How to get waited on hand and "foot"

My father always said I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time. I would have argued with him, but I was too busy falling on my face. Despite my lack of coordination, I have been pretty lucky. I have only ever broken three bones in my lifetime. The first time I broke a bone, I was in my early twenties; it was my ankle. I was taking the stairs two at a time at work, and rolled my ankle, landing on it, from one step to the ground floor. I broke my foot in three places. (My friends' response to that? "Don't go there, anymore!" Get it? Yeah, it wasn't that funny then, either). After that, over the years, I have broken my little toe, twice. The first time, I hit my son's Rescue Heroes fire truck. The second time, I slammed my toe into the Lego table, and I went one way, the toe went the other. Let me just say: "OW."

Honestly, though, when I twisted my ankle this weekend by taking a wrong step from the sidewalk into the flower bed, it really, really hurt. I have spent the last few days icing it and finally went to the doctor on Tuesday because I feared I had broken my foot. Thankfully, I managed to save the iPad from plummeting to the cement in what would have been a certain death. The fall I took instead was a small price to pay, but I paid dearly. The verdict: severe ankle sprain. I actually pulled some tendons. The doctor gave me a brace and I am supposed to gradually start bearing weight on it. But for now, I am mostly confined to the couch with my foot up while everyone else around me is a whirling dervish trying to accomplish what is day-to-day routine for me: cleaning, cooking, taking care of pets, driving kids where they need to go... You would think I am enjoying this, but I can't. I don't do well being waited upon. And I really don't do well watching other people work and not accomplish things to my standards. So I am constantly getting up to do things, and my family is constantly making me sit on the couch again. Very frustrating.

When I do venture off the couch, it's slow going. I can't walk fast at all, I sort of shuffle around, dragging my bad ankle behind me. Right now, I am looking at a least a few weeks of the "zombie shuffle." So much fun. I sit on the couch, and the cat lies down on the blanket next to me. With the walking stick and the cat I am one shark tank away from being a super-villain, I suppose. I would also like a trap door, please.

Still, all is not lost. At least I match my toenails, now. It's something.

What Not to Do With Your Underwear

I walked into my hotel room and stopped short. The maid had been there.. The wastebasket had been emptied, the sink was wiped down and the beds had been made. Housekeeping had made another discovery, as well. How embarrassing. My turquoise boy-cut Hanes underwear were on top of my pillow, staring at me.

I was in town for the womens' blogging convention, Blogher. Leaving my hotel room bright and early, I was rushing to get to breakfast and then my next session. That's how Blogher is..there is always somewhere to be, and always five minutes ago. Or maybe that's just me.

I have a terrible habit of leaving my underwear under my pillow at home. My giant dog, who can put her head upon my higher-than-normal bed, has a tendency to steal underwear that are left at the foot of the bed at night. After a few mornings of waking up to find my unmentionables had become a snack, I took aversive action. Into the hamper with those skivvies. She found them there, too. Yum yum. Munch, munch, munch, she said. That's when my underwear ended up under my pillow when I sleep.

So here I was, at the Marriott, 5-star resort, and the housekeeper thinks I am

1) a pig.
OR
2) so drunk I either
A) forgot where I put my underwear
B) got lucky and was so carried away I didn't think about where my underwear were

Unfortunately, the truth is a lot more boring. I didn't get drunk. I certainly didn't have sex with anyone. I simply went on auto-pilot without thinking. It's like when you drive the kids to school everyday and then forget that it's a weekend and you are going to the grocery store and you drive there only you end up halfway to school? Again, just me?

It seems silly, I won't ever see the housekeeping staff again. But I realize...I am so boring. I can't help wishing I had at least had sexier, more interesting underwear. Something hot pink, lacy, racy and thongy? I have those, I just didn't wear them. When you get to be my age, sometimes comfort wins over sex appeal. And since I knew no one would be seeing my underwear but me, I didn't really worry about it. (What comes to mind is the age-old momism, "Did you put on clean underwear? What if you get in an accident??") Instead, the maid not only saw my underwear, she had to touch them.

