We now have a guest room. So...

Come visit us!!

Move out of my way people

There are few things that can get me from zero to sixty in no time flat. Zero being...Everything is right in the world and made of marshmallows. Sixty being...Don't get near me or I might rip your face off, chew it up, spit it out, then drop kick it through the window. What? You don't feel rage such as this? Anyway, I like to call them the precursors to an IBM or Instand Bad Mood (a term coined by, I believe, the author of The Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life). Nothing to do with a bowel movement, although maybe that would lighten things up a little. Here are mine

1. Chewy Chicken. ESPECIALLY when I've spent a pretty penny on the organic stuff. My heart rate is starting to increase just thinking about it.
2. Hot water turning to cold during a shower. Maybe if I had some warning or something, I wouldn't want to melt down like a toddler who hasn't napped in a week.
3. Sticky floors. The feeling of the sole of my shoe lingering just a tad longer to the floor than it should, mixed with that crinkly scrunchy sound it makes, is just too much.
4. Losing something that I just saw. Really- scissors don't just get up and walk themselves. This one's gonna land me in the loony bin if it happens one more time.
5. Banging my shin on a sharp surface. Why is this so maddening? Is it because I have no one to blame but my clutsy self?
6. Showing up to church EARLY and there are no seats. Sure, they aren't full of people, but instead people's scriptures and bags. I'm just waiting for the day that a member of the bishopric will read a letter at the pulpit from the first presidency banning the very act of saving seats in church. Period.
7. Finding dirty dishes in the dishwasher after the cleaning cycle is complete. When this happens, I usually blame my husband or the dishwasher. Either way, this makes me crazy.

What puts you in an IBM?

The winters here...

I've recently resigned myself to the fact that Houston weather...sucks...for lack of a better word. I've already mentioned how miserably devilish the summer is and without hardly any 60's and 70's in which to frolic in the fields, it turned to 30s and 20s. And 30s with humidity is COLD. Like sweater wearing, coat wearing, hat wearing, mittens wearing cold. But I think it feels colder mentally because I was expecting this wonderfully 60 degree winter and I'm bitter that I endured triple digit heat because "the winters are so nice."  But, I've accepted it. I'm pretty good at making the best of a situation when I really don't have a choice in it anyway. (Not that I don't have a choice in living in Houston. I just don't have a choice in how the weather's gonna be).  I can officially say, "I like it here but the weather sucks." But then, one December day, I go outside to get in my car and think, wow. It feels warm. I get out my phone and look up the weather. It is 69 degrees. 69 degrees in the middle of December. That's "nice." That's better than "nice." So. I did a little frolicking in the field and I've now decided that the jury is still out on the weather in Houston.

Everyone told me how much I'd miss the season changes and when I went back to Utah in October for a visit and saw the beautiful leaves, I realized I would miss that more than I thought. And then this morning, I look outside from our dining table and here is what I discoveedr in my own backyard.

Pretty, huh? And those trees in the back will stay green all year long. And as far as season changes, going from the 20's to the 70's in one week is all the change I need. And I thought Utah weather was unpredictable...

There's one in every family.

A booger eater.

And ours is Ty

Disclaimer: This post is gross.


He'll look me square in the eye, stick half his finger up his nose, dig for his treasure and, with no shame, stick it right in his mouth.

I had high hopes that we escaped this disgusting habit. Boogers never appealed to Colby or Kara.  I figured just really gross kids did that. Colby and Kara were booger pickers, that's for sure. And I found boogers just about everywhere you can think of. Kara's booger destination of choice was her bedroom wall and Colby's was the carpet. But everytime I found a dried up booger, I tried to remember that I'd rather it be there, than in the mouth of my child.

I don't find boogers on the wall or carpet anymore. They are in Ty's tummy instead.

