This is also why the PH won't let me balance the checkbook...

In speaking with someone the other day, I mentioned my nephews and she asked how old they are. Forgetting that Peyton just celebrated his second birthday and trying to do the math in my head (carry the 1, divide by 16, add Pi...), I told her the boys are 18 and 10 months old. She looked surprised and said something about them being very close in age (and maybe something about kat's lil sis being a little nuts).

It wasn't until about three hours later that I realized the numbers I had given her-- numbers that are impossible unless Peyton was born a month early and my sister got pregnant, like, a week later (explaining why the lady looked surprised and thought kat's lil sis is a little bit nuts).

Explaining, also, why I now carry a calculator in my purse in case someone asks me pretty much anything involving numbers.

Getting us ready for parenthood... one puddle of vomit at a time.

Last night, Molly (the black dog) woke us up three times by vomiting in our bedroom. Each time, we got up and I comforted her and cleaned her face while the Pretend Husband wiped up the vomit (she had vomited a couple of times earlier in the day so we went to bed with the cleaning supplies within reach).

It's tough to get a good night's sleep when you're woken every few hours. But, we figured it is preparing us for a baby crying every few hours, and this sluggishness the PH and I feel today? Well, that's probably waiting for us this fall, too.

Last week was particularly hard. Casey (the white dog) woke us up at 4 a.m. by vomiting in our bedroom. While the PH cleaned up the four different spots (I'm not sure how he keeps getting clean-up duty, but let's not point that out to him, hmmm?) I took the dogs outside in case Casey wasn't finished. She wasn't.

Then, fearing that Casey might have a blockage in her intestine that was preventing food from getting through, I grabbed a flashlight and started following her around the yard to see if she was able to go to the bathroom (oh, the things we do for our furry children!) While this was happening (and presumably, one of my neighbors was calling the police to report a prowler in our yard), Molly decided to take off for a tour of the neighborhood.

So, 4:30 found the PH sitting on the front steps with Casey while I scoured the backyard with the flashlight, quietly calling for Molly. We finally all met up, trooped back upstairs and settled back down for a few more hours of sleep.

About 10 minutes later, Casey vomited again. This time, I cleaned and the PH took the dogs outside. I went back to bed but after about 20 minutes, I still wasn't asleep and felt bad that the PH was handling things alone outside. So, dressed in a pink bathroom, I trooped back outside and all the way out to the perimeter of our backyard to find the PH enjoying the sunrise while closely watching Casey for bathroom activity (she didn't go).

We finally made it back inside at 6 a.m.-- just enough time for all of us to pass out for an hour before the alarm went off. Then, to add insult to injury, Molly and Casey got to go spend the day with their grandparents (who promised to keep an eye on them) while the PH and I slogged into work, trying to function on about six hours of sleep.

Yes, I feel prepared for parenthood. But I'm also grateful we have 10 more weeks before the baby arrives. This mama likes her sleep.

The embarrassing part is that she also has way more friends on Facebook than I do...

The Pretend Husband and I were laying in bed chatting yesterday morning as the dogs slept curled between us. At some point, Molly groggily lifted her head to look at us. And we both burst out laughing because that poor peekapoo had the worst bed head. Combined with the nasty look she was giving us, we surmised Molly had a pretty rough night. Speaking in the voice we created for her, Molly confessed to sneaking out of the house after we went to bed and attending a rave. She also admitted that she "gothed" herself up (she had black lips and nails) for her night out on the town. Then she told us both to "shut the eff up" because her head was killing her.

The PH and I laughed about it and traded jokes, finding ourselves very, very funny. That is, until I thought about the fact I had worked until 11 p.m. the night before and then gone straight to bed when I got home (very similar to most nights for me these days), and realized my dog's social life is more exciting than mine.

Lesson learned.

We get together with the BAC family pretty regularly because both BAC's wife and mine (love you, PH!) are huge "American Idol" fans... and BAC and I are big fans of making fun of AI, causing us to be yelled at pretty regularly while it's on.

Anyway, we almost always meet up at the BAC's house and we usually bring Molly & Casey with us. Yesterday, I tried a couple of different ways to have our plans work out so the dogs could go with us, but the PH put the kibosh on it because it would have included one of us doing a heck of a lot of driving to pick them up and get them to the BAC house. Which was fine that they missed a night of "American Idol."

