jump up on people or sit on the couch, don't ever let him do it. Dogs don't understand "sometimes" or "with this person only" (well, they do get that one a bit, but not as well as my husband thinks they do) or "special occasion." They just know "do" or "do not do."

(And with the couches, if you think they're not sitting up there anyway when you leave, you're kidding yourself. Unless you prevent the behavior by physically removing them from the couch area with a gate or crate.)

Consistency applies to tone of voice, too. Dogs know to tune you out when you're using conversational tones or sweet-talking tones. They know to pay attention when you use your firm, I'm-talking-to-you,-dog tone. It helps if you say their name first and establish eye contact.

So, like, child-rearing is basically that plus talking, right? Because eventually children, unlike dogs, do come to understand "sometimes" and reasons, and they eventually can (and must!) make their own choices.

I mean, toddlers and dogs are pretty much the same thing. Right? They make noise and poop on stuff and eat things they're not supposed to eat.

Prevention, consistency, and cuddles. Sounds good to me.

Who was it that said I know only that I do not know? Yeah...that's me and parenting, obviously.

Disclaimer one: Please don't report me to DHS. I'm joking, I promise. Sort of.

Disclaimer two: The more I thought about this, the more I realized I could go on with the comparisons: the importance of building a trust relationship, motivating out of love and respect rather than fear, the effect of physical state on mental state, understanding individual personalities, working within the parameters of capabilities (i.e. a dog is not and never will be a human; a two-year-old does not have the same capabilities as a three-year-old, etc.).

But obviously dogs are not actually even human and never will be, whereas children are and will eventually become reasoning (and we hope reasonable) adults--even a toddler is capable of greater understanding and reasoning than the smartest dog, if only because a toddler has language of a sort, which a dog does not.

Anyway. I'm very cautious about saying I know anything, since all my experience with parenting is from every role BUT that of a parent, and obviously that role is completely different from the roles of child, educator, temporary caretaker, and student-of-behavioral-psychology-and-development. Still, it's nice to think that maybe my role as dog-parent has taught me a useful lesson or two for life with human Critter.

I am two.

Oh, hey there, blog. Almost forgot about you.

Life's been a little busy, and I've been a little tired.

And we're not ready to tell everyone (which means, no Facebook), but I'm trying to work through some things in my head so I'm going to tell you, my dear Internet friends (and Jessi, but please keep it quiet for now!):

Yup. Little Critter's ETA is mid-November. The same month as our anniversary. And as DDH's birthday. So that was good planning. -_-

Yay! So other than being terrified, we're very excited (even though I'm going to spend the rest of this point not sounding excited at all but worrying over related matters). But I guess my goals for the year have changed a bit now.

I need to:

1. Learn everything (or at least enough) about pregnancy, childbirth, and babies.
2. Make a nursery and otherwise babyproof the house.
3. Figure out how to babyproof the dogs (they're very loving and protective, but Jayne also sliced my toe open yesterday making a mad dash for his Kong. Soooo....).
4. Figure out how to tell my boss that I'm leaving the firm, hopefully while still being able to work up until the baby's born (the "hopefully" is not because I anticipate illness but because my boss is insane and might just fire me as soon as I tell him).
5. Figure out a way to make some money from home, and/or find a job of some sort to go back to next year.

A massive trip to the library and a judicious amount of googling are taking care of number one.

Number two will begin over the next few months. On a strict budget and with lots of gifty help from the parents...first grandchild FTW.

Number three...I'm guessing google will help me there, too. Though some people suggest using a doll and training the dog to behave around the doll, and that doesn't make sense to me. Dogs identify primarily through smell. A doll doesn't smell anything like a baby, and training a dog to be nice to a piece of plastic has nothing to do with it being nice to an actual person. Really I suspect this will just involve actually training the dumb dogs to behave better (finally! a reason for the DDH to cooperate and not sabotage all my efforts). And trimming their nails more frequently. And constant vigilance!

Numbers four and five, though...blech. For various reasons, starting with my boss is batshit crazy, going through no really, he's insane and ending with also I don't really like finance that much and I'm not that good at it, I do not plan on coming back to this job after Critter is born.

