Lead Balloon

Update: Here is the bumper sticker that this post is referring to.
And now that I look at it again, it looks like a man with a cup of coffee and his head on fire. I have no idea.

Last week, Todd and I realized that both of us have separately been baffled by this bumper sticker that seems to rear its head on the bumpers of cars all around us, quite frequently as of late.

I had friends in town last week for work meetings - and in the various car rides we took together I told them about the sticker. Tried to explain to them what it looks like, then finally said, “There are so many of them, I’ll just be able to show you one day this week, I promise.”

Sure enough, in the parking lot of the Melting Pot on Friday night, there it was. A car (SUV - not sure if that’s important) had the sticker there on the back window… And Todd got a picture of it with his phone. Once I get that picture from him, I’ll post it here.

Until then, though, I’ll continue to obsess over what this sticker means. It has no words on it, just a symbol of sorts. At the top it looks like two crab claws to me, or two wrenches. Maybe deer antlers. Then the lines beneath that form an outline of a man, with his arm bent in front of him (perhaps he’s holding a cat or something), very odd. In total, it looks like a pre-historic animal of some sort…It’s just too hard to explain. You have to see it.

Until then, you might find this “conservative bumper sticker” Web site that I found during one of my searches interesting. I especially find the “Speak English” one interesting — can you “Stand With Israel” and not stand people who don’t speak your language? And I may be showing my ignorance here, but I still don’t get the “Infidel” ones? I must not be the target audience.

If you click on the “Clearance” button you can get - on clearance - a “JESUS SAVES” sticker. Wonder why that one is on clearance? OR a sticker that notifies other drivers that you survived Roe v. Wade, back when you were a fetus.

I’ll post that picture of the mystery sticker as soon as I get it.

I’ve been meaning to make a post about this for a while now. We had a garage sale a couple weeks ago - needed to clean out the garage to make room for a car (read: my car) to fit inside of the garage so that when one (read: me) and her baby (read: baby girl) get into the car in the hot, hot summers of Texas, their skin isn’t burned and chargrilled on contact.

We’re still not able to park in the garage.

But I’m praying that we’ll be able to before summer ends. And I’m not, in any way, moaning and groaning about that. Nor am I nagging. I’m just making a public announcement here that I’d really prefer to be able to park in that garage right now.

Anyway. We made about $350 from the sale, but didn’t sell a couple of the “big” items. Sold a lot of clothes, but not some of the nicer ones - which I found fascinating. Apparently what some people consider NICE (hooker-ish lingerie that was given to me as a gag gift with the tags still on it), other people don’t consider NICE (really nice suits, slacks and blouses).

Something just occurred to me. The fact that I used the word “blouses” pretty much makes this post even more worth writing than I thought. Keep reading.

So after the sale, we packed a lot of the stuff into a box and placed it on the corner of our driveway with a “FREE” sign on it. What wasn’t picked up IMMEDIATELY, pretty much went out with the trash the next trash day. Other things, we took to a donation center. But I’d set aside some of those “nice” clothes to take to a re-sale shop.

Let’s just stop here for a moment and discuss how greedy that is. “I”m going to donate all these less-than-nice clothes to the Christian re-sale shop, but these nicer things, yeah, I’m going to go see if I can win back the money I spent on dry cleaning them (subsequently also killing the environment) for a few years.” What exactly WERE my motives? I don’t know. Greed. And the want of a high-efficiency washer and dryer.

Back to the story.

I loaded up those nicer clothes and headed to a re-sale shop I’d seen in a shopping center we visit from time to time. Walked in with this LOAD of clothes over my arms (still on the hangers, and some with dry cleaning tags STILL ON THEM - Sweet Jesus, what a waste of money). Immediately I notice that a lot of the clothes for sale in this place look SMALL. Then I notice the music in th background - Top 40 type of stuff - playing loudly. It wasn’t until THEN that I noticed the clientele. Very young. Very hip. Very much not going to like my “nicer” clothes. Unless maybe they had a funeral to attend. (And one might say this is how all of my clothes look, even now. Funeral-like.)

Before I can even get to the space at the counter where the “buying” transaction usually takes place - a young, supple, firm and flat girl walks out from behind the counter and SO VERY KINDLY says to me these things:

“SO, let me tell you how this works! We buy ‘gently used’ clothing brands such as Abercrombie & Fitch, American Eagle and (something else I don’t even recall or know what it is). We buy only the latest labels - in other words, we can tell by looking at the label how old the clothes are. We’re really targeting the teenage girl and guy groups.”