Perhaps I should blame myself. No- I don't eat my boogers. Really, that's gross. Nor did I as a child. Atleast I'm pretty sure I didn't. However, I have a mild obsession with my kids' boogers (to pick, not eat. That's even grosser). If I see one, I can't let it alone. I really can't. I'll lose sleep over it. At any cost, it shall be gone. Even if my fingernails are freshly cut and my poor baby's nostils are tiny- it must be done. It's mean and probably borderline child abuse.

And now Ty prefers his own finger over mine and unfortunately, boogers over many edible delicacies.

Here's to hoping the habit disappears by the time he's...I don't know, 16? No. Let's go with 13.

Gecko Inn and Suites

Looking at this scene put me in a good mood this morning. I've been giggling about it ever since.

This is our current "pet" gecko, Burp. We've had many since they love to frequent our yard, garage and house. Burp, Rango and Beans are just a few that have graced our presence. It's original home made out of leaves, tree branches and grass just wasn't...fresh and hip enough. Clearly it needed a soft, warm barbie bed and a lamp for when it gets scared of the dark. After seeing it sprawled out on the bed like this in the morning, I thought maybe it had died of comfort or at the very least, was on it's death bed. But when the kids got home from school and checked on it, it was as alive and energized as ever, most likely because of it's good night of rest. We hope to have a few more occupants tonight and if they too survive the night, we might just have ourselves and little gecko bed and breakfast. Minus the breakfast.



Reason #67 it's great being married to a pilot

Just because we live in Texas, doesn't mean we can't still enjoy Utah peaches.

It's a Miracle

What is that in my driveway you ask?  Yes. Yes, it's a truck. A truck which holds all of our things.  We weren't sure we'd ever see that stuff again. Welcome to Houston stuff. Welcome to Houston.

This truck has been places. It made it's way to California, then New Mexico, then to Utah, then back to California and then back to Utah. I suppose it's GPS was just confused. Or maybe the driver thought he was driving a tour bus from Utah to California and then took a detour to New Mexico somewhere along the way.  And just incase you are thinking about hiring this fun sight-seeing, detouring company, you should know that that would be a very bad idea. If I can help it, ALL UNITED VANLINES (not United Vanlines) will be going out of business. DO NOT HIRE THEM. Tell your friends. Tell your family. Tell everyone. I'm hoping to start some bad publicity right here on this very blog. It may not have many readers now but you just wait.

So now my house looks like this

You may ask yourself, 'how did she live without her stuff for so long?' After the last three weeks, I've wondered that myself. I kind of consider myself a modern-day pioneer, if you will. I went without a washer and dryer, the internet and even a kitchenaid. I know, brutal.  But really, I've never been so happy to have a garbage can. I now know I never want to live without a garbage can.

In other news, here is what I've learned so far living in Houston, Texas.

1. Bet you didn't know that banana meat can turn to liquid magically on it's own. Only in Houston. Don't even think about buying a bunch of bananas that are slightly green in hopes you'll be eating lovely just-barely-ripe bananas for a few days and even better, having some nice brown bananas for sweet sweet banana bread.  Within half a day, they are brown and spotted and in three days, they turn to mush and start leaking banana goop.  How do people make banana bread around here? And chips, cereal and crackers go soft and yucky really quick. That is, if the ants don't get to it first.

2. Everything really is bigger in Texas. Like crazy-intense kind of bigger. Crazy about football. And every other sport on the planet. Crazy about school.  Crazy about...more stuff that I can't think of right now.

3. Texas is cheap to live. This is a myth people. A myth. Recreational sports are double, if not triple the price. Milk? a dollar more. Property taxes? Six times more. And the list goes on.

4. Southern hospitality is not a myth. All the kids say yes maam and yes sir. Everyone holds the door open for you and everyone smiles and waves.

5. Layers of clothing do not belong here. Ever. Ok, I've only lived here for three weeks. In August. During a record breaking heat streak. Layers of clothing=angry Shannon.