When I left the hotel room, I cleaned up after myself, picking up trash, making my bed, rinsing out the sink. I checked under the pillow twice. And I left a big tip.

My check-in tip on foursquare: "Check under your pillow so you find your underwear before the maid does," Social media for the win. Don't say you haven't been warned.

Is this the blues or Spring Fever?

I don't know what's wrong with me, I just can't seem to keep my blog updated lately. I am not particularly depressed, but I am a bit burnt out, so that has something to do with it, no doubt. I am just not feeling it.




It just finished raining for two days here, with a break yesterday. Now it is raining again. I don't really like the rain, it's depressing. I don't know why, it just is. I am a sun kid, all the way. It is why I live in Southern California. I think I have always been very sensitive to weather.

When JNerd and I were first married, he had an opportunity to work for Microsoft. (this was before they were Uber-Evil) and I just knew I could not do Seattle weather. It rains there, what? 200 days out of the year? I would be suicidal in six months. We opted to stay in Southern California, and I think we are both very happy we did so. There are certainly trade offs. For the cost of our house here, we could have a mini-mansion in almost any other state. (Except Reston, VA, which is the only other place I ever considered moving..when JNerd worked for AOL years ago. The homes there cost as much as they do here, due to being so close to Washington D.C.)

Every once in a while, I see pictures of the seasons in other states that my friends post on facebook and think, "Wow, maybe we want that. The newf would love that weather!" And then I remember as a kid, watching my mother curse the snow and ice in Alaska as she bundled up and threw hot water on her car windshield, trying to get the ice to melt. I remember her chipping away with an ice scraper. I recall my dad, endlessly shoveling snow so that we could move the car, and I know I really don't want to deal with any of that!




So, here is where we stay. The weather is temperate, the people in my city are nice, and I like it here. I don't like the political climate, but unless I move to Vermont or Berkeley, that's not likely to change. I've learned to live with it, and bite my tongue...a lot.

I am not saying we would never move; if JNerd's job took us out of state, we would go. But this is home. It is the only home the kids have ever known. I have been here half my life now, but I am not bored. I am still finding areas I don't know. It is very easy to do so since the concentration of cities is so dense. Google Maps is a lifesaver! I am still learning city names, believe it or not!

Love it or leave it, it's home. And while the sky may let loose, I know the rain will soon come to an end, and it won't require a snow shovel, or boots or wool socks. So all of you out there in Maine, and Wyoming, and Nova Scotia, though I admire your pictures, I will live where my toes stay relatively warm!

T. who has cold feet, but a warm nose T.

Where have I been?

Christmas tree at the Cruz house


before and after x-ray of my daughter's scoliosis surgery


dog learns to play fetch


new Christmas bicycle for JBean


well-deserved hazelnut-caramel latte


birthday deely-boppers for Poppy, who turned ONE. Doesn't she look happy in them?? Should I hide my shoes?
T.

Put on a vest with an S on your chest, oh yes (Blogher is comin')

Every year around this time there is a cacophony of protest raised on twitter and elsewhere and it needs to stop. Some pretty fabulous women, women who otherwise are self-assured and together, freak the hell out at the mere thought of meeting other women, who feel the same way. Why?

Blogher is our conference. Women bloggers. (and some men) come together for an annual roustabout celebrating that thing that the outside world pooh-poohs, writing a blog. And we are all in the same boat. It is what unites us. With varying degrees of transparency, we proverbially barf all over the Internet's shoes, and hope that the resulting mess is something that will be accepted. Some write about nipple rings, some about death, some about children, some about business. The point is, we write.