The fact that my salary would approximately equal the cost of good daycare enters into our consideration as well, and is part of the reason why I would prefer to manage to make some sort of money at home rather than by going to a part-time job somewhere. But the fact is, the DDH's ADA job will not quiiiiiitte pay all the bills. (Of course, trying to make payments on his ridiculous law school student loans is really what makes it impossible for us to get by on just his ADA salary...but anyway.)

I've worked as a tutor on the side before, and imagine I could pick up some more of those gigs--except that childcare will again be an issue (though not an insurmountable one, surely).

Here's the thing. Really, Critter just pushed up my deadline. I've been planning to quit my job for a while now, because I hate it. It's both boring and stressful and not particularly rewarding in any sense of the word--except for the sense in which it's reliable, regular income, which going out on my own with any sort of project is not.

But while what I love is writing, editing, cooking, and gardening (and I'm not particularly talented at the last two)...I have no idea how to turn that into any amount of money at all. And I'm getting depressed googling around for online editing gigs and only coming up with scams. Why don't legitimate people want a complete stranger to edit their important documents over the internet? I don't understand. ;-)

So I need some ideas. Is it too much to ask that I

1. Actually make some (not a lot! but some) money
2. Doing something that I actually enjoy
3. That lets me stay at least mostly at home with Critter and his/her eventual siblings, doing what I believe is the most important job of all?

It would be really nice if the DDH could just snag some swank private-sector lawyering gig with a private-sector lawyering income so that I wouldn't have to worry about making my writing projects profitable...but he promised the county four years and he's a man of his word. And he really, really loves his crazy insane stressful heartbreaking job, so I wouldn't be surprised if he wants to stay longer.

Sigh. It's something I need to work on regardless of whether Critter sticks it out (yes, I'm reading too many miscarriage stories on Babycenter), because as scary and uncertain and failure-ridden as doing something else is likely to be, I cannot subject myself to this place much longer.

Help, friends!

I am spring cleaning!

Yes, I know, all I'm posting about is cleaning my house but hey, it's what I've been doing lately.

Here are some before pictures of the master bedroom:

Charming, right?

Well, behind that green curtain you can see the tiniest bedroom closet ever invented in the history of bedroom closets. There is barely enough room in there for my clothes, much less the DDH's. Theoretically, his clothes live in the closet of the guest bedroom downstairs.

In practice, expecting him to shuttle clothes up and down stairs all the way across the house every time he wants to get dressed or undressed or do laundy is...impractical. So instead there were random DDH clothes draped all over the room. It was driving us both crazy.

So I bought a forty dollar portable closet thing and some nice wooden hangars at Target and set them up while he was out of town a few weekends ago. Now his clothes have a place to live that is sensible and convenient.

Which doesn't in any way stop him from draping them all over the room or leaving them in the laundry basket instead of putting them away. -_-

Anyway, the after pictures of my weekend-to-myself cleaning project, complete with picturesque canines:

Isn't that lovely?

Note that neither of the dogs are sleeping on their lovingly designed dog bed den. This is typical during the day, but at night they really do sleep on it and it's adorable.

11 Things at 11:11 on the 11th.

By the time I hit "Publish" it won't be, but I would like to point out that RIGHT NOW it is 11:11 a.m. on the 11th. ^____^ (By the time I hit "Publish," it's not even the 11th anymore...oh well.)

I think the entirety of my online existence in middle school (and, honestly, most of high school) consisted of chain survey emails passed around between my girlfriends and me.

At some point I realized that other people didn't enjoy them as much as I did...and my innate shyness means that I cannot do anything that might possibly irritate, offend, or cause someone to think less of me. So I stopped sending them.

But I love love love them. I am endlessly curious about other people's lives, and perhaps because I'm so shy and spend the entirety of my life crafting a persona I think others want to see in me, I spend a lot of time navel-gazing myself.

SO. Megan at SortaCrunchy tagged me in this little meme and I'm going to do it. SO THERE.

RULES

1. Post these rules.
2. You must post 11 random things about yourself.
3. Answer the questions set for you in the post of the person who tagged you.
4. Create 11 new questions for the people you tag to answer.
5. Go to the blogs of the people you've tagged and tell them that you’ve tagged them.
6. No stuff in the tagging section about you are tagged if you are reading this. You legitimately have to tag 11 people.