Until we got to the BAC house and realized their daughter, who is almost 2, was counting on hanging out with her furry friends. Her parents had talked it up and she had even pantomimed how she was going to help feed the dogs their dinner. I quickly shifted the blame onto the PH, who felt absolutely terrible when he saw Little BAC's face. And here we thought she enjoyed spending time with us! Believe me, lesson learned and we will NOT be leaving the dogs home again.

This explains the bags under my eyes this morning...

Dear Molly & Casey,

You two are relatively small dogs. You weigh less than 20 pounds each and can both fit in my lap at the same time.

So, how then, do you manage to take up so much of the bed Dad and I sleep in? It's a queen-size bed, which should be plenty of room for two adults and two small dogs. I've watched closely and I still can't figure out how you two each manage to take up three times the area of your body.

Molly, sorry about that kick to your head this morning. But, really, I think it was only partially my fault. I also blame your dad for being savvy enough to take up most of his half of the bed so you and Casey sprawl out on mine. And, oh yeah, I blame you for putting your head in a space that is very clearly meant for my feet.

I think we can make this work. But you two need to try to stay within your allotted space and I will try to keep my feet from kicking you in the head.

Love, Mom

P.S. Don't even get me started on when I get up to go to the bathroom and you two move up onto my pillow. I don't know if you guys expect that I will willingly trade places by curling up at the foot of my own bed, but that is so not going to happen.

Try really hard not to be jealous of me

Two nights ago, the Pretend Husband and I went upstairs, took our clothes off, got into bed, gazed into one another's eyes, slowly reached toward each other... and checked for ticks. Sadly, that's not a euphemism. It seemed like the right thing to do after finding three ticks on the dogs.

Oh, and that fun came after Molly suffered what we think was a seizure, which had us scared to death and moments from running out the door to the emergency vet. (She has since had blood work done and it wasn't caused by toxins, but could be the onset of epilepsy. Fun times.)

Don't be jealous. Not everyone can have as fabulous a life as I have!

They're breaking us in for when our kids are of the two-legged variety...

Because of a late soccer game, a long drive home and an even later shower, I didn't get into bed until about midnight. Sometime in the 1 a.m. hour, Molly woke me up by whining and trying to get up on the bed. Sometime in the 2 a.m. hour, Molly woke me again with the same trick. Again in the 3 a.m. hour, punctuated by me hissing, "You are not coming up here. Go to sleep!"

When I was again woken in the 4 a.m. hour, I didn't really want to give her her way, but I wanted to sleep for more than an hour at a time. But the Pretend Husband nixed me just putting her (and her sister, I'm sure) on the bed. So I hissed at her some more then lay there for about half an hour listening to her nails click around the bed, her whimper from the PH's side, then click back around to my side and commence whimpering.

"Maybe she's mad Casey's in her bed," the PH joked. Hmm, Casey was on the bed Molly usually called dibs on. But there are two dog beds in our room, not to mention the couches downstairs Molly was welcome to sleep on.

When the PH couldn't take it any longer, he tried to lure Molly into the hall outside our room, planning on shutting her out there. She didn't buy it and hid under the bed until he gave up. When I couldn't take it any longer, and not knowing what else to do (short of giving in and just putting her on the bed already), I went downstairs, got yet another dog bed, brought it up to our room, pulled Casey off the bed she was sleeping on and put her on the bed from downstairs, deposited Molly onto the bed Casey had claimed and told everyone to go to sleep.

And you know what? They did. If only I had thought of that at 1 a.m.

Airing my grievances

I think it's been mentioned that the Pretend Husband is an attorney (yeah, I know... but I still like him). Many attorneys have big egos, big chips in their shoulders and big problems when they don't get their way. I wouldn't say the PH is like that, but he will stand up for himself and his clients when he needs to. The man comes home with stories about getting screamed at, thrown out of offices and threatened.

Attorneys have this thing called "grievances." It's basically the complaint department of the law profession. I think there's a committee that hears grievances and I'm sure the committee must stay pretty busy because attorneys are forever threatening to grieve someone if they don't get their way.

This morning, the PH was telling me yet another story of yet another attorney who-- surprise, surprise-- threatened to grieve when he didn't get his way (his way, by the way, was illegal and unethical, but those are just details...) While the PH was telling me about the attorney, I began thinking of the things I'd like to grieve him for. Didn't do the dishes like you said you would... I'm going to grieve you! Still haven't put the bannister back up.... grievance! Your turn to take the dogs out and you're whining... oh, grievance committee!