So it kills me to watch every year as women who are amazing and talented downplay their skill because they aren't, in their mind, A List bloggers. Honestly? Who is? Because if you talk to those so-called "A List" bloggers, they don't think they have "made it" either. So who defines success as a blogger? How many are actually making a career out of their blog? Dreadfully low numbers, I can assure you. And for all the sleep you lose thinking that the A List bloggers aren't going to like you? I guarantee that someone thinks YOU are A-List and wants to meet you.

YOU make a difference. You might not realize it, but you really do. Every time you hit "publish" on your blog, people are moved. And what makes you special is that you write. So what if you aren't the biggest blog, with the best stats. Screw the stats. Seriously. Write because you like it. No, write because you love it. Don't get caught up in the "Business" of blogging. Forget your "brand" and the swag. Just write.

And next week, when we all get together, hold your head up high, rock those shoes like the mutha that you are. You are a writer, dammit. It's enough. And you are worth knowing. Do not be intimidated, get in there and meet people.

You are good enough, you are smart enough, and doggone it, people like you. See you in New York City, Superwoman.

- Posted from my iPad

Just when I think my life is a circus, I attend one

What do you do when the kids are fighting and the dog won't listen to you and you can't find your favorite shoe and you are running late? If you are crAZY, like me? Why, you attend the circus, of course. Nothing like a dog and pony show to make you realize how easy your life is, yeah?

So,Wednesday night, we piled into the car, and on the way stopped for what we hoped would be a quick bite at McDonalds (yeah, I know, but we were out of time). It took 15 minutes and the fries still weren't ready. In exasperation, I got my money back. I was really nice about it, and didn't mention that I was a blogger. The same could not be said for the woman next to me. She announced, rather grandly, for all to hear that she was a blogger and that everyone reads her, and she got FREE tickets to the circus, and they were premium seats... really? How come I have never heard of you? Why aren't you part of Blog Crush? Why haven't I seen you at events? On twitter? Orange County bloggers are tight...so you couldn't be that "famous." Really? This is how you want bloggers to be represented? Because you are giving them a bad name. Act thankful, for cheese and crackers! You aren't owed these perks because you are a blogger. You are given a privilege. And don't forget it. I never do. It could end tomorrow. And guess what? I would still be writing. Because? I am not in it for the free crap. I write because I love it. Can "review blogs" say the same?

After what amounted to dinner (the kids ate the burgers without fries.I inhaled half of my pukeburger in the car on the way there), we hightailed it to the Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus at Honda Center. We got there just in time for the pre-show, and posed for a picture. (Did I mention that my JBean is afraid of clowns? And look what she did.

This year's show, Funundrum, took its cue from other big-ticket productions like The Lion King and Cirque Du Soleil. With music, special effects and the standard circus-y acts, the show was updated for the fickle audience our children have become. Video games, cable tv and big-budget blockbusters have conspired to erode family events like the circus. But you wouldn't know it. Opening night, the place was packed.

My kids really enjoyed it, and that's what it's all about. This isn't your father's circus, anymore. While I found some of the show forced, the kids oohed and aahed over the elephants, the Ringmaster, the trapeze. And seeing their faces made it worth the time for me.

You can go, too!

Take the whole family to Barnum’s FUNundrum…MOM Discount extended to include weekend performances!

Family 4-Pack of tickets $48
Regular ticket prices - $15, $20, $25
To redeem, use code MOM by phone at 1-800-745-3000 or online at Ticketmaster.com to redeem your savings!

fine print:

(Savings do not apply to Circus Celebrity, Front Row and VIP seats. No double discounts. Service charges and handling fees may apply.)

Have fun!

T, who thought my life was a dog & pony show I didn't get paid to write this. I was given tickets to the circus, though. - Posted from my iPad

Vlog Friday: Building a Bridge To Nowhere

In which we find out exactly how parenting a teenager is like driving over the side of a bridge.

Go easy on me...I am brand new to this thang.

Sweet Bits Vlog : Building a Bridge from sendchocolate on Vimeo.

.

How about you? What do liken parenting to in your own experience?

