Intarshation

Today, Anya and I got to spend a little one on one time together. We talked about the normal stuff--you know, wanting to sit under a willow tree with a boy because, you know, that would be so nice, and how much we love Dakota, and how summer is really the best, and we can't wait for our next trip to Arizona because we get to sleep in comfy beds, and, you know, the stuff that happens to us when we die.

Yep. The stuff that happens to us when we die.

Anya: So, when you die, you come back to life as another little boy or girl, huh?

Me: Well, yeah, some people believe that.

Anya: But you come back to life as someone else, right?

Me: Um, well, lots of people believe that. And there's nothing wrong with believing that. But Christians believe that when you die you go to heaven to be with God.

Anya: Oh. Weird. I don't believe that. I believe I'm going to die and come back to life as another girl or boy. That's what I believe.

Me: Okay. That's called reincarnation. Can you say that?

Anya: Intarshation.

Me: Yep. That's it.

Not so baby anymore

Baby Brother is 24 today. Happy Birthday Mek!

Like a weed

When we first got Dakota three weeks ago, she weighed 13.3 pounds. Two days later when I took her to the vet, she weighed 14.8 pounds. Two days ago, she was just under 19 pounds. Neighbors have begun exclaiming, "Oh my GOD, look at how she's GROWN!!"


This is where she was:



And this is now where she is:

We've been taking more photos of her than any human could possibly want (we have about two hundred pictures of her sleeping, if you're interested).

I, of course, wanted a nice photo of us together, which we got. See above.

Good behavior never lasts. See below.

Sadly, below is the best of four photos I tried to take of her with Jim.

Last night, Jim, Scout and Anya took her out on Lake Minnetonka. Apparently, she has her sea legs about her and she loved it.

I'm sure the puppy posts will die off soon (can you imagine when I have a kid?), but come on...aren't you just loving her? :)

Double Whammy

Jim is out of town this weekend with some old buddies, so I'm home alone with The Hole in My Head.

I'm hoping to fully housetrain Dakota while Jim is gone so I can surprise (read, "impress") him with my training abilities. I've always dreamed of having a well-trained dog, but I have a poor track record in the area. When my first dog, a Bichon Frise (an idiot breed of dog that is incapable of learning ANYthing) named Doc, would escape from the house, we couldn't just call him with dignity back into the house. No, we had to run around the neighborhood shaking half-empty potato chip bags shouting, "Doc, wanna chip?!? Don't cha want a chip?!? Yum, CHIPS!" in an effort to lure him back home. Best Friend Nicki would literally hide behind bushes when cars would drive by during this shameful activity. There was no way she would be associated with such behavior, particularly since her Golden Retriever Buddy was both angelically sweet and well trained. Ugh.

So, I dream of a well-trained dog--not particularly the freak-show-well-trained dog that would make it on Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks because she can do cartwheels, but the kind of dog that can walk beside my calmly and respectfully, the kind of dog that will sit and stay and lie down at a mere glance from me, the kind of dog, you know, at the very least, that isn't embarrassing.

And so, at the risk of jinxing everything, I'd like to announce that Dakota is now walking with purpose to the door consistently when she needs to go out. I've decided that peeing outdoors is step one to well-trained dog heaven.

I'm taking this purposeful walking as a testament to both my teaching and my mothering abilities.

Double whammy. Nice.

The Big Stuff

It occurs to me that I posted about Dakota, Puppy Extraordinaire, but have failed to post about the other major life changing event of the summer.

Jim and I got married.

There's obviously much to say about that, and I'm sure I'll post some photos as soon as they're available, but at this point, the truest and simplest thing I can say about Jim and me finally being married is that it fills me with the most beautiful, quiet calm--an assurance I didn't know I was missing until it arrived.

We spent a week in Mazatlan right after the wedding--Dad let us stay at his private villa at Pueblo Bonito Emerald Bay. For entertainment, we alternated between our own private pool and hot tub, the resort's pools (and swim-up bars), and, you know, the Pacific ocean. Rough, huh? Twice, Jim managed to pull me away from my agenda of nothing, followed up by nothing, to go into Old Town for awhile so we could get a small taste of real culture outside the resort.

It was perfect, perfect, perfect.

Momentary Lapse of Reason

Proof positive that my parents did, in fact, spend seventeen years of their life together was their identical response to the "Hey, so, Jim and I are thinking about getting a dog" comment.

They each said, in almost the same tone and inflection, "You guys need a dog like you need a hole in your head."

So, ladies and gentlemen, The Hole in My Head:

Aw.

How could a girl resist?

Dakota is a mix between a Labrador Retriever and German Shepherd. We are potty training like CRAZY.

For the record, I'd like to state publicly that there's not a lot of dignity in cheering and clapping and oohing and aahing and carrying on like she's just won the Nobel prize every time she pees or poops outside.

I do, however, do just that. And while I'm doing it, I'm vehemently hoping the neighbors aren't watching.

Finals

I love giving final exams. I honestly enjoy watching the students write them. I'm filled with goodwill and cheer when they sit in their desks and earnestly write their essays for two hours.

Sometimes they even write me little notes at the end of them:

"Ms. T--u r bomb as hell."

"Tholie-pop--i'm gonna miss u!"

And my personal favorite:

"Your [sic] the best English teacher ever!"

Sometimes the painful irony of these messages kills the goodwill and destroys the cheer.

But not this year. This year I'm all BFF and sunshine, hearts, stars, and lollipops with the children.

Thirty four more minutes, friends. Thirty. Four. Minutes.