While I'm at it, I'd like to grieve Casey for chewing on my good black shoes. And, Molly, you know you have a grievance coming your way for pooping in the house the other day. Also, Casey and Molly said they want to grieve the PH and I for serving the same thing to them for every single meal. Casey wants to file a grievance for the odor that wafts out of the bathroom when the PH is in there. And Molly is none too happy about having to spend every weekday locked up in the same rooms as Casey, but she hasn't decided which parent is responsible for that decision yet (that's OK, grieve them both!)

I told the PH not to be surprised if he arrives home tonight to find his own little grievance committee waiting for him. I said he'll know that's what's happening when he walks in tonight to find me and the dogs dressed in long black robes. Now, if I can just find some white powdered wigs in their sizes…

Don’t look now, but there’s a dog following me

One of the nice things about having two dogs is there’s two of them! Who love me! And want to be with me! And won’t let me out of their sight! Ever!

Granted, they spend a good amount of time wrestling with each other and playing tug-of-war with toys and trying to scratch each other’s eyes out, but really only when I’m in the room. Look, Mom! Watch me hang off Molly’s ear while she tries to get away!

The rest of the time, they lavish me with attention… running between my feet anytime I try to walk anywhere, following me the three steps from the sink to the cabinet, whining at the bottom of the stairs when I run up for something.

I’m working from home today and, while I admittedly have a couple of pounds to lose, my lap is not so big that I can manage an 18-pound Pekepoo, a 6-pound Cockapoo and my laptop at the same time. There’s also been some shoving to see who gets to nap closest to me and two dogs who are instantly awake the moment my feet hit the floor.

Anytime I’ve left the couch (you know, for my “lunch break” or “Christmas present wrapping break” or “knocking off early because I deserve it”) I’ve had an entourage. I just washed the dishes with that feeling of eyes on the back of my neck. I’ve also accidentally closed Molly inside the bathroom twice because I walked out and closed the door, not realizing she had snuck in behind me. And I’ve closed Casey inside the pantry, but that was because I had ordered her to come out repeatedly and needed to teach her a lesson about not listening to Mommy (tough love, people!)

It’s nice to be so loved. But, seriously, I wouldn’t mind going to the bathroom without an audience. Or, you know, walking from one room to another without kicking Casey in the head four times. Is it weird to hope my dogs love me a little less in the future?

Our family is growing (and no, I'm not pregnant)

Call us crazy. Go ahead, you're going to be saying it by the end of this post anyway.

The Pretend Husband and I have been discussing getting a second dog (what with how easy Molly is and all). This has been a topic of conversation for a few months now for a bunch of reasons. A big one is how bored Molly gets being alone all day. And with winter here, it's dark by the time I get home from work. Many days, she gets a greeting and some playtime when I get home, then sits around watching me write out thank you cards. It's not fair.

The grandparents are against the idea. Molly has a close relationship with her Grandma and Grandpa and spends a lot of time at their house. Grandma was nervous about having two dogs to care for. Grandpa promised he wouldn't love a second dog as much as he loves Molly.

Well, they're just going to have to deal with it. Meet Casey.



Casey is a three-month-old Cockapoo (a cocker spaniel/poodle mix) who won't shed and, like Molly, is hypoallergenic. She and Molly get along famously. It's been wrestling match after wrestling match in our kitchen, but no one has been hurt yet.

No, we haven't gotten a lot of sleep this weekend. Yes, the grandparents said, "Why'd you do that?" when we said we got a second dog. And yes, there is going to have to be A LOT of puppy proofing done to our house before Casey is allowed out of the kitchen.

But she's cute, Molly's happy... and I was running out of ideas for posts anyway.

Hard ground, cold weather, still the best sleep ever

Oh, hey! I didn't see you there. How's it going? Good, good. And me? Well, I'm good. Not too much to report lately, which is why I kind of abandoned you this week. Now I'm back.

But, still, without a lot to report. Let's see... the Pretend Husband, Molly and I attempted to camp out over the holiday weekend. It went something like this: KAT comes up with this great idea to sleep in the backyard in a tent one night and the PH agrees to it (which may have been preceded by him negotiating sexual favors in return for his company). So KAT enthusiastically picks out the perfect spot, lays down the tarp, sets up the tent, drags the sleeping bags, pillows and comforters out to the tent, digs out the flashlight and takes a lot of ribbing from her friends. Then she gets Molly's blanket and lights the way for the trio to walk out to the tent. Then she may have fulfilled her end of the bargain (if you know what I mean) and fallen asleep shortly thereafter.