Translation - “I’ve just come out from behind the counter to stop you now, because from the looks of you and your clothes, I want to save you the embarassment.”

So I smiled and said, “Okay…well, I have a few nice sweaters here from Banana Republic and the Gap - are those brands that you guys take?”

She says (again, I can’t communicate enough, here, the chirpy, friendly nature of her voice), “Well let me take a look! I’ll be able to tell by looking at the labels.”

So she goes through my clothes and when she gets to those items, she frowns a bit and says, “No, I’m sorry, those labels are much older than what we buy for our shop.”

Okay, I can take that. I did, after all, buy the sweaters more than two years ago. I can respect that.

But then. Then. I asked if she knew of a place that might be interested in this stack of clothes. Any place where donations are needed for women interviewing for jobs, etc.? She says, “We do recommend one store in particular that buys and re-sells mature clothing - but they are appointment only. I’ll write their number down for you!”

Mature.

She called my clothes MATURE.

I don’t expect all teenagers to dress like they’re going to a funeral. I don’t expect them to wear a nice Gap turtleneck in the winter. The truth is, they’ve got short denim skirts and leg warmers to wear, with their flip flops, all winter long. And tight, layered shirts that really show off their muffin tops.

Mature.

I laughed, and walked out. And at first, I was a little upset by it. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve come to realize that I really never HAVE been anything more than a solid colors, plain Jane girl. That’s who I am. Even if stores like this existed when I was a teen, or in my early 20’s, I bet EVEN THEN my clothes, freshly purchased with THE LATEST tags on them, wouldn’t have been candidates for re-sale. It’s just the truth.

But I still can’t get the nagging question out of my head…Who exactly ARE they targeting in that store? Is it “cool” now to buy hand-me-downs? This store was in a relatively nice part of town - where kids likely don’t want for much and even MORE than likely don’t shop at re-sale shops. They’re more likely to sell their items there, after one wearing. When they go to school, though, are they scoping girls out in the cafeteria to see if someone has on their shirt? I’m fascinated by it, really.

But I’m much too mature to think too long about it.

Natalie, who is now almost 8 months old (can you believe that????) is starting to piece sounds and concepts together. While sometimes, her MA MA can just sound like “noises” and “sounds”, sometimes I know she means it. The other night she was extremely fussy during her bedtime ritual - which she usually loves. Todd was putting her diaper and jammies on her, after her bath. She’s usually very talkative at that point, squealing and talking to us while we dress her for bed. But this night in particular, she was just fussy, thrashing her body around and screaming. Todd, at the changing table with her, and me, sitting on the ottoman in her room…We were all a little upset by her cries. And then suddenly, muffled in the sounds of her cries came a “MAMA…MAMA…” And she was looking at me, too, while she said it.

So she totally meant to say it.

So first came “da da” and “hi da da”…and now “ma ma”. Sometimes, “ba ba”, which is sometimes just a sound, other times she says it while we’re making her bottles.

But lately. Lately, she’s been putting her sounds together in a way that just fills me with pride. At least once a night, sometimes twice…she’ll give us an OH-BA-MA. OH-BA-MA. Ohhhbaaamaaa…. Obama.

Yes, you heard it right, folks. Obama.

She could have said “McCain” or “Clinton”, I don’t care. It’s the activism that means something here.

Take a stand, honey. And stay strong! Don’t be influenced by the pundits, the media! We’ll make you a sign, so that you can carry it around the house.

My little activist. My little angel.

If you’re thinking of visiting us anytime in the next six months, prepare to pack your haz-mat suit. At any given time, at least one of us is sick. And this includes Jack, who has been sneezing for the past week non-stop.