6. You don't need  mountains to live in a beautiful place. I've never been anywhere so flat. But there's trees everywhere. Super tall ones with skinny little trunks that look like they'll blow over with the slightest wind. And they're everywhere. At least where we are.

7. And with heat, humidity, and the forest, comes bugs and creatures. Lots of them. I've lived through four fire-ant bites and miraculously, my kids have escaped hem so far. The kids are having a blast catching frogs and lizards and chasing after squirrels. And there are dead armadillos on the side of the road. We have briefed ourselves on the different varieties of snakes, venomous and non-venomous. Now we know which ones to catch and keep in the garage and which ones we just admire from afar. Red touches yellow, kill a fellow. Red touches black, won't attack. Or was is black touches yellow, kill a fellow? Crap.

 That's a tiny frog sitting on a quarter.

I will continue to update on the things I learn here in Texas. Til then.



Shannon is bothered

First of all...I love Sesame Street. And I love that my 2 younger kids call it Stefanie Street-a testament to their adoration of their beloved auntie.

I'm sure I liked Sesame Street as a child,  but I specifically remember being smitten with it while nannying for 2 little boys in California. I was taken with a clever spoof on Madonna's Material Girls. That's when I realized that the writing for Sesame Street was geared towards more than just 2-year-old toddlers whose parents- or nannies- put them in front of the TV in hopes they learn their colors. It's also for the entertainment of laundry-folding mothers who may or may not need a quick confidence boost that they are being good mothers since Sesame Street is clearly quality televised programming.

After my short time as a nanny, I missed a few episodes of Sesame Street-maybe 8 or 9 years worth. And for one reason or another, Colby was deprived of Sesame Street as a toddler-- maybe because I never knew what time it was on, or because the newer, hipper shows like Little Einsteins and Backyardigans appealed to me- I mean him- more. Maybe that's why Colby didn't learn his colors until he was almost four...

Anyway, I have recently re-discovered Sesame Street, mainly because we now have a DVR which allows me to tape it for my kids' viewing pleasure, any time they wish. And after all this time, I still think the writing and content is quite clever. It's hilarious to see random celebrities like LL Cool-J do the "word of the day" without trying to laugh. And, Murray Has a Little Lamb?- genius and so funny. Seriously, tell me you've ever resisted bustin' a move to that catchy little jingle. But... I have a few bones to pick. Specifically with Elmo and Baby Bear. 

It's always bugged me that Elmo speaks in third person. "Elmo has an idea..." I can just imagine how confusing this is for kids. 'Who is he talking about? I thought that was Elmo.'  Or it can go the other way. The way where Elmo is modeling the incorrect grammar, just at the age where kids are learning  pronouns. I don't like this. I don't like it as a Speech Therapist now and I didn't like it before I was a Speech Therapist. And, why is it that most toddlers latch on to Elmo before any other Sesame Street character? Why not Big Bird or Telly who both have excellent grammar?

And don't get me started on Baby Bear. Well, now that we're talking about it. He, or she, (do we really know it's gender?) doesn't correctly produce his /r/'s. Have you noticed this? Of course you have, it's obvious.  Or is it. One moment he says a /w/ for /r/ and then magically the next moment his /r/ is perfect. This drives me crazy!! If you're going to mispronounce your /r/'s, at least do it every time! And even though he's a "baby" and babies don't usually have their /r/'s yet, he can still talk in a lame baby voice but provide a good model of speech for our children. I don't know about you, but I'm totally relying on Sesame Street for my kids' speech development.

Oh, that feels good to get off my chest. And with those complaints, I still like Sesame Street. So much in fact, that Ty is watching it right now.  I mean, it's either Sesame Street or actually playing with my child while modeling good /r/'s and pronouns- but why would I do that?

Murphy's Law

or otherwise known as "Richins" Law.

At least it should be.

Or maybe it's just plain ol' good irony.

Call it what you will.

As my previous post mentioned, after we went on a rather pricey trip (that we saved for) for our anniversary, we came home to a dead fridge which started a domino affect of appliances dying. 