KAT was woken by the PH and Molly about three hours later with the complaint of (from the PH) Molly not settling down, the ground being too hard against a softball injury and KAT's snoring waking him up. Oh, and (from Molly), there's a $1,500 mattress inside... explain to me again why we're sleeping on the ground?!? So the two of them hiked back to the house and KAT spent the rest of the night alone in the tent.

Thereby proving that KAT sticks to her promises and is more of a man than the PH.

Good Lord, we live in the ghetto!

Sunday night, after a pleasant dinner with the Pretend In-laws, the Pretend Husband and I had some options about how to spend the rest of the evening. Rent a video and cuddle on the couch while we watch it? Sprawl on the guest room bed and watch sports? Get into bed early and play Rummy?

All great options, but we chose to go with d.) Pay bills and make a late-night run to the post office and bank. Much more romantic than the other choices, for sure.

So, the PH packed Molly and I into his car and away we went for a bit o’ late-night fun. Our first stop was the grocery store, where Molly and I stayed in the car while the PH ran in to do some banking. And that’s when the fun began.

I heard a woman’s voice from a nearby car and, while she was obviously angry, I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Then I saw a skinny guy walk away from said car and when he tried to return to it, the very large woman behind the wheel drove away laughing.

The guy started yelling at her as Molly and I craned our necks to watch the action. “Don’t drive away from me! Where are you going? I’m going to beat yo’ ass. Ashley!”

The woman stopped the car and the guy got in, but they stayed where they were in the middle of the road and began yelling. Again, Molly and I (and a woman who I swear was doing drugs in her car while her sons did the grocery shopping) couldn’t hear what was going on until we heard Ashley scream, “You broke it!” and then hit the guy (the PH and I have some guesses about what “it” is– the PH says something like her video game unit, but I think it was a promise not to cheat on her). She then yelled at him to get out of the car and drove off while he walked out of the parking lot (although I suspect she picked him up because he was nowhere to be seen on our drive home).

So, it was an exciting night in our little ol’ hometown. It definitely kept Molly entertained, although I think she was a little disgusted by the whole thing. Her only comment when we asked her what she thought was, “Save yo’ drama for yo’ mama!” (because, apparently, Molly’s a little bit ghetto too).

A rude awakening

In the cottage we lived in before we bought our house, the full size bed was shared by Molly, me and the Pretend Husband (just kidding, Dad. He had his own room waaaaay on the other side of the house. Maybe even in a different house altogether). Yes, it was tight, but it worked out well in the winter when we were more likely to wake up to a 42-degree cold front in our bedroom than a toasty warm feeling.

Just a few months ago, we upgraded our bed to a queen size to give us all a bit more room (you would not believe how much room a 15-pound Peekapoo can take up!) All seemed to be going well… until this week. The past two mornings, I’ve woken out of a deep sleep, rolled over to put my arm over the PH… and met up with a very furry being. Instead of the PH, I got Molly… stretched out in all her glory on the PH’s side of the bed.

At first, I thought maybe they switched places, so I checked the end of the bed and the floor next to it, but the PH was nowhere to be found. Turns out, he’s been sleeping in the guest room (on the full-size bed he complained about so often!) when our bed gets too crowded. Molly seems to have a habit of crawling up the bed over a number of hours until she’s right next to the PH, which is when she starts spreading out in all directions, sending him to the edge of the bed. Personally, I sleep through all this, but the PH is a light sleeper and gets to the point where he can’t take it anymore and he leaves.

Molly seems to be winning the battle of the bed for now. But I’m hoping the PH takes a stand soon– even with morning breath, I like his kisses better than Molly’s.

That karma, man, can she be a bitch!

A couple of months ago, the Pretend Husband misplaced the passbook for our joint bank account (oooh, look at us being all 1985 with a quaint little passbook instead of electronic statements!). He searched for hours for it, tearing through his car, the house, etc.

All while I said helpful things like, "Where did you last see it?" and "Did you check under BOTH seats in your car?"

It drove the PH crazy that he couldn't find the thing and he was antsy through dinner, thinking about where it might have gone and how much of a pain it was going to be to replace it. Finally, he agreed to retrace his steps with me and... he found it (it was in the pocket of his pants, but he thought he had worn a different pair that day so he checked the wrong pants when he was previously looking). And then we joined the 21st century and switched to electronic banking. The End.