They say that kids in daycare bring home all sorts of yummy germs and share them with others in the family…Apparently Natalie is a virus magnet. That, and, we’ve all apparently got allergies like no other family in the world. Sometimes it starts as allergies then moves into other places of our bodies to cause major malfunction…Sometimes it’s just a virus that one of us has picked up because we’re not constantly washing our hands with the anti-bacterial soap that is the root of all evil and probable cause of all sickness anyway…

The most recent bout with all of this started with the little girl. She had a bit of a runny nose, some head snot and sneezing (seemed like allergies). Then it moved to her eyes. Daycare, like us, clearly hadn’t heard that a cold can move into the eyes and the snot in your head can start seeping out of your eye sockets, so they sent her home telling us she had pink eye and couldn’t return without a doctor’s note. So then we headed to Galveston for Todd’s triathlon where we all slept in a hotel room together, in a bit of a climate change. My throat got sore, my head got snotty. We got back, I battled it with some OTC meds and noticed Natalie’s phlegm had moved into her chest. Lots of coughing. We started the breathing treatments and by Friday, she was running fever and ready to go BACK to the doctor for a visit.

Double ear infection. Yep, that same snot that can seep out of your eye sockets can move into your chest and back up into BOTH ears and cause major misery. Got her some antibiotics and prepared for a night of even less sleep. And wouldn’t you know it, two hours later I was calling Todd to come home because the funk had hit me suddenly and I was stuck to the couch with a high fever and full body aches, praying to the phlegm gods to please leave my family alone. Todd got home and took care of us all weekend. Good news for him is that Natalie’s a much better patient than me. I feel as if I’m dying, she is smiling as if both of her ears aren’t pounding with relentless pain. I guess hypochondria isn’t as hereditary as I thought.

Sure enough, a few days later Todd gets it.

At that point, we decided to check into this Neti Pot thing we keep hearing about. For the love of God, unless you like the way it feels when you get a shitload of water up your nose while you’re swimming in salt water, please don’t try this. Not worth it. I don’t care what anyone tells you. Water goes in one nostril and out the other - by some connection that you really don’t want to know anything about…trust me. I was hoping I’d see a lot of snot come out the other side, like a good cleaning. No. It didn’t work. I’d rather someone pull at each of my nose hairs simultaneously with very sharp poop-scented tweezers.

We’re on the mend now. However I had trip to North Carolina this week and fear that the re-circulated air from the four planes I was on has shared with me some virus that I will pass on to my family for the next round…I’ve never lived in this kind of fear before.

Today I took Natalie in so that the doctor could re-check her ears and lungs to make sure she’s 100% better. She’s great - all clear. However he did take some time to explain to me, after looking at the rash on her arms and face, that what we’ve got here is a sensitive baby. The same “sensitivities” that cause these frequent skin rashes are tied to food allergies, hay fever, asthma…She’s got a nice road ahead of her. Sensitive. I’ll mark that on the list of things she actually DID get from me, along with her overbite and bigger-than-normal pupils.

Yesterday, which spilled into the wee hours of this morning, was just the weirdest day for me. I’ve had worse days, for sure. But this one, was just a little off for some reason.

First of all, I didn’t shower all day. Sure, there were opportunities. But it just didn’t happen for some reason. And now, it’s 11:36 AM on Tuesday - I’m having lunch - and I’ve still not showered. I think my normal routine is a bit off because Todd has been going into work later this week, because he’s doing testing after hours. So he goes in late, stays late. And that means he and Natalie are at the house later in the morning, so my day gets started a little later as well. This is not to say my lack of showering or my feeling “off” is his fault. Just a factor in the big picture.

We have a two-story house. I really pride myself on what an efficiency machine I am when it comes to taking things up and down the stairs. When Todd brings the trash down from upstairs (compiled into one or two little waste baskets) I load things into those waste baskets that need to go back upstairs. Like shoes, things that need to be filed in the office, books, things like that. They’re not dirty - they just hold office trash, that type of thing. So I’m okay with using them to transport items. They’re like my little camels here at the house. Well, this got me into major trouble once…I’d loaded one of them up, full of papers, books, and I can’t even remember what. Brought it upstairs into the office and neglected to unpack it before the next trash day. And what happened? Todd trashed all of it. The only thing I could REMEMBER that was in there was a dog-eared baby name book. Who knows what Natalie’s name would have been, had that book not been thrown away…

Anyway.

So in Natalie’s room a few days ago, I’d taken her dirty clothes out of her hamper and placed them into a laundry basket, knowing that I needed to get a load of her clothes ready to wash. (Her clothes get washed separately, in this delicate, delicious smelling detergent.) Well that basket sat in her room a few days and I kept adding to it, when I’d bathe or or change her clothes. Or when she’d spit up all over something.