T, who isn't gonna do it anymore

Lullabye and good night, already..before I lock you in a closet*

I used to have alone time. It was wonderful. Nine o' clock rolled around and my kids were in bed. Oops, sorry! You have five minutes until bedtime. No I can't help it, that's the rule. As though it wasn't within my control. And they bought it. Never questioned it, it was a House Rule, and they would obediently trot off to bed. I was blessed. Until this year.

My oldest daughter, at 16, thinks she can stay up as late as she wants. There are times I go to bed in exasperation, telling her to lock up when she's done. Mostly, she stays out of our way, so out of sight is out of mind. Mostly. Now my son, He Who Used to Sleep by 9, is up past 10 as well. Puberty may be striking, and it is playing havoc with his sleep schedule. He used to be up with the sun, now he actually sleeps in a few days a week. But he is also not tired at bedtime, and too busy to follow the slumber rules. Trying to get him off of video games or to stop reading a book is damn near impossible. And when I do finally get him to go to bed (tonight was quite after 11) he gets up at least five times.

Tonight was no exception. I was being tag-teamed by the both of them.Finally, after medicine to help JBug's bug bites, a question or three, she finally left us alone enough to get through the television show we had on DVR.(Doctor Who, thank you very much). By that time, it was midnight. AND…the dog needed to go out. Pause the show, again. Then JBear showed up,with a broken fingernail, and needed a bandaid. And shortly after that, he needed Advil because his legs hurt. And a bit after that, he needed a drink. And then the bathroom. And, of course, each time, we paused the show and waited.

I don't know about you, but my Mom Sense just cannot relax as long as I have a kid who isn't tucked in for the night. Call it obsessive, call it anxiety-prone, if you'd like. I call it being on duty, 24/7. And I cannot let go. I have tried. But Mama Bear just stays at the ready. Once the little cubs are safe in their dens, I relent, breathe deeply, and have a martini. Of course, if they don't get into bed before midnight… no cocktails for me. And no cocktails makes for a very unhappy mama.

And, as the old adage goes, "If mama ain't happy, well you can just get your butt back to bed or so help me God, I won't be responsible for what happens next." Or something along those lines. I could be paraphrasing, but that's how I remember it, anyway.

*I am only kidding about that last part. Mostly.

How about you? How do you get your "alone time?"Click and tell me in comments

T, who is up way too late in order to get some time to herself

Space: Mom's Final Frontier

I am starting a new "thing" here at Send Chocolate Now... vlogging! Yes, I, your intrepid hostie will be regaling you with my vim, vigor and viciousness silliness about once a week. Or so. If the kids cooperate. Or something.

Without further ado... Sweet Bits.

These are the voyages of the Mom. Her lifelong mission: to explore some time to herself. To seek out some peace and some quiet. To boldly do things alone.

Are you in?

Oh, and before I forget...what do you think of my new banner? I maded it all by myself. [insert praise here]

Sweet Bits vlog: Space, Mom's Final Frontier from sendchocolate on Vimeo.

T, who is new to this, so go easy on me

The Veggie Law... a revisit

I thought it would be fun to revisit some of my earlier posts, from years ago...just to get an idea of how far we have come. So, I present:

"They're yukky!"

I looked at my second born, my son, as he sat there, wiggling, lip curled and looking askance. Maybe if he didn't look at them, they would disappear. "I know you think that, but they are good for you. You need to eat a couple." He didn't answer, but returned his attention to his plate, pushing his fork around with disinterest. Suddenly, he brightened. "I don't really have to eat them. It's not the law."

I held back a smile. "Well, actually, it is a law. Kids under ten must eat at least 1 bite of vegetables. It's California state law."

I nibbled my nail while I waited to hear his answer. He regarded his plate, then me. "Even peas?" he asked. "Yes son, even peas." I almost felt badly at the untruth I was spreading, but hey, a kid has to eat his peas!

