Reflecting

One of the perks of living close to the largest military conglomeration known to man is that occasionally my father comes out here for business. He's in town for the next day and a half and so we met for dinner tonight. That was much-needed therapy. Just to have my dad in my car, across from me at the table, sitting on my couch, it was all very much appreciated tonight. Getting a hug from my most favorite man in the world was a very nice cap on my saddening day. Have I mentioned how awesome my father is?

In honor of the fact that tomorrow is my 4-year anniversary as a dog owner, I thought I'd share

some progress I'm having with the Cesar book. A recurring theme in his book is that whether you like it or not, dogs are a mirror of their owner (with severe behavioral issues aside). And sometimes you need to figure out what you're projecting on your dog or your environment to help with their issues. I don't really think that I am that much of a worry wort (lie) but I think I am guilty of anticipating Leo to act a certain way, therefore putting the energy "out there" for him to behave accordingly. So there's a huge chance that Leo acts like a crazy watch-dog spaz because I expect him to. I anticipate him to bark at a loud noise, and perhaps am giving off that energy instead of the energy saying, "It's all cool, Leo, I'm not worried, so you shouldn't be either." Currently working on achieving this kind of mythical energy.

Leo is stretched out on my bed listening to me type, only opening his eyes when I stop typing. It's times like these where I cannot imagine the last 4 years of my life without him, and all I want to do is rub my face on his face and smell his Frito paws. I think tonight I'll cuddle with a dog who changed my life, who gave me my independence, who made me realize a lil ole gal from Kansas can pick up and move out on her own and actually be ok. And I am, for the record.

Why aren't you up the water spout where you belong?

So there we were, on the couch after dinner when J tells me it's time to go home. Before I could answer, he slowly says, "Don't...turn...around..." as he's staring at the wall behind me. I was a little confused, and my curiousity got the best of me, because after he got up to run to the bathroom, what did I do? I turned around. What did I see? THE LARGEST SPIDER IN THE WORLD. This is not a joke. It was black with yellow spots and was of the XL variety, at least the size of the palm of my hand. It had feet, and I'm pretty sure I saw toes. J killed it, but not before I let out a gut-wrenching scream/moan, hurled myself off the couch at light-speed, and refused to open my eyes for about 2 minutes as I stood on my tippy-toes to minimize the amount of surface area touching any sort of carpet. Oh.my.goodness. If he hadn't been over, I would've surely gone into cardiac arrest, and just died right there. He checked the rest of the room, under the couch cushions, behind all pillows, etc., but I still can't relax and all of the lights are now on. Moral of the story: when your boyfriend gives you simple instructions, heed them. And if you don't, bake him cookies to thank him for killing the beast that almost ate you whole. *Shudder*

Mama I'm coming home

It's official. I'm coming home in June! After not having spent any substantial amount of time at my parents' house (last July's trip was spent in Oklahoma, August's trip was to a wedding, spent in KC with my gals), I've decided it is time. And what makes it even more exciting for me is that J is coming along! My parents will be having a little par-tay on Saturday, June 21 and anyone who can read this is welcome to join! In fact, many of you are required to attend. :)

Just thought I'd share the wonderful news!

Milestones and stepping stones

Saturday morning I woke up to the most beautiful weather and couldn’t wait to get out in it so J and I packed up the dogs and headed to Seashore for a nice little hike. Flash back: J took me there a week after we first met, and that’s when I knew that I had found something really special in him, and not just an Eli Manning doppelganger with a killer sense of humor. It was the day that Mary and Leo first met, and all in all was the first “best weekend ever!” that we spent together. Flash forward: I think I've said, "This was the best weekend ever!" every single weekend since then.

We found “our beach” (the beach we found on the first trip) and there, J did the most amazing thing: he took Leo out into the water. This is nothing extraordinary for most dogs; Mary was in the water the entire time, swimming and jumping and playing like a porpoise. Leo, however, shakes and cringes at the very thought of his toes touching that awful evil liquid called the ocean. I can probably credit this to the day when I adopted him; he was covered in fleas and got two impromptu flea baths that night. Yeah, whoops, and ever since he’s adamantly refused to go near water. Refer to previously posted dingo photo for proof. So when I looked up and saw J leading that dog into the water (calm and assertively--he's been picking up on Cesar's magic too), and watched Leo willingly follow him, I got quite emotional. *Gross over-statement warning* I imagine it’s got to be somewhat similar to watching your child take their first steps? It was such a huge accomplishment for this little guy; we've lived here for almost 4 years, and he's never let the tide come near him. I swear to you, Leo looked back at me and gave me this look like, “Mom, can you pick me up from school around the corner, because your station wagon is sooo uncool.” I can’t wait for him to wade more than ankle-deep…or whatever a dog’s ankle equivalent is called. And a shout-out to Cesar for pointing out that there's only so much that we as humans can teach our dogs. The rest it up to the pack, i.e. Mary, who did her part by swimming her little heart out and showing Leo that you don't in fact fall over and die if you get wet.