One day not too long ago I was in the car with my friend Mary and had to run into the store to grab some formula. While I was in there, I spotted a Family Circle magazine at the check out that had an article on getting organized at home. Mary and I had JUST been talking about that in the car, so I grabbed it and offered it to her to read. Unfortunately the article was crap - you had to have a pretty sophisticated drawer and cabinet system already to follow their instructions. So the magazine - not full of the type of articles or pictures I typically like (read: nothing about Brit-Brit or Brangelina) - sat in my car for weeks. It made it into the house at some point, and up to Natalie’s room for some reason.

Well - I threw that magazine into the laundry basket in Natalie’s room the other day, so that it could make its way back downstairs and into the recycling trash can.

Family Circle made its way downstairs. And into the washing machine with Natalie’s load of laundry.

Without going into major, boring details…there was a blanket of magazine snow all over my laundry room when I got up at 5:45 this morning. I’d asked Todd to put that load of clothes into the dryer for me before he went to bed. Well…poor guy…He opened that washing machine to a load full of tiny wet pieces of paper, all over Natalie’s clothes. He shook off as much as he could and put the clothes into the dryer, and didn’t start it, thank God. So what I found when I went into the laundry room was an empty washing machine - well, full of tiny, wet pieces of Family Circle, more tiny, wet pieces of Family Circle on the floor in a huge pile, and tiny, wet pieces of Family Circle all over the half-wet clothes in the dryer.

I cleaned out the washer. Then I shook out every piece of her clothing from the dryer. Now that they were semi-dry, the pieces came off easier. And onto the floor. Re-washed everything. Cleaned out the dryer. And swept up, I swear, a million pieces of Family Circle off my laundry room floor. The pile of pieces looked like the biggest mound of confetti you’ve ever seen. But it was kind of nasty and damp and not from a big party where smiley, happy people THREW it in the air in joy! Yay.

I was telling my friends Mary and Allison about this incident, and Allison said “If one of our husbands had done this, you know they’d never hear the end of it from us.” What an interesting perspective. If Todd had washed the magazine in there, I’d be all over him - “THIS is why I always want to do the laundry! Don’t touch the laundry!” Poor husbands. Poor Todd. He didn’t even make fun of me or complain…He just helped. Sweet thing.

I’m just hoping that maybe, maybe those pieces of Family Circle will have clogged all the mechanical parts of that washing machine, and maybe, just maybe it will mean that we HAVE to go buy a new high-efficiency front loader.

Friday night, I showered and fixed my hair, as we were meeting some old co-workers out for dinner and I wanted to look my best. (Ha!) Anyway - I do shower on a regular basis, but actually taking the time to blow dry and curl my hair is another thing. I wear it wet most of the time, pulled up into a bun. This seems to work well with my schedule. I work from home and am here all day, alone with my cat and dog. They really don’t seem to care or notice if my hair is “fixed”, and they actually prefer it when I’m a little more stinky and not so squeaky clean. So they’re really not the target audience I’m trying to please on a day-to-day basis. My own husband would prefer if I wore no make-up at all. (However, I have noticed that when I get all dolled up and ready to go somewhere, he says to Natalie, “Look how hot that mama looks…!” Maybe he does care…?)

Anyway, the point is that if I were going into an office every day and interacting with people, maybe I’d take the time to take a few steps toward enhancing my state of beauty every day. But really, my natural beauty is so overwhelming to most people, it’s for the safety of the people of this great state that I just keep things less enhanced.

So back to Friday. I got all fancied up and was about to go downstairs to load the baby up and head out with Todd…when I saw it…

A gray hair.

On my head.

I’d have never noticed it if I’d just kept the hair all wet and balled up into a bun on the top of my head. But no, I blowed it all dry and straight and curled it up so nice…and in doing so basically shined a huge spotlight on what is the first sign that I am old, old, old… To make things worse, when we got into the car and I was pointing out to Todd, in the mirror, that there was a gray hair there, I found ANOTHER ONE! Sweet Jesus.

So Todd has tons of gray hair, so he didn’t think anything of it. “So what, you have two gray hairs! Just pull them out!” But he doesn’t get it. I’m a good four years older than him. (Actually from this month, all the way until July, I’m about FIVE YEARS OLDER THAN HIM!) I don’t need any more indicators that are visible and obvious to the outside world that I’m completely robbing the cradle here.