But it seems karma was paying attention back then because, as much as I was sympathetic to the PH's angst, I was also a little too smug. As he sweated and searched and ran around the house panicking, I thought, "I would never lose something that important."

And I was right... for a couple of months, at least. I really only have two bills to be responsible for, but they're important ones because they are the ones that allow us to live in this beautiful house. If I don't pay the mortgages each month, we may not need the PH to continue paying for electricity and cable, because neither is needed in the tent we'll be living in.

Anyway, last night, I went to pay the bills and couldn't find the booklet that has the mortgage slips in it. It's only ever been kept in one place and it wasn't there. So I searched, sweated through dinner, accused the PH of moving it and generally drove myself crazy last night (I even checked the cabinet in the bathroom because... I don't know why, but it seemed like, being the last place the booklet should be, maybe it would be there?)

Around 10 o'clock, I found the booklet tucked into a folder that, yes, contained a lot of paperwork about our mortgage, but shouldn't have included that booklet. I tried to blame the PH for moving it, but he wasn't having it.

I'm working on a theory about Molly digging it out of its hiding place, opening a drawer and slipping it into the folder where it was found, but the details have yet to pan out.


She's saying, "I didn't do it. I don't even have thumbs, dumbass!"

The dog ate my wedding invitation

Oh, if only I were joking. After months of planning and printing and cutting and coordinating, I have so far put together a grand total of ONE wedding invitation. And then the dog ate it.

Molly seemed awfully quiet for an awfully long time this morning while I was working in the office and she was downstairs alone. So I went to investigate. And I found that, despite months of not destroying anything (other than a stray receipt the other day, but I don’t count it) and the fact that my one done invitation has been at a reachable level for her for about two weeks, Molly decided to go to town on it today. And now it’s in pieces. I told her that was her invitation and since she destroyed it, she’s not going to know where or when our wedding is being held and therefore, is no longer welcome to attend.

The larger problem is the fact that I started counting up all the pieces of the invitations yesterday and found I’m 10 or 20 short on the paper that is the basis of the whole thing. So, um, I’m not sure what I’m going to do about that. Do you think people will mind taking a look at their invitation and then passing it on to their friend? My mind has been cranking through the options and I think the best idea is to purchase some paper that will definitely be different than the two others I already have (which is no longer being produced or, at the least, is not available anywhere in the two states I’ve checked). So there will be three versions of our invitations, including the one I’m going to call “my favorite” and the one I’ll call “second best” and the one I’ll call “oh crap, I didn’t have enough paper so if you’re getting this one you should know you are still invited, but are not among the people who must be there or I’ll die. But, you know, it would still be nice to see you again.”

I will not tell which is which, but SJ should rest assured she’s getting the first one, especially because she just called to tell me she’ll be over Sunday to help assemble the invites. That has put her so far up in the “my favorite” category that I’ll have to handwrite one and have it delivered by a singing telegram guy on a white horse if she does one more thing to help with this wedding.

Too hard… too soft… oooh, just right

(get your head out of the gutter, I’m talking bedding here, you pervert!)

Another way to tell I’m a grown-up and no longer the vodka-guzzling, fun-loving, all-night partying young’un I used to be: I’m really excited about our latest purchase of a queen-size bed.

I mean, drinking with my friends, meeting guys in bars and staying out until dawn are fun and all, but they no longer compare to the fact that I own a real (very expensive), plush mattress and mahogany-color, real wood sleigh bed. And did I mention it’s queen size? Because between my ability to sprawl, Molly’s ability to creep up between us and take up more room than something that’s only 15 pounds ever should and the Pretend Husband’s ability to not be able to sleep if he doesn’t have three empty feet of mattress on either side of him, we weren’t lovin’ the full-size mattress any longer.

The argument swayed between getting a king size bed (but it’s king size! Plenty of room for everyone! Molly can have friends over to sleep with us!) and a queen (but it will actually fit in our room! And we’ll still be able to have a dresser in there!), but the queen won in the end… and I chose the queen-sized mattress.

So the mattress gets delivered Saturday and the sleigh bed gets delivered… um, well, sometime after we actually order it. The PH wanted to hold off on ordering it until we actually ordered the mattress just in case I was going to magically change my mind (and the dimensions of our bedroom, which is cute and all, but would have been literally a room for only a bed while we would have had to hike across the hall to the spare bedroom in order to get dressed in the morning).