He sighed heavily, then picked up his fork. "If I was President I wouldn't have to eat these," he said.

"I am pretty sure even the President has to eat his peas, too. I think it's the law."

"Well, the President breaks the law, right? He could break the Vegetable Law. After all, he listened to other peoples' phone calls without asking."

Oh oh, thought to myself, now you've done it. The kid clearly hears talk radio even when you think he's not listening.

I made a mental note to refrain from listening to talk radio when he is around. Kids don't need to be burdened with the politics of grown ups, really. And President Bush's actions, as confusing as they are for adults, must be completely flummoxing for a child.

Again, I sit here, left wondering, what do I tell my children? When I explain to them we all have authorities over us, that's just the way it is, how do I explain that the President believes himself to be above the law? And since the President is such an Everyguy, and every kid can be President, what possible recourse do I have when my son refuses to eat his peas?

by the way, I did tell my son there is no such law about peas. But the law for corn still stands.

T, who figures eating veggies could be important

Related articles by Zemanta

• Mommy Time Out (mrs.flinger.us)
• Life goes on. (magnetoboldtoo.com)
• Cowboys of the Progressive Persuasion (queenofspainblog.com)

Rule 1: Expect nothing but laughter

I don't find myself funny. I have been told people enjoy my humor, but honestly? Every time I hit publish, I second guess myself and have to walk away from the computer so that I don't delete what I wrote. They say that humor is a defense mechanism; a way to keep what cuts you in two from finishing the job. It is how I bind the wound and staunch the flow.

Life delivers the kill-bite, and laughing it off is my way of sidestepping the throat-ripping Pit Bull of Pissdom. That last bit didn't sound right. The Boxer of Bitchy Life? How about the Afghan of Autism? Ok, that is all kinds of ridiculous. See how good I am at distracting myself from the frustration at hand?

Some of my best friends are very funny. In fact, I have a hard time relating to anyone that doesn't find life funny. I mean, really, what is life but a comedy of errors? If I see the pathos in the product, and you can't appreciate it? We probably aren't going to stay friends. I don't mean that you have to laugh at my jokes all the time, because, face it, I'm not that funny. But if you don't see at least a bit of humor in the Situation we call life (as opposed to the guy in New Jersey) then you pretty much cannot relate to me, and to most of the people I know. Also, if you laugh with me, I am more apt to buy you drinks. Ask my friends if you don't believe me.

Sometimes humor covers up anger. And of course, anger is always a secondary emotion. Because underneath, just like the layers of an onion, is more: hurt is often what lies beneath for me. It hurts to raise children with autism. No, really, it does. I am not being flippant. It sucks, much of the time. And though I don't get mad at my children, I am often mad at God. Because, face it, through his Infinite Jesting, he has placed me as the mother of these children. I mean, he has to be laughing, right? How else do you explain:

• I like quiet. I crave quiet. Screaming, though I do it sometimes, really upsets me…puts me on high alert. Enough of it puts me on edge and makes me snippy. Especially if there is nothing I can do about it. JBean is the Child of Sound and Thunder. LOUD is her middle name. Try to tell her to lower her volume? Her brow furrows and a storm passes across her face and I get, "NO NO NO NO I AM NOT YELLING MAMA! YOU are YELLING! I'M TRYING, MAMA! I'M TRYING! [yes I know, you are very trying] That last bit? I don't say out loud. I just think it. Real hard. "I AM NOT YELLING! YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME! STOP TALKING OVER ME STOP TALKING OVER ME…" ad nauseum.


• I enjoy my own company, and am happiest sitting by myself, reading or writing or even watching tv. I have a youngest child who must sit thisclose to me every single second of every day. There are reprieves, but they are few and far between. She cannot do school work on her own, she needs me to walk her through it. Getting dressed is often too hard for her, there are too many choices. And she cannot leave me alone long enough to let me write this post. It is beyond annoying.