The truth is, I really do embrace getting older and wiser…I’m not really that upset about having gray hair. It just shocked me. I’ve never put any sort of color or chemical in my hair (for fear that it will just fry up, and fall completely out), and I likely never will, so I’ve just got to get used to it. I know people who have no idea what their natural hair color is anymore. They’ve got no idea if they have gray hair or not… I just can’t imagine not knowing those things about myself. What does the “hair color” option on their driver’s license say? Truly, I’m kind of fascinated by that. I’m always intrigued by all the hair color paraphernalia stuff at the salon. The foil, the chemicals, the little key-chain looking strands of hair color hanging on the wall for you to choose from. I have often wished that I could be a member of that hair color club, but the truth is I don’t have the time for it. Anything that requires me to go back to some place for a touch up or a re-do or a re-fill…is a level of personal maintenance that I just can’t get on board with (remember how I started this post, and the ass-whippin’ I feel that blowing my hair dry is…) Some days I can’t believe that I have to keep filling my car up with gasoline in order to make it go. Why can’t it just GO on its own??? (I’m kidding about that, for the most part.)

Anyway, I have gray hair now. I’m a mother, I have gray hair and I have high cholesterol. And receding gums. And perhaps some other issues I’m having checked out. I’d heard from a lot of friends that you hit this certain age - it’s not the same for everyone - but you get there and all of a sudden everything changes. I told Todd the other day that I was really excited about this, my 32nd year. I have so much to look forward to with Natalie and all the really ground-breaking things she’s going to do this year…And in the first week of my 32nd year I found the gray hair and found out I have high cholesterol. Slap in the face!

It’s all just a sign that it’s time to work to make things better and get this old body into working order. And I’m taking the steps to do so…even if I’m grumpy and don’t like it.

Happy Monday!

Dearest Allison,

I’m writing you from the confines of my home, as it snowed last night in Dallas and – while I know you, a resident of Portland, Maine, a place that has received record-setting snow fall this year, know what it’s like to have snowfall, surely nothing compares to this! I’ve taken a few photographs to share with you, as I think you’ll better understand our circumstances once you have a visual.

It all started last night while we were eating dinner. (It appears that my craving for Subway sandwiches has not subsided since pregnancy, so we tried to re-create them at home – not successful, I wouldn’t suggest trying this.) Todd got up from the TV tray (in front of the television - which now that I look back, am surprised it was even working in such a storm) and said, “It’s snowing outside!” I could hear the excitement in his voice and I immediately started cursing Mary for all those “snow prayers” she’s been saying. After all, I knew what this meant for me. I’d have to get to the grocery store PRONTO and start building up my reserves of canned goods, bottled water…And I’d have to make sure our First Aid kit was stocked and full of all the cold-weather necessities, whatever those are. But I let him enjoy his child-like wonder of the snow falling, and I got up to join him at the window and watch it, in all its beauty, falling to the ground.

We went to bed, and as soon as I woke up I went to the window and saw it. Yes, it was still there, all white and beautiful. And debilitating. Man, I started to really understand what you meant by feeling so homebound and trapped in your home. I started to wonder if I, too, would need to get out there and shovel the walkway and driveway, much like you’re always having to do, so that Todd could get out the door and out to work. I made a mental note to myself to bring the hairdryer downstairs with me, thinking it might be easier and more effective than the shovel. The shovel we don’t own.

I went downstairs to find Natalie sleeping and Todd working at his computer, so I decided to get bundled up, grab the camera, and get outside to get some pictures of our storm so that you’d have proof and documentation of our misery.

I searched and searched for snow banks seven feet tall, like those you sent us pictures of just yesterday. I’m sure they were there. It’s just that when it snows like this, everything looks white. Things are so hard to find out there. So this is all I got.

This first photo is of one of Natalie’s bath toys, as you can see, COVERED in snow on the back porch table. (Don’t ask why one of her bath toys was left outside. See, the dolphin came in a package of 8 or so toys, and we just couldn’t bare not giving one to Jack. So this one is his.)

