Joy of Love - {3}, {4}, {5}, {6}, {7}

{Day 3}
then & now

Our sweet lil' Audrey. She was quite a surprise, and we can't imagine even a single moment without her in our lives. She is sweet and bubbly, imaginative and funny.

{Day 4}
what they wear

We gave the boys these matching robes two Christmases ago, and I'm glad they still fit. They are so cute in them on these chilly mornings. And, really, you never know who might show up...some mornings it may even be Darth Vader.

{Day 5}
things you love to hate

Oh, my children can be such absolute slobs!! And we do get them to clean their rooms on a regular basis, but even just minutes after they are cleaned, they are...not. I try to remind myself constantly that I was a total slob when I was their age.

{Day 6}
who they love

Spoiled rotten, she is...this cat. Alex is especially fond of her, and Cara reciprocates that fondness. She follows Alex around like a puppy dog.

{Day 7}
generations

How I wish we could get a live Generations shot with the kids' grandparents, but since we can't right at this moment, pictures have to suffice.

To join in the fun, visit Willette Photography.

Carabella

She has been with us for almost 2 years.

She survived a long roadtrip to Connecticut from Georgia.

And she is Queen of the castle.

Her favorite person? Alex.

Who feeds her and cleans her potty? Me.

God's Perfect Timing - One More Thought about the Pup

One of the first thoughts that popped into my mind when we first heard the Big News was, Oh, well that's why we were never able to sell the house! Throughout this whole event, I have been constantly aware of God's hand over, in, and through it. And, believe or not, even the acquisition of that crazy dog was His perfect timing.

After plans were underway for the move and I began to realize how extra crazy life was with the dog, I wondered about the timing. Why would God have brought this dog into our lives knowing we were about to embark on such an adventure of transition? It didn't take me long to realize the answer was that because of this dog, I woke up consistently at an early hour during that month prior to our move. And each morning after enjoying a few moments of the peace and quiet of the early morning sky and the waking of the birds, I would spend time with God. And it was during that time I received the absolute peace about all of the crazy events in my life.

If you know me, you know I am not generally peaceful about craziness. In fact, this move would have been the perfect opportunity for me to Freak Out. But I felt peace like I have never before experienced in a situation like this, and I know it was because of those early morning moments with God.

So I know that Crazy Daisy had her purpose in our lives. And now I hope she brings joy to this other family for whom she is filling an empty spot. It was hard for me to give her away in spite of my big sigh of relief. One of my biggest regrets was leaving the kids without a canine friend, although I'm not sure they were all that traumatized: I had tears streaming down my face in front of all of the receptionists, vets, vet's assistants, and customers at the vet's office where we dropped Daisy off, and in the midst of our doggy good-byes, Jacob nonchalantly asked, "What's for lunch?"

How Kathleen Got Her Groove Back

I'm finally ready to talk about this. The whole ordeal has been both a relief and a heartbreak. I think I made the decision the morning I was standing outside in the monsoon in my pajamas and bathrobe. Gales of wind were blowing the sheets of rain horizontally under my umbrella thus soaking my PJs and robe. It was cold and being soaking wet in the wind didn't help.

I had spent the night downstairs near the dog crate. The dog was on her third bout of diarrhea, and I needed to be near in case the urge hit her in the middle of the night. I did not want to have another 3am cleaning of the crate like I had experienced during her first bout with diarrhea. So the night had passed (uneventfully, thankfully), and here we were outside in the storm. I knew she had to go. But she wanted nothing to do with it. Apparently, Crazy Daisy wasn't too fond of the elements either. And there she sat, water dripping from her ears, her puppy dog eyes imploring me to take her back in.

"Not until you've gone," I told her. "I know you need to go." She started to shiver. And just then a school bus full of teenagers drove by. I'm sure they had fun tales to tell at school that day of a bedraggled housewife and her stubborn dog.

It wasn't just her chronic problem with the runs that made her the most difficult part of our transition to our new home. The main thing was the fact that our lives were forced into revolving around this dog. We'd be out at church or running errands. "We need to hurry home. It's been 5 hours. The dog can't hold it much longer." We would be planning a great outing--"We can go to NYC for a couple of days" or "A day in Boston would be so much fun". But then it would dawn on us. The dog. No 1 or 2 day outings. And no one up here to take care of the dog. True, some new friends offered, but I couldn't pass on a squirty dog to friends, especially new friends. And what if she developed the squirts again while at a kennel? I had visions of having to return early from fun family trips to pick up a runny dog from the kennel.