• I don't like to be touched. I, of course, don't live in a bubble, so therefore I prep myself to deal with the inevitable hugs, squeezes, touches and lap-sittings that come with having a sensory-seeking kid. I am not touch-avoidant, as much as begin to feel overwhelmed by the onslaught of her screaming fits and want to retreat for safety. Of course, right after a blow up is when she needs to be held. That is absolutely the worst time for me.

Expectations are everything. I expected, when I had children, to have a child I could dress up and take out. I expected she would enjoy going places and chatter excitedly about it. And I have that. But I also have a child who has to do her homework in a certain order. She needs to have her socks on *just right.* Dressing in the morning is like attending a meeting at Camp David… it has to look good, feel good and be neither too hot or too cold; it cannot be too short or too tight. And it has to reflect the way she is feeling. We have tried the week-long organizers, but she didn't want to wear what she sets aside at the time. Insisting caused such a shit storm that it just wasn't worth it. The crayons need to be sharp enough. Make sure to give her plenty of notice if you want to walk out the door to get somewhere on time. Chances are, if you don't, she will come unglued, and then you aren't going anywhere.

So, to combat all of this? I laugh. A lot. And make others laugh, too. I see the humor in the unfunny. Honestly, there are few things I cannot find the humor in. Death? Check. Dismemberment? Check. Autism? Anger? Augh? Check. Check. Check. It is absolutely a matter of survival.

They say, "Laugh, and the world laughs with you." And here you are.
"Cry and you cry alone." And that's why I choose humor.

T, who is laughing, right now, on the inside

Related articles by Zemanta

• A Little Bit Of Humor... (fromthetrenchesofmotherhood.com)
• An experiment (whitterer-autism.blogspot.com)
• Thursday Therapy - A Good Belly Laugh! (everydaygyaan.com)

Comparing Oranges to ... Real Life?

I just want to get this straight. I live in the real Orange County. Not the Orange County with the multi-million dollar houses. I don't live behind a locked gate, sipping vodka martinis in a hot tub. I haven't had any "work" done, besides the standard semi-exercise to keep my butt from sagging to my knees. I like yoga, and I flirt with Pilates, and I suck at karate, but don't have a personal trainer, and certainly not one with a six-pack named Del or Hans or Antony. I own a scale, but I never look at it. I would rather poke out an eye than to let anyone near my face with a syringe full of toxin, image bedamned.

I am not a Lady of Leisure. The only ones I lunch with are the ones who are in my charge. I have three kids, and they keep me hopping. I load my own dishwasher, and can't rationalize paying someone else to clean the hair out of my tub when I am home all day. (if you want to, that's cool, I just have that liberal guilt thing that plagues me). I don't play tennis, or belong to a country club. My big night out is dinner and a movie with my software-engineer husband.

I realize this kills the Dream for some of you. Watching The O.C. as they prance on the beach makes you believe that we all live that way. Sorry to disappoint. I don't surf. In fact, my children barely swim. I own a pass for the beach but hardly ever get there. It's only twenty minutes away, but it might as well be fifty miles. Life is busy. I drive my paid-for minivan to the grocery store and to ballet and to karate. We live in a little 50's ranch house small but cozy. We budget. Tonight for dinner? Hot dogs. So much for the romance, eh? I do live five minutes from The Happiest Place on Earth, and we have annual passes, so that has to count for something. But it isn't what you envision.

If you ever saw Bravo airing "The Real Housewives of Orange County" then you saw someone's fantasy, and definitely not my reality, or that of my friends. Recently I watched a rerun, and I snorted and guffawed my way thorough it. It was ridiculous, it was a train wreck; it was entertainment. Reality is is reality, and television is television. But reality television is not reality.Laguna Beach is an great little bedroom arts community, not a hotbed of immorality for teens. And I have no idea where "The Hills" even are.