These next two pictures are just of two of the backyard items that I fear won’t even WORK anymore, once this storm passes. One of a brand new water hose (which ironically, has been brand new for about a year now, still never used.) And the grill. Thank God we covered the grill before the storm hit, or I fear that we’d really never see those yummy grilled kabobs this summer! Maybe once the weather dies down a bit, I’ll convince Todd to go out, scrape the snow off these items, and get them into the garage…fast!

So after this really depressing walkthrough of the back yard, I went to the front of the house to get some photos. That walk through the house, from the back door to the front, was heaven. The warmth! Thank God for electric heating! I just checked the temperature outside so that you could get a better idea of how things feel here – it’s 37 degrees!!! THIRTY SEVEN! Good Lord, that’s almost freezing! We could die here, if we’re not careful!!!

In the front yard I made sure to snap a picture of the BLANKET of snow that is covering our few square inches of yard in front of our zero-lot line home. I’m scared to walk out into this, for fear that I might sink and never be found!

I walked over to the car, to see if it’s even DRIVABLE. Of course, it’s not. It’ll take weeks to get the snow off of it. So glad I made that midnight trip to Wal-Mart for my reinforcement supplies. Or else we’d be in big trouble, and hungry for the next several weeks! I only wish I had a really big “scraper” tool of sorts, so that I could get this snow and ice off of the car and actually go VOTE today. But it looks like I’m stranded here, and who knows for how long.

I also took a picture of the rooftop, and our front flower bed. Don’t let these pictures fool you. Just because there’s no snow on the plant life beneath the roof, that doesn’t mean this wasn’t a nasty storm. And just because the front bed got very little snow (although I’d beg to differ, and say that this is still, in fact, a substantial amount), it doesn’t mean that we’re not suffering here. It just means that Todd plans well. He did something to these bushes and flower beds to ensure that they’d make it through a storm, should it come through.

And finally, after I braved the cold (37 degrees!) and got the photos I wanted to send you, I went back inside and asked Todd to bundle Natalie up and come outside – I felt it was pretty important that we document that this record-setting snow in Dallas came to us the same year that brought us our Natalie. It’s her first snow!!! So of course I had to get some photos. We bundled her up as warm as we possibly could, and laid down a blanket on the ground, so that she wouldn’t sink through into the several centimeters of snow there. Here’s the shots we got. As you can see, she appears to be FREEZING. Don’t worry, we didn’t leave her out there too long. Once her fingers, toes and nose started to turn a bluish-black, we scooped her up and got her inside next to the fireplace. Granted, there was no fire there, but we definitely plan on making one, as cold as it is.

And finally, I snapped one of Natalie and her Daddy, together in the snow. I hope you can see them, through the actual snow falling. Please don’t be fooled by the fact that Todd is, in fact, not wearing a jacket. And he has on a short sleeved shirt. Don’t let this be a sign of how cold it ISN’T here…He’s just a man and does not know any better. He will probably come down with pneumonia because of this one incident. And of course, it’ll be me who has to nurse him back to health. I only hope I have enough items in the First Aid kit to give him the care he will need through this, as I doubt that any of the hospitals or doctor’s offices will even be open for weeks. I’m sure they, too, can’t get out of their driveways and to the office.

I’m going to sign off now. Saving electricity. You never can be too safe. I sure hope that your snow is melting away today…If you pray for the same for us, we’ll reciprocate. Bundle up and stay warm! I’m going to go try that hairdryer out on the front porch.

Warmest of love,
Lauri

This is a fascinating article on Millennials. That’s a new term for me, but the concept written about here is not new to me at all.

Interesting.

I’m sitting here, starving. I have to do a fasting cholesterol check this morning at 8:30. And this is torture! I can smell Todd brewing the delicious coffee we bought at Sprouts last weekend, down in the kitchen. I can even hear him opening and closing the refrigerator door (likely getting Natalie’s bottles ready for the day), but all it makes me think about is the milk…sitting there, so innocently, in the door of the fridge…it’s the same milk that goes into my coffee, all swirly and milky and turning my coffee just the right color and temperature. And just a few feet away from that is the pantry…where the granola bars are…my morning staple.

An 8:30 am lab appointment might not seem too bad to most of you, especially those of you who don’t even roll out of bed until 7:00 or so…But for me, the person who wakes up at 4:59 am every morning to the sweet sounds of a baby angel girl lying in her crib, talking to the crib and the animals on the mobile above her…the minutes between 4:59 am and 8:30 am are killing me this morning. Really, I’m only making this post this morning to distract myself. If I’m suddenly “rushed” to get out the door here in a little while then the hunger won’t be nagging at me so much. The fear of being late will. That’s just how it works.