So we spent two hours in the mattress store last night, hopping from bed to bed, getting some sort of scan done that told us– surprise!– the best mattress for us is the $3,100 one and explaining why I didn’t like almost every mattress we tried (too soft, too firm, um, I don’t know, it’s just not comfortable).

And I learned a lot about our relationship. Like, how easily the PH is swayed by a sales pitch (but he says it’s much better than the S-brand mattress, so it must be true!) and how easily I’m not swayed (I got the guy to admit he used a “top down” approach where they have you try one of the most expensive, most plush mattresses first so the cheaper stuff doesn’t seem as comfortable). I consider it a victory that I got the guy to admit to his sales techniques.

But I guess he still won because we spent a little more than we had planned on. But it is a really, really comfortable mattress we’re getting, and we do have a new headboard to go with it (haven’t had one since I lived at home as a teenager) so maybe we all won this one in the end (except maybe the PH since he didn’t get his king-sized mattress, but then again, he does get to sleep with me every night and I’d say that’s the best prize of all).

Hyper McHyperpants strikes again!

The Pretend Husband has been fighting a cold (and losing) all week, and was completely exhausted last night. So exhausted that he tried to sneak upstairs and go to bed without my knowledge. Perhaps because he anticipated what would happen next.

After noticing he was gone, I tried to tempt him back downstairs with ice cream then finally went up to join him (after the television show I was watching ended because, you know, I have priorities… which are mainly ice cream and television). I’m sorry, but I have to be kept up for a few nights straight (like, say, during a trip to Vegas) for me to even fathom going to bed at 8 p.m.

I guess I could have gone back downstairs and left the PH to a good night’s sleep, but– let’s be honest– that’s just not me. Instead, I started pulling stuff out of boxes (good news, my passport isn’t expired, I found the key to my lockbox and Molly the Peekapoo looks great in a tiara!). I found a list of quotes that my family assembled during holidays together (a favorite was my dad’s comment while helping both teams during a game of Cranium: “I’m the answer slut!”) and the book of quotes the PH and I have been keeping from the beginning of our relationship (most of which may or may not be pretty R-rated, so I’ll spare you the details).

The PH was a good sport about having to listen to the quotes again. And he gets extra points for going along with my pleas to re-enact his proposal after I found the box my ring came in (“No, then you got down on one knee… get down on one knee! Then you said… do you remember what you said? Say it!”)

But he drew the line at the in-depth discussion about what makes people cheat and what kinds of things lead to the demise of marriages. You know, those sort of light discussions that are just perfect for right before bed… especially when you’re under the weather.

I finally let him turn out the light at 10 p.m. after he admitted Molly’s the cutest tiara-wearing dog he’s ever seen. Boy, do I make that guy earn his sleep!

Polishing our parenting skills

She welcomed us into her world with vomit. She tested us with puke.

And now our adorable bundle of joy is preparing us for parenthood. (Before I go any further... and anger any parents... I will readily admit that owning a dog is much, much harder than owning a kid. I mean, easier! It's much easier than owning a kid, although it sometimes feels harder. But I understand that you can't pen a kid into the kitchen while you go to work, so that probably makes it tough.)

Anyway, I arrived home after work yesterday to find our 15-pound Peekapoo had thrown up on the kitchen floor six times (yay for easy-to-wipe vinyl floors, that's all I have to say). Then she proceeded to puke seven more times until there was nothing to come up but blood.

A harried trip to the vet later, we found out she had most likely eaten part of a chicken bone, which was not blocking anything, but had upset her stomach. The advice from the vet was some medicine to calm her stomach, some under-the-skin fluids and plenty of rest. My favorite part (and the only funny part of the entire day) was the fluids they injected under her skin, which gave her a temporary hump on her back until they were absorbed.

The Pretend Husband's reaction was, "You broke my dog!" and we laughed afterward about how she wasn't all that sick when we brought her into the vet's office, but was looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame when we brought her out.

All in all, it seems like the having to drop everything, rushing to the doctor while fearful of what they would find and nursing the little one back to health (Molly had chicken and rice for lunch while all I had was pasta!) was good practice for someday becoming parents. Although I'm assuming parenting lacks the last part of the night... the one where Molly woke up at 2 a.m. and crawled onto the PH's chest before her grand finale vomit. But I could be wrong about that.