Then there was the fact that our lives at home revolved around this pooch. Even though we kept her in her crate when we absolutely needed some sane time to ourselves, she had to come out some time, and that time was spent trying to rescue kids' toys from her or cleaning up shredded Kleenex. I am convinced the canine was half-Hoodini; even though the cat box was gated off, I would lose track of her for 2 seconds and find her feasting on cat yummies. Lovely.

It wasn't all on me. I divided the day into shifts and gave one shift to each of the 3 older kids. During his or her shift, the responsible child had to hang out with the pup, keep her out of trouble, and take her out to potty. Turns out pets actually require work. Who knew? There was lots of whining, complaining, wailing, and gnashing of teeth: "Is my shift over yet?" "Can't I just put her in her crate for my shift?" "Do I have to do my shift?"

I know I've mentioned this before, but I LOVE the idea of a dog; I just don't like the reality of a dog. And my kids are the same. Once they realized how much work a dog requires, they weren't quite as enthusiastic. I suppose I was just as naive. I grew up with many, many pets--dogs, cats, guinea pigs, hamsters, goats, rabbits, chickens, ducks, bush babies--but they were never that much work. They were outside pets, and we missionaries had house help who could care for the animals when we were on vacation. There was never a worry. Having a pet here in a America--especially a dog--I just don't see how people do it. We just could not live happily with our schedule being dictated by a dog.

Don't get me wrong. Daisy was a fabulous Doodle. But she was all puppy. Anyway, I ended up calling a rescue number and asked the operator if she knew of anyone who was interested in a labradoodle. Within 10 minutes I received a call from a vet who said she knew a family who had just lost their doodle, and she was pretty sure they would love to have Daisy.

So, long story short, Daisy has a brand new home. And life is much easier here at home. I miss her though...with my heart anyway. My common sense tells me I am much happier with my newfound freedom to go where I want to go for as long as I wish. And to not have to go out in minus 1000 degrees to wait for a dog to pee. Yes, I have definitely gotten my groove back. And I think the cat has as well; she is happy to be queen of the house again.

She's Heeere!

Don't worry, I'm not fooled.

I realize we haven't had one single potty accident in the house today. No not one. But I'm not fooled. I know better than to believe that that will last.

So far she's been a great little puppy who does an awful lot of sleeping. But I'm not fooled. I know she'll wake up soon into a little, giant ball of mischief.

We're awfully glad to have her home, though.

Daisy

We went to meet the puppies today

expecting to fall in love with one of the little chocolate girls,

but who should be the first to come up to us wagging her little tail?

Our little Daisy.

She immediately began tasting Michael's knee.

And stealing our hearts.

We hated to leave her.


But at least she's enjoying a few more weeks with her mommy and siblings.

Looking for a Dood

Recently we had a conversation with Michael, reminding him that we are always here to listen if he is upset about anything. "Well, there is one thing," he said. He paused for a minute.

"What is it, Michael?" we implored.

"It's Max," he said sadly.

I wasn't surprised. He talks about Max quite often even though Max went to live with another family over a year ago. And I've known that the absence of his puppy has bothered him enough to affect how he interacts with the cat. I reprimanded him once for mistreating the cat because such behavior towards animals seems so uncharacteristic of him. I asked, "Are you mean to Cara because you're sad about Max?" He nodded. Clearly, all this time he has resented the fact that Cara seemed to replace his dog.

I regret not sticking it out with Max. He was certainly Chaos on four legs, but maybe if I had just been patient and persistent, we could have trained him to mellow a little. The fact is that it was terrible of me to take a puppy away from a boy.

With all of these conversations in mind, we told Michael that once we finished all of our traveling this summer, we would look at getting another dog. And, since we have no more trips planned for the foreseeable future, I guess we have finished all of our traveling this summer. So I decided to approach the Dog Hunt by looking for a dog who possessed two criteria: cheap (translation: free) and older so that I do not have to contend with all of the puppy stuff (translation: housetraining).

Turns out sometimes I don't always know what I'm doing. I thought I had found our dog: a 15-month-old bulldog/labrador (bullador? labdog?). Free? Check. Older? Check. The owner warned me about the strength of the pup, but I figured how strong can a dog be? Well, very strong. I could tell this pooch was a sweetie, but she was just a BIG puppy. And STRONG. And a little crazy in a sweet, puppy way. Audrey was terrified of her. So we left her there. I felt terrible because I had basically told the family we would take her sight unseen. I had basically told the kids we were going to bring our new dog home.