And it hasn't stopped yet.

Last week our furnace died.

Thank goodness Cameron is a do-it-yourselfer because he went on the internet and figured out how to fix it.
7th bullet dodged. It's about time.

However. We started a new health plan this year which give us really low monthly premiums but really high deductibles. It ends up being less per year as long as you don't have any really expensive medical expenses. Since we generally don't go to the doctor a ton, we decided to give it a go.

The new health plan started January 1st.

In the last 5 days, I've had two freak things happen to me, that required two different trips to the doctor, a trip to the Instacare, an EKG, a cat scan, loads of blood work and a minor surgery.  Oh, and I'm fine. If you want details, give me a ring- it's fun stuff.

What am I supposed to be learning? Obviously I haven't learned it yet...

Dreamy

I've always been one who loves the change in seasons. I never thought I could live somewhere where the weather didn't go from one extreme to the other. You don't appreciate the good 'til you experience the bad, right?
I'm pretty sure I could live with today's weather...FOREVER.  I don't even know how warm it was, I'm guessing the mid perfects. It was overcast. I was in pants and a short sleeved T-shirt. Not for one minute was I too warm, nor too cool. No wasps to speak of. Okay, there were some, that was today's only flaw. I could have stayed outside all day.

Best day ever.  I could get used to this.

Breakfast

at our house this morning

This is 3 degrees warmer than when we woke up this morning (and the time is wrong- it was about 9:00 am when I took the picture).

Ya, our furnace is broken. 

Isn't if funny how you're so good to never touch the money in your "home repairs" fund for say, 7, maybe 8 months and watch it accumulate nicely for the inevitable breakdown to occur and then when it doesn't, you think, 'what the heck, nothing's breaking down- let's good ahead and take a good chunck of money out of it for some home improvements' and then THE VERY NEXT DAY, and I'm not exaggerating, your furnace goes out. It's really quite hilarious.

Blog Books

Does anyone know how/where to make your blog into a book? I've checked out a few places which haven't been successful. They either won't do blogger or they won't do books over a certain amount of blog posts which I exceeded, and then wouldn't let me split it up. 

Every once-in-a-while, I start to panic thinking I've got to get this blog into a hard copy.  It really is my ONLY form of family history or journaling, etc. and I'm paranoid I'm going to lose it somehow.

PLEASE let me know if you know where and/or have made your blogger blog into a book.  Thanks!!!

Super!

Is it just me or did the word "super" make a comeback in the last decade or so?  Or maybe it's just that I've passed the age where you are forbidden to use it, say, age 14-27 with a few exceptions of course, like if you're an elementary school teacher, a clown, Barnie, or gay.  Though I've never been a big fan of the word, somehow it has snuck back into my vocabulary in the last few years and even takes me by surprise when it come floating from my mouth.

It wasn't until last week that I've decided to retire it completely from my vernacular (and have since decided that I can start using the word "vernacular") when I used it unsuccessfully while eating at a restaurant with some friends. The conversation went something like this.

Me: What is super popular here?
Server: Uh, we have all kinds like Chicken and wild rice...
Me: No, I mean, what is REALLY popular here?
Server. Well, most people really like the French Onion, but the Minestroni is good too.
Me.  Uh, thanks.  I'll just get the Red Robin burger please.

I'm pretty sure our server was in the 17-21 age range. Now if I can just get "oh rats" to catch on again.

Irrational Fears

I have two of them.



Sirens and wasps.



I am a grown woman. Why I have such fears, remains a mystery. Just when I thought I was on the road to recovery (as evidenced in this post), a minor incident puts me at square one.


Picture this. A very confident, fearless, dignified mother...wait a minute, that's not right. A... mother is walking on the sidewalk with her 3 adorable children on her way to afternoon Kindergarten. And out of freaking nowhere, a "honeybee" as Kara so naively puts it, flies into the little puff of bangs that are pinned back on the top of her head.