Bits and pieces of my weekend

– I managed to embarrass myself thoroughly in front of the new, cute young (did I mention cute?) veterinarian on Friday afternoon. He commented on Molly’s Red Sox collar and I told him I had nothing to do with it. After chatting with the vet tech for a few minutes about baseball, he said, “Well, I guess someone’s father must like the Red Sox” and then peeked around the tech to give me a look. I was startled and said, “Uh no, fiancé.” It wasn’t until he had already left the room that I realized he meant the dog’s dad, not mine!
(If you think that’s a funny story, you should hear SJ’s story about her coworker’s blunder. It’s even better! How about it, SJ?)

– I discovered IKEA is bad for my health. We dragged SJ and her hubby down there Sunday morning to wander through the rooms (those sterile rooms that are just too organized for anyone to really live there). I thought I had healed from my sprained ankle of last weekend’s soccer game, and had even decided to play again that night. But IKEA showed me otherwise. Walking through the store (I think we were on mile 9 or 10), I felt a shooting pain in my ankle, bad enough to bring tears to my eyes. I had to sit down and then walk through the next 25 miles of merchandise leaning on the PH’s arm like an old woman.
Oh, and we went there with a huge list of things to buy for our house. Like Roman shades! And perhaps an entertainment center! And a rug for the dining room! And a light for the kitchen! And you know what we bought? A clock. Yup, one measly clock. SJ and the hubby, on the other hand, did well. They hadn’t planned on buying anything and yet managed to find $60 worth of stuff (you know how much $60 gets you at IKEA?!?) so at least the trip was worth it.

– I’ve discovered a new way to resolve fights with the PH that is just earth-shattering. I’m thinking of teaching seminars because it is just that good. I’m going to offer this new secret for the low, low price of $19.95 plus $39.95 shipping. But for you? It’s a free, trial offer. Ready for this?
Ladies, if you are fighting with your boyfriend, husband, pretend husband, fiancé or whomever, the surefire way to make him forget about it (therefore, letting you win the argument by default) is to… have sex with him. I’m telling you, it works! A little ear nibbling here, whispered dirty words there, and he suddenly forgets that you think the entertainment center he picked out is ugly. I’m thinking about trying this in the store the next time we argue over furniture.

Oh, and I’m hoping my future mother-in-law is not into reading blogs. If you are, Pretend Mother-in-Law, I’m just kidding… the vet wasn’t that young.

Marching into March

Wow. March already. I feel like February flew by in an aching-back, coercing your friends to help you move, hauling everything you own up and down stairs, new home kind of way. I failed to keep up my journal during February… which happened for the first time since I began keeping a journal about five years ago. That’s how busy it was.

Some highlights:
– We took the pre-marriage classes at my church this month. A weekend of fun teachings, such as “Contraception is evil!” “If you are having pre-marital sex with your future spouse, that makes you adulterers. Do you really want to marry an adulterer?” and “Contraception is the reason for increased crime, poverty, single parent families, homosexuality and abortions.” And this was at a fairly liberal church… I can’t imagine what the conservative ones are saying!

– The debate rages on about whether the new wall color in our dining room more closely resembles “Brown Blanket” (its cheesy name given by the paint company) or “poop” (the name given by the Pretend Husband). I prefer to think of it as “Hot Chocolate” or something else that will make me actually want to be in the room! I’ll let you decide for yourself (but please ignore the ladder and the terrible finish in the hallway. I'm hoping both are gone soon)



– I got kicked at soccer last weekend and have been limping around on a slightly sprained ankle all week. It happened to coincide with a snowstorm (“Sorry I can’t help shovel, honey. It’s this darn sprained ankle!”) Two neighborhood boys have been bugging us to hire them to shovel our driveway (one actually came over and did it anyway… I’m not sure if he was being neighborly, was being punished by his mom or was looking for payment…) and my ankle was a perfect excuse to throw some cash their way. Now if I can just convince the PH my injury lasts long enough to get out of mowing…

– The story about… um, someone who shall remain nameless for obvious reasons (but it wasn’t me!) getting locked out of her car. She has one of those remote opener thingies, which apparently stopped working (I think the batteries died). Well, she went to a neighbor’s house and waited two hours for a locksmith to arrive to get her into the vehicle… not realizing the key attached to the remote would have worked just as well!

I’ve been bad at posting lately, but am trying to make it my March resolution to post more often. I predict plenty of posts about house stuff, getting back into my life after taking a month off to demo and decorate, house stuff and perhaps a photo or two of the cutest dog on earth. But why wait?