11 RANDOM THINGS

1. I own or have owned a variety of dogs, rabbits, fish, and rats, but I have always wanted and never owned a guinea pig.
2. I showed dogs for five years or so when I was younger (elementary and middle school).
3. Monkeys creep me out to the point of terrifying me. Ugh.
4. I have lived in five states and two countries. Technically, I'm a Yankee by birth, but I'm a Southwestern girl at heart.
5. I only shower about three times a week.
6. I am the oldest child of two oldest children.
7. I hate Jon Stewart. He's a pompous, unfunny jerkface and I have no idea why he's so popular. (I also don't get The Office. Obviously my sense of humor is broken.)
8. One of my husband's and my old college friends is currently living in one of our spare bedrooms.
9. I don't like olives, bell peppers, or pepperoni.
10. I eat hamburgers and other sandwiches in circles around the outside edge. The middle bite, where there's a bit of everything (meat, veggies, sauce) is the tastiest and I save it for last. 
11. I have an insatiable sweet tooth and the summer I spent nannying, I went through a 96 oz. bag of M&M's from Sam's Club every two weeks. By myself. I didn't gain any weight because I was spending ten hours a day literally running (and biking) around after two little boys, but amazingly once I stopped this habit, I lost thirty pounds.

QUESTIONS

 

1. Which season is your favorite and why? Fall. Harvest season! The weather is beautiful, there's an abundance of fresh produce, and I like coziness and pumpkin spice. I'm a fan of summer, too, though, and spring when it's finally warm after winter. Honestly, more than the season, I just love a clear sunny day, no matter the temperature. Rain and mud depress me.

2. What is the best deal you've ever gotten on anything? Hmm. When I was in middle school, my Destination Imagination team went thrifting for supplies for our skit. At one of the thrift stores, I found and for some reason fell in love with a stuffed armadillo. I don't remember what he cost; maybe a dollar? Little enough that my limited-income middle school self could snatch him up. Armee has accompanied me everywhere since: to dog shows, on road trips, to college, to Germany. He lives in the bottom drawer of my bedside table and even now if I'm feeling gloomy I pull him out and hug him and think of a sunshiny Albuquerque day and an adventure with friends and all the places we've been together.

3. What is your favorite dessert? Ice cream. Anything involving ice cream and/or chocolate.


4. When was the last time you went to the dentist? Just a few weeks ago, actually. No cavities!

5. Do you prefer older homes or new construction? Older homes (though updated plumbing and electricity would be nice). They just seem more solid, somehow. Built to last. And I love love love hardwood over carpet or tile any time. Our house has hardwood that some idiot covered in hideous Berber carpet, and it is one of our fondest dreams to rip it up and refinish the floors beneath. But bringing the electrical system up to code and replacing the disintegrating cardboard sewage pipes should probably come first....

6. What is your favorite social media platform and why? (Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Reddit, etc) Facebook 'cause my mommy's on it. Ha. No, Facebook seems the most suited for actual personal interaction with family and friends that I don't see every day (or ever), as well as for just sharing those interesting tidbits I find on the web. Though I just started on Pinterest yesterday and it's proving useful so far.


7. Photography: do it yourself or go to a professional? I haven't had a professional portrait taken since my senior pictures for high school. I guess except my wedding pics, which aren't very good. I am a prolific but mediocre picture-taker and would really like some nice, artsy photos of me, the DDH, and perhaps the pets. But, you know, money.


8. What is the last thing you made? Yesterday I made two tortilla pies, beef stew, and some granola bars. Today I made guacamole. I make a lot of food. What was the last non-food thing I made, though? I'm not even sure.

9. Thrifting: love it or hate it? I want to love thrifting. That is, I want to have all these cute vintage clothes for very little money. But I have not found a good place to go in Tulsa and/or I'm just not very good at it. I have difficulty seeing the possibilities of a garment and I never seem to find any treasures (except Armee the Armadillo, of course).

10. Sunrise or sunset? Fiddler on the Roof. ^_^ Sunrise. There's something special about being up and outside at that time of day.


11. What is your guilty pleasure? Long, hot showers, since I am a water Grinch in the rest of my life (desert girl, you know). Also, trashy novels.

I'm not tagging anyone because the only people I know who read me are Megan (who tagged me), Anne (whom Megan tagged), and Sarah, who has an itty bitty baby and negative amounts of spare time. I guess technically I'm tagging you, Sarah, but you can just answer Megan's questions. And, contrary to the rules, anyone else is welcome to play, too.