Just remember...When you watch Supernanny or Wife Swap or The Real Housewives of Orange County or Atlanta or wherever the hell they are this season…keep in mind . It's not real life for 98% of the people you know. Being a fly on the wall in my real life, well you wouldn't really believe it. No one could write it, and you would not want to watch it. Trust me. Just thought you should know.

T, who really does drive a minivan, probably older than yours (2001)

picture of my girls taken by my friend, Bobbie Schafer

Related articles by Zemanta

• Super-Sized Spring Break (squidalicious.com)
• Doggone it, I want a dog! (sendchocolatenow.com)
• How NOT to make an impression at the Ritz (sendchocolatenow.com)
• 10 things that don't suck. (loraleeslooneytunes.com)

Yes, she's adorable, isn't she?

It's been a little over a month now since Poppy came to live with us and all I can say is... wow. Wow, that she's such a sweet-natured obedient pup. Wow, that she requires so much work. Wow, that she sometimes doesn't want to listen. Just like kids. She has grown so fast! She is huge, already.

Still, it is so nice to have her with us. She has a crazy period around 9 at night, when all she wants to do is chew on the leash when she is taken outside. We are working on it. I am in the process of getting her enrolled in puppy classes, but so far she is doing quite well. She will sit, lie down, shake and even heel most of the time. We are still working on "come" but she is getting there. She does "leave it" and "off" pretty well. She is just squirrelly at times. What do you expect? She's a pup!

No one can handle her as well as I do. Even JNerd has a bit of trouble at times, but she will come around. What's hysterical is to watch how she obeys JBean! JBean is maybe 40 lbs. soaking wet. Poppy is 41.3 lbs as of Friday. But JBean says, "SIT." and Poppy sits. She will allow JBean to lead her by her collar to me. I don't really let her walk her yet. That may be soon. She really has an aura of power about her. And to think...JBean used to be afraid, bordering on phobia, of dogs!

Poppy has been good for us all. I have learned to actually get up in the morning, something I hate. But when 40+ lbs. th-thumps the bed next to you, as front paws end up on the bed and tongue lolls in your face? You get up. And pretty happily, I might add. I really look forward to our morning walk after breakfast!

So, all in all, it is working out well. I enjoy her, and she enjoys my treats. No really, she likes us all.

It's true what you've heard about Newfoundlands: they drool. And they shed (though she hasn't started, yet!) She has started to drool, so that's fun. I am doing a lot of laundry. Woo! Slimy jeans! I knew the risks. And talk about loving water? I have two bath towels in the kitchen to mop up water when she inevitably dumps or spills her water dish...on purpose. Yep. She loves to be wet. What's one more special-needs member of my family, you know? Besides, look at this face! How could you not love this?

And as, JBear says, Puppies are a lot of work. But puppy kisses are more than worth it.

T, who admits to being in love

Related articles by Zemanta

• The Dog Days of NOW (sendchocolatenow.com)
• I think they're endangered (sendchocolatenow.com)
• Passive Puppy Training. (mypetkingdom.info)
• What I Have Learned in Accompanying Dogs, My Puppy Has Grown up (recycleemail.com)

Pretty sure I have had this EXACT conversation

If you haven't seen Chuck & Beans, what are you waiting for??

T, who says geek or nerd, it's all just me

I felt the earth move

Nope, this post isn't about sex or Carole King. This afternoon, we had an earthquake here in California, a nice long, slow one. It was fine, just surprising. The quake was centered in Mexico, and was a 7.2. All part of living in Southern California, and waiting for the Big One.

Some quick pics of our celebration:

Spring cupcakes

My girls, and their cousins

the Easter Bunny brought rain boots

Poppy, with her toy from her Easter bucket. Yes, that is a flamingo..isn't it funny?

T, who hopes your holiday was a happy one

Related articles by Zemanta

• Postcards from the edge (sendchocolatenow.com)
• You need wellies in Wellington, New Zealand..THIS is summer?? (sendchocolatenow.com)
• Spring (queenofspainblog.com)