Honeybee. Calling it that makes it sound so innocent. Does this sucker look innocent to you?





Uh, I don't think so.


Anyway. This isn't the first time a bug or bee or something, has gently "bumped"' into my hair and continued on it's merry way, leaving me with the passing thought, "I sure am glad I didn't wear a lot of hairspray today." This particular time, I had the same thought which was quickly replaced with a sinking feeling that I did go a little out of control with the hairspray earlier that morning.




Very calmly, I asked Colby to look on top of my head to see if there was a bee there. While quickly nodding his head he said, "Oh no Mom. There is!" And that was it. A grown-up fit. A display of pure fanatical madness at it's best. I don't remember exactly what happened but I'm pretty sure it involved me whipping my head to and fro and a convulsing body. I do remember tripping over the stroller and landing on the hard pavement. I have skinned elbows to prove it.
Since I wasn't sure the wasp was gone, I popped up and began yelling at my five-year-old to get it out. By then I was half laughing, half completely beside myself and all I could do was repeat, "Colby! Get it out!" It was then that I realized I would never be able to count on my five-year-old to reach up and swat a wasp from my nest of a head. What a sad moment.



As quickly as I could, I swiped my own hand across the top of my head several times and then through the rest of my hair in case it had burrowed it's evil little body farther in. It seemed to have disappeared but I was not yet satisfied. I saw, nor heard, any evidence of it flying away. Without a mirror or any trust at all in my small children (I mean, come on. Who wouldn't swat a wasp off of their poor mother's head?), I made a snap decision. I would ask the ten-year-old girl who I scarcely knew, who was behind us a small distance, if my head was indeed empty of any "honeybees." It wasn't until I saw the look on her face as she answered, "no," that I lost any dignity that I may have had left.



When I was absolutely certain the honeybee had decided to make it's nest elsewhere, I kept looking around to see if anybody else was around to witness the hilariously ridiculous incident, and then I giggled the rest of the way to the school. Kind of like when you trip while you're all alone. And you look even sillier when you're giggling to yourself. And when I got home, I checked in the mirror. Just in case.


Before you judge me, wouldn't you have done the same if say, a spider had decided to make his home in your hair? Yes. Yes you would.


I am 31. And I am scared of wasps. And if it was late at night, Cameron was gone, and a wasp decided to make an appearance in my bedroom just as an ambulance's siren began to quietly fill the air- I'm pretty sure I'd cry like a baby.

I'd do anything

Do you ever find yourself saying, "I'd do anything for...." and then having absolutely no intention of making any effort whatsoever in actually doing something to achieve it? For example. "I'd do anything for a Wendy's Tagalong Blizzard right now. Except that I don't want to get my butt in the car and drive there." Or, "I'd do anything to have straight teeth. Except get braces." Or, "I'd do anything for my dog to stop crapping in the living room except spend the money and time taking him to dog training classes."

I think a more accurate way of saying it would be, "Wouldn't that be sweet if someone did all the work, paid for, and/or went through the pain, for me, for something I really want because I'm lazy, cheap, and/or a wuss?"

Melt-down follow-up

Wow- thanks everyone for your comments on my most recent lament! After reading the post about abazillion times, I decided some things should be added.

First. I am not in the corner sucking my thumb all day as my post possibly made it appear. Simply put, I am functioning, just not in a good, positive attitude kind of way right now.

Second. The way I am feeling about my motherly duties right now in no way reflects how I feel about my children. I think, well I hope, that this is obvious, but I needed to clear the air (in case the little ones ever read this some day). Though I may be struggling, I still know that I am doing the right thing and that I don't regret the choices I've made to start and raise a family. Will I possibly take a different approach? Maybe. Will I continue to stay at home all day? Maybe not. Will I continue to keep having lots of children? Don't hold your breath. And even during this little "phase," and especially after I posted the rant, there have been plenty of moments in which I have been quietly reminded of why I am a mom (mostly when the kids are sleeping of course...). I can't say those moments have made the not-so-fun ones much better yet, but I'm working on it!