I learned a couple of things from that: First, of course, we really should meet the pooch before we commit. Second, a puppy actually might not be that bad because then the pup becomes more a part of our family. And third, we noticed this dog we went to pick up was shedding. A lot. Mark really cannot stand the shedding.

So naturally I began researching doods: Goldendoodles and Labradoodles. My research shows they are awesome dogs for families. And they don't shed. BUT they cost a lot more than free. After some discussion, we came to the conclusion that we aren't going to find the perfect dog for our family from Craigslist anyway, so we may as well invest a little in a new member of the family.

So I started the Puppy FUNd. And the kids stepped right up. Alex searched the house for all the loose change she could scrounge up. Yes, she even checked under all of the couch cushions. We had a great time feeding all of the change into the Coinstar machine at the grocery store this morning. I canceled the maid service that was supposed to come on Friday after a promise from the kids that they would help do the work the maid was going to do. They vacuumed and dusted well enough to make me add the maid's money to the jar.


We still hadn't found a potential pup when I started the fund, but now I think I have. We have an appointment on Friday to check out the litter of 3-week-old pups from which I hope we will select our new little girl. Since they are only 3 weeks old, we will not be able to bring her home yet, but we will get to choose her. I have a feeling she will be one of the two little chocolate babies on the left on top of the little black one.

A Funeral for a Crab. Or Not.

I didn't hear the sobbing over my blowdryer, so Alex came to report it. I found him upstairs beside the crab's domain. This has happened before when the crabs have appeared so still in their shells, the kids have presumed them dead. But this time, yes, there was the crab body, dry and lifeless on the tank bottom.

We scooped Lightening's body up, placed it in a box, and set it aside to await Daddy's return so the funeral could be a proper family affair. (Well, that, and I thought Daddy might dig a better hole.) It was a lovely little ceremony. Daddy dug the hole, and Michael laid Lightening's Duncan Hines brownie box into the hole, and threw in the first shovelful of dirt. Then an unmarked headstone was placed on the tiny grave.

A few days later, I was talking with some friends and related the sad tale of Lightening's passing. One of them questioned, "Are you sure he was dead?"

Which got me thinking. Our crabs have molted a couple of times since we brought them home with us from Florida (who knew you could buy them at the mall here in Georgia?), but they have never shed their entire exoskeleton in one piece like I have read can happen. I did find it odd how very dry dead Lightening was, especially considering the kids said they had seen him alive the night before. So I threw out a theory and labeled it such so as not to repeat the sobbing and other Drama.

To test my theory, I carefully pulled the tank out so the kids could scope out the bottom. And sure enough, Michael spied Lightening's leg buried in the sand. Though I can't yet prove there is more than just a leg under there, I am hoping he is indeed just molting and that we held a funeral for just an empty exoskeleton.

i heart faces - Pets

For more pets, visit i heart faces.

Cool Cat Cara

It didn't work out with the puppy, and the tadpoles didn't survive our absence to Kentucky. But I think we scored gold with this cat. Her name is Carabella, or Cara for short, although neither Mark nor I can ever remember her name short or not. We campaigned to change it when we got her, but the kids wouldn't hear of it, so Cara it is.

Cara was a freebie from Craigslist. Well, free except for the gas it took for the 3-hour round trip to pick her up. She's a torti Siamese, a beauty. Our trip home was cause to give me second thoughts--she clawed her way out of the cardboard carrier and shed another cat in the car as she wandered around begging for freedom.

And her first night here was certainly cause to give me third thoughts. We decided to keep her locked up in our room so she would not get lost in the house and forget where her kitty potty was. Apparently, she's nocturnal because she kept us up just about the entire night pacing circles--up on the bed, over our heads, down to the foot of the bed, off the bed, up on the bed, over our heads...

The next night we moved her to the guest quarters, and we had a much better night. Since then, she has had a chance to explore the house and is feeling very at home now. Home enough to have caught a little skink for us somewhere in the house while we were out today.

Gifts aside, what's really endeared her to us is her love of the game Fetch. We think she's part dog, which works out well since we'd really prefer a dog but don't want the responsibility of a pooch. The other day, Mark was sitting on the bed, and Cara jumped up, plopped her little green mouse beside him, and waited expectantly. Mark threw it for her. She bounded down, retrieved the mouse, brought it back to Mark, and the game of Fetch was born. The funny thing is that she prefers to play with Mark; although he won't admit it, I think she's growing on him.

She gets along with all of us, however, even the kids. Of course the kids love her right back. Perhaps my favorite thing about her is that her kitty potty doesn't smell. Strange but true. I might write a letter to Tidy Cats and credit them for it; maybe I'd get some kick-backs. Or at least a coupon for my next litter purchase.