The real torture will be this: I’m taking my “to-go” cup of coffee with me. I’m going to prepare it and take it with me, even into the doctor’s office, and right into the lab…so that as soon as that blood is drawn, I will enjoy the sweet goodness of that cup of heavenly coffee. Then I will pull the granola bar out of my pocket, tear into it, and devour it, right there in the place where peoples’ bodily fluids are extracted into small vials for testing. Right where even the people who WORK there all day wear all kinds of latex on their bodies to protect themselves from the funk that might be living in someone’s blood. I’m going to enjoy my coffee and granola bar, right there in that seat. And it will be glorious.

If anyone ever says to me, “I’m thinking about getting a dog,” I will always respond with “What you need is a Westie.” All dog owners are biased, I know this. You probably want me to get a dog just like yours. And I would, really, if I had a bigger yard. I WOULD, I PROMISE!

We got Jack from a “home breeder” in east Texas. I understand that it’s not very PC to support those puppy farms…Many people will only get a dog from a rescue organization, which is quite admirable, I must say. But I’d had my heart set on a Westie for so many years. And while I did religiously check rescue organization Web sites and made visits to the shelter looking for that one dog, it never panned out. Then I stumbled across this family in east Texas that breeds and raises Westies. I’ve told the story of his adoption and our road trip to pick him up several times, I think, on previous blogs. So I won’t bore you with any of that again.

The point of this post is to promote how “kid friendly” the Westie is. Or, Jack, specifically. Jack loves Natalie so much that it tears my heart into thousands of pieces to see him with her. Really, Jack is the best dog in the world. If he didn’t bark at the mailman, the FedEx guy, the UPS guy, and random, large pieces of Styrofoam that are flying down the street, he’d be the most perfect dog in the universe. But we’re working on that. With Natalie…he’s perfection for sure.

When she was only a few weeks old, Jack would “alert” us to her crying (which we’d already be hearing on the monitor) by running up and down the stairs to tell us that something was wrong. I know what you’re thinking…”That dog is so smart, like Lassie!” Well, you’re right, mister. Or miss. Or Mrs. Whatever.

He’s always greeted us at the door, demanding “high fives” from Todd as soon as he crosses the threshold…But now, if Natalie is in tow, there is no love for us. He has a very important job to do before he can show us any love. He’s got to do a full inspection of her, smelling our out, giving her a lick here and there, to make sure she’s okay and in the same condition she was in when Jack gave her the goodbye kisses on the way OUT the door.

But yesterday, his love for her reached an all new level. And it almost brought tears to my eyes. I picked her up a little earlier than usual because I had a late afternoon doctor’s appointment yesterday. So I brought her home, Jack did his inspection, and we all came upstairs to my office so I could wrap up a few work things. I put Natalie in her bouncy seat so that she could play (swat at) the toys on it and entertain herself until I was done. She was being so good, and so was Jack, that I really hadn’t been paying too much attention to either of them (go ahead, call CPS). I looked down, though, and there was Jack, sitting right next to her bouncy, looking at her. And in her bouncy…were his toys. He’d brought her his favorites - his “baby” (stuffed monkey) and his ball, and placed them right inside the bouncy seat with her, and was looking at her like, “So, do you want to play with those?”

Just the sweetest thing in the whole wide world. Sweeter than Hallmark commercials. Sweeter than Cadbury eggs. Sweeeeeeeeet.

Last night we tried, for the very first time, to let Natalie “cry through” one of her night wakings. Of course, this didn’t last very long, I was in there in about 5 minutes, picking her up, rocking her, responding to her manipulation. But for those five minutes, Jack was so hurt by her crying. He was pacing in and out of her room and ours, and finally jumped up into our bed. He cuddled up next to me (something he never does in the middle of the night) like he was really sad and hurt by her crying. He was feeling her pain and needed a little comforting himself. But mostly, he just wanted us to take care of her.

Sweet baby. I just wanted to share his sweetness with you, the world wide Web, and convince you that you need a Jack. If not a Westie, a dog that is kind and sweet and gentle and loving…and perfect. Like Jack. You need to pay a lot of money to clone my Jackie.