Third. I've really been contemplating why it is I posted such a thing. Was I fishing for compliments? Do I need some attention? Did I think I was the only one who's ever felt this way? I think I can answer no to all those questions. Honestly, I think the reason I vented for others to read was because I sorta wish everyone was a little more open about their struggles. I've always been a pretty open book which can be good or bad. I'm the first to tell you that I've broken several things in my house out of anger, or that I've been to counseling (and it was awesome!), or that I'm desperately trying to get my 5-month-old to sit in front of the TV and be entertained by Baby Einstein videos, or that I'll readily cry at the grocery store if they are out of something I need. I know, I'm a freak show. And though it makes me sad to hear that others struggle as well, there is some comfort in knowing there are lots of others who have gone or are going through the same thing.

Fourth. The pressures I listed are pressures I feel, not necessarily all the things I'm trying to do. Like scrapbooking. I gave up on that a long time ago (which is why I blog). But I have to admit, that I still can't help thinking that I might regret not scrapbooking. And these pressures are not necessarily brought on by other people, mostly just myself. I don't feel the pressure to can because everyone else seems to, it's because I love having all of our garden produce stored and I can't stand the thought of waste.

So there you have it. Thanks again for all the advice and empathetic words- they brought me to tears. Good tears.

In need of some serious lighter fluid and a match

I am burned-out big time.

Usually I try to keep this blog pretty light and airy with the occasional, "I'm going crazy" posts. Well, here's another one. And let me tell you, it's a downer. Before you read on, I better insert the good ol' disclaimer. If you don't have kids and are looking for a good dose of birth control, read on! If you have 2 kids and are either pregnant or considering a third, just go ahead and skip this post. If you have more than 3 kids, go ahead and laugh it up as you are reminded about how easy 3 kids was and how much harder it gets.

Being a mother of 3 kids is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. And I've done some hard things. Okay, not really. But dang, it's hard. At first I was thinking it was pretty easy. Well, not easy, just easier than I thought. And then all-of-a-sudden Ty is 5 months and I am drowning. I can't keep up. I have no patience. I'm losing it on a regular basis. Panic attacks are frequent. EVERY SINGLE DAY is a struggle.

I am not loving motherhood right now. Is that okay? Because it doesn't feel okay. Somewhere along the way I've been led to believe that I should love being a mother. Not all the time, but in general. Well, generally, I'm not loving it. I recently ran into someone from the the neighborhood I grew up in, during a rare moment without my kids. We were doing the usual small-talk exchange in which I was telling her what I was up to which included little more than being a mother. Because that's how it is when you're a mother, right? Right? Anyway, she asked me if I was loving being a stay-at-home mom and without hesitation I said, "Sometimes." I've always been too honest for my own good. Her surprised response quickly reminded me of that and I found myself back-pedaling until I awkwardly attempted a really fake smile and lied right through my teeth, saying, "Um, ya. I LOVE being a stay-at-home mom!" I guess "sometimes" is not the normal response, huh? But seriously, I could not say, "Oh yah, it's dreamy! Lovin' every minute! I just can't wait to go home to constant bickering, constant whining, a screaming baby, a screaming 5 year-old, kids that won't mind until I yell it for the neighbors to hear, nursing a baby FOREVER while 2 naughty kids get into trouble, cleaning multiple blow-outs per day, cleaning one room (one-handed) while the other one gets torn apart, never-ending laundry, simultaneous tantrums, sticky floors, toys lining both sets of stairs, a funky smell in the house, lost shoes, spilled milk..." need I go on?

The worst part? Guilt. Stinkin' guilt. I feel SO guilty that I'm not "enjoying the moments," or that I'm seriously considering putting the kids in daycare so I can take a job when I don't have to, or wishing this time would end, or that I know darn well that it could be so much harder and I'm not recognizing how blessed I am, or that I know I'm going to look back on this time and regret not letting things go so I could enjoy what I had. The guilt!