Yay weekends and middle school flashbacks!

I am dressed (don't ask much more of me)!

For something different, here's a pants outfit that I actually rather liked.  

I think I mentioned that I have two pairs of black slacks and two pairs of gray. Here's one of the gray (not that you can really tell), with a blue blouse and a navy cardigan (both of which I got with mad sale/couponing skillZ at Old Navy) and my nifty long necklace.

You can't tell in the first picture but the blouse is actually a pattern. It's also an actual blouse and not just a t-shirt. I liked it enough to buy two, this blue-on-blue one and a black-and-white one.

Black and white version. Ignore the fact that this
is the most unflattering picture ever.

I didn't get any pictures of my skirt outfits ONCE AGAIN. Nor did I take a picture of the dress I wore yesterday. SIGH. Photodocumenting fail. Still, I am managing to keep that little mini-resolution, which is nice.

I like the cardigan/blouse outfit. It felt put-together and like an actual outfit instead of just clothing. Yay. The big necklace is fun, too, though it gets in the way sometimes.

Anyway, as you can see from the background of the first picture, this is from last Wednesday, when Babydog Beagle was sick (the giant crate in the background). I missed out on a lot of sleep Tuesday night and was bleary-eyed and running late Wednesday morning.

This could have been--and would have been, in the past--a terrible clothing day. BUT as part of my new organizational routine, I decide what clothing I'm going to wear the night before, which meant I already had the outfit, including jewelry, all picked out and ready to go. I know it's trite, but that has made such a big difference. It really helped me keep a positive outlook all that worrisome day.

In Other News:

My church workout classes officially begin today. This is good, because Zumba last night about killed me, and before my Christmas relaxation break I had been getting pretty peppy about that Zumba. I'm excited for that, though not for the pain I will probably be feeling tomorrow.

Choir practice also begins and kids, I just cannot shake this stupid voice issue. I guess it was adrenaline that got me through the Messiah, because it came right back and I croaked most embarrassingly through our Christmas program. I fear that I might need to look into food allergies or something, but since I suspect this will mean giving up cheese and ice cream I am incredibly hesitant. I don't know what else could be causing this sort of long-term slime in my throat, though.

Babydog Beagle seems all better and is greatly enjoying being fed giant amounts of food to fatten her up. Her crate is still upstairs and Labbydor has been enjoying having the door to that room open so he can sleep on the human bed all day. Yes, I know, I'm a terribly interesting person with all my dog stories, aren't I? ;-)

I am getting tired of cleaning up messes.

I was going to post yesterday about how it looks like Babydog Beagle is all better, yay.

But then she was sick again last night. Not as badly as Tuesday, but still. Came home after dinner to a mess and she woke us up in the middle of the night with another. Poor thing.

I'm also feeding her as much as I'm feeding the Labrador to try to fatten her up. I'll probably put her back on a boiled-chicken-and-oatmeal diet this weekend. Sigh.

In other news, I finally mailed my Christmas packages and a first round of Christmas letters yesterday! Nothing like procrastination, amirite? I told everyone to consider them Epiphany presents.

Speaking of which, happy Epiphany! Christmas is now officially over. Time for the decorations to come down. But maybe I can manage to hang on to a bit of that Christmas spirit.

That's certainly what I need.

It's Wednesday, so theoretically I should have a What I Wore post up, but the only picture I've apparently taken and uploaded is a singularly unflattering one of me in a blouse and slacks--a blouse I like enough to own two of, mind you, but still. I hit my goal of a fun skirt outfit last week, but apparently failed to photodocument the event.

Instead, I will tell you about the beagle. Skip if you're squeamish. It will be safe again after the second picture.

The patient.

I came home yesterday to an awful stench and discovered the poor thing soaking in a crate full of diarrhea. I dragged the crate outside and released her into the yard, and luckily the DDH came and valiantly cleaned the crate and the beagle and then the carpet when she ran out of the bathroom after her bath and did it again, on the carpet.

Thank God for the DDH.

Anyway. We finally let the poor sad sick beagle back into the house. I tried to fence her in the kitchen so at least additional messes would be on the linoleum, but no. She climbed over the fence, cuddled up sweetly in the chair, then got up and promptly voided a greater volume of mess than I thought her entire digestive track could possibly hold.