I think this phase in my life could be summed up with this picture on the left. J said, "Let's pause for a moment on this bridge and have a quick 'Dawson's Creek' moment." So I immediately started to sing the theme song (instict) and he started accompanying with "do-dooo-doo-do" in the appropriate places. Justin and I reached a new level this weekend, and so did Leo, so I'm excited for all of us for what else is to come in the near future. But for now, I’m just basking in the glow of weekend wonderment and being fantastically young and in love, with a slightly sore bum from an amazing hike.

As we stroll along together...

Tonight J and I took the dogs on a loooong walk through his neighborhood. It's one of my favorite things to do with him, and the fact that spring has sprung excites me to no end. Halfway through, both of the dogs are content and we can finally just enjoy our stroll, and so we continue on to our next favorite pasttime: talking about houses as we pass them. We love to discuss what kinds of features will be in our dream home (Her: luxurious dark wood floors and oil-rubbed bronze appliances, Him: a flat-top grill in a gourmet kitchen--don't get too excited, it's so he can make huge piles of bacon all at once!), and yes, we both get paid in circus peanuts now, we like to think someday it'll be a reality.

I go back and forth from feeling like this man who holds my hand is really an extension of me, that we share the same thoughts and heart and feelings, and other times I'm fascinated by our differences. After a few blocks on our walk, he says, "Come this way, I want to show you something..." and he led me down a street we have walked down 2,000 times, but this time was new. The sidewalks were lined with dozens of tiny beautiful white flowers...flowers I'm sure I've seen before, but never...noticed. "Star of Bethlehem" he tells me, and he wanted me to see how they'd bloomed so suddenly. And honestly, at that moment, I know they were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Follow the leader

When people usually display images of their pets (normally this includes me too), they choose pictures where the animal looks peaceful, happy, delightful to be around. Rarely do they pick a picture that 100% exemplifies their dog's persona. This is Leo, any day of the week.

I bought "Be the Pack Leader" by Cesar Millan this week and have been tearing through it like a mad woman. Leo is a sweet dog, and I accept him as-is. But something Cesar (in my head, I say it "Say-zarr") has taught me is that Leo is not a balanced dog. Leo is a CRAZY dog (Say-zarr doesn't use these words, but I totally get what he's hinting at). So my motivation for being Leo's pack leader is to help him regain balance that he never had, being separated from his mother at such a young age (Say-zarr says this is an excuse I've made to cope with Leo's madness). And as to quote a conversation I had with LEMonade last night, "I've read all of these books, but nowhere does it tell me HOW EXACTLY to get Finley to stop snarling at me." I think they want you to tackle the whole she-bang before you can get them to stop the little stuff, and for Leo, that little stuff is: doing a freakish dance anytime I even half-way glance at his leash, barking at leaves that blow across the street, and just plain acting like he's had 12 cups of coffee at.all.times.

So just like an alcoholic has to admit their addiction before the healing process can occur, I stand before you, here and now, and proclaim to you this: "Hi, I'm Stacy, and I've got an unbalanced dog." Hi, Stacy.

What's for dinner?

I've always loved to cook. I like to blame it on my mother's lack of culinary expression as I grew up. I can remember most of my childhood nights eating odd concoctions, usually hamburger meat and a weird combo of gravy mix, tomato sauce, and corn. And now that I'm older, I know that my mom was just a busy lady, with two kids, a job, and a husband with very odd habit of pouring ketchup on just about anything. What's the point in slaving over a delicious curry if he's just going to pour red goop on it? I get it now, Mom.

But even as a kid, I was so inspired that I used to write my own recipes and give them to my mom. If I was feeling extra excited about my new creation, I'd even provide an accompanying illustration, like, "Here, mom, because I wasn't sure you knew how to read, so I drew this picture of a taco sandwich for you." [Note, my mom kept that recipe, because what better way to make your child feel foolish than to wait 20 years and then show them a barely-legible scribbling they made about putting a taco between two piece of bread, and apparently some peas, as visible in the drawing.] One of my favorite treats as a kid was a Dorito sandwich (always fond of the sandwich?), which was white bread, slathered with cream cheese, with a crunchy layer of nacho Doritos inside...mmm...mmm. Cue the slideshoe of me a chunky child, thanks.

Tonight I'll be making a stromboli. Mostly because after yesterday's 4 hour black-out nap after the St. Patty's parade, we woke up absolutely.freaking.starving. and that's all I could think of. So tonight, it's a rolled up log of cheese and veggies and meat. Perhaps I'll take a picture and send it to my mom...for old time's sake.

H-2-uh-OH!

I've been meaning to write about my somewhat communistic views about pumping birth control into the water to prevent young teenagers from getting pregnant, but I haven't fully thought out my theory. But in light of a couple of today's top news stories about prescription drugs being found in tap water and China keeping its one child only policy, I thought I'd bring it up anyway.