How about all the pressures young moms have to "keep it all together." Let's name just a few. Some are absolutely necessary, some are not. Still pressures, nonetheless.


gardening
canning
recycling
food storage
coupon shopping
budgeting
socializing
cleaning
putting your kids in extra activities
visiting teaching
other church callings
other spiritual things
wiping noses (code for, 'not letting my kids be seen in public the way they exist at home')
grooming yourself for fear Stacy and Clinton are secretly filming you (if only I was so lucky)
volunteering at school
service
yard work
blogging
scrapbooking
exercising

Something's gotta give. It's humanly impossible to keep all of this up. What's the first to go? For me, it's my grooming. (I sound like a dog. Well, I feel like a cow, so close enough). If I've got a lot going on or if I'm running late, you can bet that I won't shave my legs (If I'm lucky enough to get a shower), let my hair air dry, skip the makeup, and throw on a stained T-shirt. I'm sick of looking like crap.

And I wanna cry when I think that I'm only 5 1/2 measly years into this. I gotta long way to go.

Now that I've brought you down when you thought you were having a good day, I need some good news.

Do I accept that fact that motherhood is not my favorite thing in the world right now or do I fake it 'til I make it? And anyone who knows me knows that faking it is not something I do well.

P.S. Absolutely no comments that reflect anything close to the thought (or reality) that it only gets harder. Don't need to hear that right now.

P.S.S. After reading this several times to spell check, wow. This is really depressing. I'm way more depressed now than when I sat down to write it. Let's just hope this is a short-lived phase.

Psycho???

How do YOU define psycho? I think true psychoness is when you do psycho things and you don't know it. But when you do psycho things and you do know it, then it's just, well, I'm not sure what to call that. Which brings me to...me.

If you have been hanging around me at all lately, just politely skip this post because you've got to be sooooo sick of this topic by now. Rachel M- please don't read this because I fear you will no longer be my friend.

I have a mild obsession with puppies at the moment. And when I get obsessed about something, I GET OBSESSED. It's really quite unhealthy. But the good thing about my obsessions is that they are usually short-lived. Like photoshop for example. I was totally obsessed with photoshop when I first got it. I spent an insane amount of time on the computer learning it and when I wasn't using it, I was thinking about it, talking about it, and even dreaming about it non-stop. That lasted about 2-3 weeks and then I moved on to a new obsession.

I'm just gonna come out with my story and let everyone know just how psycho I am.

The problem with this puppy obsession is that I love to look and play with puppies until I own one and then I hate it. I know this from first-hand experience since we have gotten 3 puppies. Yes, 3. The first one was before we had kids and was outdoors and didn't cause too much trouble but then she died at 8 months (it wasn't me, I swear). Our second one I fell in love with at the petstore and after about 6 weeks I grew to detest him and we sold him to someone else which ended devastating my husband, hence not the best time in our lives. We got our third one (cocker spaniel) because our neighbors got one and it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen and I thought it could be the greatest dog ever so we got one and after about a month, I officially hated it so it currently resides outdoors again where it doesn't cause me too much trouble. Now I'm back to wanting another puppy even though I know I'll hate it. What is wrong with me? It's like the two halves of my brain aren't speaking the same language and so they just ignore each other.