Sigh. She seemed ok the rest of the evening...till she woke us up at 4:30 in the morning with a huge puddle of mostly bile on the floor by her bed. And then, after we got everything cleaned up and were starting to drift back to sleep, with a giant puddle of bile all over OUR bed.

So after cleaning it up and changing the sheets, we stuck poor beagle in a different crate for the rest of the night.

She was very upset when she didn't get breakfast this morning.

Brother and sister.

I'm worried, because she's also lost quite a bit of weight recently. We had cut back what we were feeding her because she was getting fat, but somehow in the past month she's become gaunt. We've been feeding her more the past couple weeks, but now this...I don't know. The poor thing. And I don't know what to do. A vet bill would eat up pretty much the entirety of our savings account...but if she is still sick tomorrow, that's what we'll do.

Labrador is adorable, very concerned that his little-big sister is sick. We put her crate upstairs because it's warmer but left the door open so he could check on her. We have learned the hard way (our back door no longer has a door jamb from Labrador height on down) not to separate them while we're gone.

So this is not the post I wanted to write today. It's not about What I Wore or about my new planner system or how I'm doing with my new goals for the year. It's just me worrying about my poor sick babydog and letting you know how absolutely awesome my DDH is.

That's life, I guess.

Merry Christmas!

Lights in downtown Tulsa.

Christmas Eve eve dinnersnack of Triscuits
and jalapeno goat cheese.

Nascent homemade eggnog.

Fuzzy penguin pajama pants.

 

A beautiful sunny Christmas day.

Meg opening her stocking.

Kaylee investigating her stocking.

Jayne waiting very patiently for someone
to open his stocking for him.

Candlelight service on Christmas Eve.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht.

Peter the Penguin.

House lights.

Luminarias.

Luminaria trail.

Christmas sweaters.

Merry Christmas!

Puppies aren't for Christmas.

Christmas sweaters to the contrary.

And neither are kittens or bunnies or lizards or any of them.

Don't get me wrong. I am of the firm belief that every child person should have a dog (or pet of some kind...but mostly a dog). Obviously, I have two dogs. I grew up with three of them. I've had a plethora of other animals. I can't imagine life without a canine companion or at least some sort of animal friend.

But there is a right way and a wrong way to go about adding a four-legged member to your family.

The wrong way is to impulse-buy an unasked-for cuddly big-eyed ball of fluff, wrap it up, stick it under the tree, and hope for the best.

But the eyes! It's so hard to resist the eyes!

Dogs are a lifetime commitment. They are living creatures, not objects. You have to be prepared to feed, care for, and love to pieces that adult animal for its entire lifespan of seven to twenty years, depending on breed (though, really, no matter how long it is, it's never long enough). You have to put that sucker in your will with provisions for its care in case of your sudden passing.

The American Kennel Club has a great list of things to consider before getting a dog (and once you own one), most of which apply whether you're looking to purchase a purebred or rescue a mutt from the pound. Number 74 on this list is an excellent summary of everything I'm trying to say:

You aren't a dog owner just at Christmas, or on the weekends, or in the afternoon, or when you have spare time. You aren't a dog owner just when the dog is behaving, or when he's a cute fuzzy puppy, or when he's winning awards. When you bring a dog into your family, that dog is yours for life. If you can't keep that commitment, don't make it. And once you've made it, don't break it. Your dog's life depends on you.

Sometimes dogs eat watermelons.
Ask me about the time they drank all the beer.

Puppies are cute. They're also smelly, messy, curious, tirelessly energetic, and helpless, dependent on you for everything. Kind of like babies. Babies with really sharp teeth. They will pee on the carpet. They will shred your favorite slippers. They will wake you up in the middle of the night. They will run around like maniacs at all hours. They will shed on everything even if they never even go into the room where that thing is stored.

They're worth it, but even if you have carefully considered the decision to bring a dog (or whatever animal) into your home, the holidays, with their hectic schedules, hazardous decorations, and general insanity, are not the time to do it. Instead of a puppy, give animal supplies as gifts with the promise to choose a dog when life has settled down in January.

Everyone will appreciate your foresight and patience. Especially your new best friend.

Or friends.