So it goes like this: the government pumps birth control in the water*. The general public is "protected" from unwanted pregnancy**. When someone decides they want to have children, they apply just like they would apply for a job; they would fill out a form similar to a resume that would prove they are competant, able to care for another human being, have a savings account, and they would also provide a urine sample for drug testing. If they are approved, the government would supply them with a monthly supply of specially filtered water*** and this process would continue until after they conceive, give birth, etc.****

* Drinking, bathing, preparing food, and washing dishes would all be effective means of birth control.
** This ultra BC would be effective on males and females.
*** A regular Brita could not filter out BC, nor could boiling.
**** Please keep in mind I came up with this "theory" during a wine-induced discussion about how many young teenage females in my area drop out of school to have babies, thus continuing the cycle that their mother started.

Crazy theory, or far-fetched solution?

Baby Bowels and the Bouncing Bosom

My boyfriend's sister had a baby on Leap Day, so we drove up to spend the day with them yesterday (and in my case, meet his sister and bro-in-law for the first time as well). On her 8th day of life outside the womb, we got to meet beautiful baby Berkley, and boy oh boy was she amazing. Not only was she absolutely gorgeous, but it was pretty fantastic to see the man you love holding a teensy baby...and he was so captivated by her the whole day long. The only time the baby wasn't cradled in someone's arms was when we ate dinner, and ever time Berkley would make any noise in her baby bed, J would shout, "I'll check on her!" and run over and dote on her. It was the sweetest thing I've ever seen.

Berkley was so easy-going that J and I pretty much alternated holding her most of the day. Well, on my last turn holding her before we left, it was about 5 minutes after her dinner, and about 3 minutes after her most recent burping. J's sis asked me if I wouldn't mind holding Berkley "up" on my chest for awhile. I said sure...and it was really nice because she was snoozing away peacefully...only making a few precious noises ever few minutes...smelling delightfully soft and baby-esque. And then it happened.

During the middle of a story told by J's very animated father, Berkley channeled her uncle's trombone impression and let one rip! Let's just say this 8 pound angelic baby decided to impersonate a 45-year-old man who'd been at a chili cookoff all day. And she did it loudly and proudly. Loud enough so that J and I both laughed non-stop for about 10 minutes. I couldn't stop myself, but had to somehow get it under control for the sole fact that I had a sleeping baby on my bosom, and she was getting bounced all over the place due to my uncontrollable giggles. I'd pull it together finally and then start up again thinking about the tiny pink Dutch oven that Berkley had just made under that blanket. So needless to say, this tiny amazing baby stole our hearts...and appetites...

My response? "Well I guess I just bring out the best in people."

Proud to be an Awarican

This past weekend, my boyfriend and I had a Michael Moore Marathon. After he got over his shock of the fact I had never seen a MM documentary (except for Roger and Me, which was pretty much demanded of you in high school), we rented Bowling for Columbine and Sicko. Now, can I just say that about halfway through both of these movies, I just started feeling an icky feeling of un-American-ness?

Having grown up in a proudly Republican and military household, I practically came out of the womb knowing it's not an option to put your hand over your heart when you hear the Star-Spangled Banner...it's the law. So dealing with thoughts like, "Honey, let's move to France," didn't necessarily make me feel the warm red, white, and blue fuzzies. I started questioning why.

I think lately, something that's really been upsetting me is the amount of crazies that keep waking up and deciding, "Hmm, today I'm going to kill at least five or six other people before I blow my head off." Random acts of violence scare me more than just about anything in this life, you know. Just last night we were discussing the most recent mass shooting that occurred in a Wendy's. A Wendy's. Not an abortion clinic, not a church, not a court building, not the usual list of places that get ignorant and/or deranged people all fired up. This is both sickening and absolutely frightening to me.

Bowling for Columbine made me question which came first, the chicken or the mass shooting? Are these shootings the results of a previous shooting being covered in the media hoising the shooter into the public eye, or would they have happened anyway? I can't decide if they are happening at a more rapid pace, or if they are just making bigger headlines. One thing I did agree with Michael Moore about was that we as Americans are a fearful nation. We are afraid of everything and everyone, even our neighbors. My mother raised me to believe that if you left your driveway without locking your car doors, there was a fairly good chance the world would end before you reached your destination. I have been known to get up out of my bed in the middle of the night to check, for the third time, that my front door is locked. One can never have too many deadbolts.

I asked J if he thought it was better to be unaware of the constant stream of horrible headlines that the media sees as newsworthy thus reinforcing our fear, or if it's better to be educated about our surroundings even if they happen to be filled with the evil acts of evil people. He said, "I think it's better that you're aware. You're an aware American, and I think that's a good thing."

And while I do get some personal satisfaction of being able to keep up with current affairs, I can't help but wonder if instead of reading the news religiously everyday, if I got up and walked around outside and looked at all of the wondrous things in our surroundings that the Lord has provided for us...I just wonder if it help make one Awarican just a little less aware of her fears.

A passion lost, a passion found

A long, long time ago I used to write in my journal every single day. Sometimes twice. Somewhere along the lines my daily writings became less and less of a priority until, poof, one day I realized I couldn't remember the last time I sat down and completely emptied my brain of words.

Today was that day.