Here are more details so you can get the big picture. My husband LOVES animals. I could bring home a squirrel and he'd love it till the day it died. I, on the other hand, am pretty indifferent to animals. I do, however, really want a dog that is indoors and a part of the family that we all love. The problem with that is the dog has to be nearly perfect for me to love it. Here's my criteria. No shedding, drooling, barking, biting, chewing, or stinking. I want it to be really cute, smart, easy to train, little and cuddly, but not too lazy. And I'd like it if it never pooped or peed either.* So I'm thinking we'll just keep trying out dogs till we find the right one. Easy, no? But this doesn't fly with the husband. He gets too attached. The kids- maybe a little, but they get over it. Cameron won't get rid of our current dog (which, by-the-way is starting to show signs of being a pretty decent dog. She's still pretty hyper and jumps up on people, but I think she's getting better), but I continue to find myself really wanting that perfect dog that is indoor with us. At least I think I do. I figure it's like dating. With each puppy, I'm learning better what it is that I want. After 3 attempts, now I think I have a pretty good idea of our perfect dog.

So, if I let Cameron keep our current dog, then should I be allowed to try for another one? Does anyone feel like this isn't completely psycho of me? And try to forget that I have a three-month-old baby also. That, in itself, makes me look pretty loony for wanting a puppy. I know my family all thinks I'm insane, but there's got to be someone out there that understands me. I know I'm being psycho, so does that make me less psycho? Anyone?

*Of course I know that puppies, by nature, chew and nip and are hyper, etc. I'm learning that it doesn't last forever and that you just have to get through that part...And I've considered getting a full grown dog that is already trained and such, but it's the puppies I love, for about two minutes anyway.

to cut or not to cut

I've considered cutting off Ty's mohawk after I looked at the picture of him in the bumbo chair and his mohawk blends into the background. Hmmm. He may be just a little cuter without it. I've even discussed this with a few people, but it somehow doesn't seem right to cut my tiny little infant's hair. So I did a little photoshopping so we could take a closer look at what he would look like.

Mohawk Ty

Bald Ty

(obviously my photoshop skills are less than perfect, but I think you get the gist of it)

As you can see, he looks a little less like a Native American (is that the politically correct term these days? So sorry if it isn't and I just offended someone and not that Native American's aren't cute, it's just that he isn't one). But really, every time I see pictures of him with the mohawk, I have this urge to strap a feathered headband to his head. I know it's just hair, but the lack of mohawk just seems SO NOT HIM.

It made me think about if I removed my, um...uh....mole. (I feel really weird calling it a mole. I've always called it a birth mark my entire life and when I do, people look at me like I'm an idiot for calling my mole a birthmark- somehow it's just seems more natural and like I couldn't control it in any way- you know, because I was born with it,as if you can control whether you have a mole either. I'm done trying to explain myself since it's obviously not working). Anyway. Here's me.

And here's me without the....mole.

kinda crazy, isn't it? It's just not me, right? Or is it.... I guess you could say that about nearly anything. I've been begging Cameron to agree to let me get braces. (Thanks to the blurriness of this picture, you can't really tell that I have crooked teeth. While I recognize that they could be much, much worse, I do have a few snaggle teeth, mostly on the bottom that I've always been very self conscious of and I promise I'm not trying to fish for compliments). He has finally agreed (upon certain conditions), but maybe I wouldn't be me with really straight teeth...

What do you think? Should I cut Ty's hair? Would it change who his little self is or am I over thinking this? I'm really not that worried about it, I'm just curious. And on a less superficial level, do you think things oughta be left the way they are to preserve our true selves? What's the difference between braces and a chest enhancement (I didn't use the obvious term for fear this blog would come up on somebody's search)? Where do we draw the line or is there a line at all? Do we try to "fix" our kids? What would you do if your child had a really bad nose? Would you support a nose job? I learned in graduate school that it is a really easy and painless procedure to pin back a kid's ears that really stick out and when I learned that, I always thought I'd let my kid do that if they wanted to. Well guess what. I have a kid with ears that really poke out. But, again, it's him. But then again, the thought of him getting teased about it breaks my heart. I know there are a million things we'd all change about ourselves but what's okay to change, and what's not?

Your thoughts?

I think I could ramble on about this forever.

Random

The following pictures were taken by Colby

when he did a photoshoot with Kara.

It cracked me up when I saw Kara with her legs crossed,

her hand under chin and her head tilted to the side.