Apparently red-eye fix doesn't work on a cat. Her blue eyes really are pretty, not creepy.

Confessions to My Better Half

Dear TravelDaddy,

I have a confession to make. I may have spent our family fortune--such as it is--on two very cramped hermit crabs. You see, after we went to Learning Things (and we'll discuss the monetary repercussions of that visit when you get home), I couldn't help but stop at the PetSmart across the street (incidentally, it was right next to Starbucks).

Because you do not have as close a relationship with Hermit and Lightening as I do, you probably do not know that it has been rather tight quarters for the two of them in their little carry-along tote. Because that little pint-size plastic tote was $5.00 by itself, imagine my surprise when I found a 10-gallon, glass aquarium for $13.00! What a deal! A deal I couldn't pass up.

The problem is that the 10-gallon aquarium had to be filled with stuff. You know, to make it feel homey and all. And Hermit and Lightening appreciated having a new home set up for them. Really, they did. It was actually quite fascinating to see them explore their new digs. I know...you don't care one way or the other about the crabs' emotions.

However, you do care about your children's education. And let me tell you that despite the fact that I may have dropped our fortune in the nation's largest pet franchise, the children got a great educational experience out of it. They all gathered around the tank and declared themselves "Hermit Crab Scientists." Then the two oldest ones wrote books about them. (I know that will surprise you, especially about our young gentleman who, I guess, didn't realize he was doing school because he wouldn't be caught dead doing school and enjoying it.)

So, you see, this was actually money very wisely spent. Experiences like these are sure to build a foundation for future lucrative careers. Even though we are now fortune-less, we needn't worry because someday those futures will come to fruition and we can just move in with one of them. Reminding them, of course, about their great education and all of our sacrifice, etc., etc.

Your Loving Wife

Beach Chronicles 5

We woke up this morning to the sound of a little boy's heartbroken sobs. Apparently, the hermit crab which we, against our better judgment, allowed Michael to bring home, had gone to hermit crab heaven. I say "apparently" because he hadn't really. He just wasn't active, and Michael assumed he was dead.

Still, in my research, I heard many say that it is difficult to keep a saltwater hermit crab alive in captivity, so I encouraged our little boy to return "Hermit" to the ocean. We made a big to-do about Hermit's return , and there was much fanfare as the waves swept him out to the deeps beyond. Although I didn't tell my little boy, my research also revealed that even saltwater crabs need some freshwater, so I'm not sure what Hermit's fate will be, but at least his graveyard will be "home" to him.

After our big production, and against our better judgment, we headed down the beach to a tourist trap store that advertised hermit crabs. And we bought two. Because my research shows that hermit crabs are social animals.

It's not like this is our only pet here on the ocean. We also have about 50 tadpoles who made the journey through Podunk County, Georgia, and Middle-of-Nowhere, Alabama, with us. Because I am fascinated by them and didn't want to miss out on their growth and development didn't want the children to miss out on their growth and development in our absence.

So it'll be a full car when we head home on Friday. Until then, we have lots of critters to observe, including the fever (go ahead--look it up) of stingrays that swim along the beach in front of our condo every evening.

Conquering Canine Chaos

You've probably had to write an essay on your heroes at some point in school. I know I have. And, in fact, I've assigned such a task to my students before. I don't know why because I always have a difficult time discussing my heroes. I really don't have any. There have been people in my life I've looked up to or admired but never anyone I would label my "hero." Until now. If I were to write such an essay right now, I would talk about Cesar Millan, a.k.a. The Dog Whisperer.

Even if you don't follow me on Facebook where my status usually revolves around my "psycho puppy", you are probably quite aware of the fact that we have a new member of the family. I've had many second thoughts about this little guy. He has added a whole new dimension of chaos to the family, and this has indeed driven me crazy many times over the last couple of months. The puppy is an absolute delight between the hours of 8pm and 11pm because that is when he just hangs with me while the kids are in bed, theoretically sleeping. So it's obvious the little canine feeds off of the energy of 4 wonderful, sweet, yet very energetic children.

So this dog training is quite a task but one I'm determined to undertake successfully nonetheless. My determination stems from the fact that I do not want to teach my children that when you take on responsibility and don't feel like following through with it, you just get rid of it. I'm afraid we have, through poor example, already taught the kids it's OK to shirk responsibility, so now it's time to re-train them. As many times as I've considered graciously returning Max to the pound, that thought has kept me going. Plus...he's kinda growing on me. I'm starting to like him a little. I mean, just look at the handsome mutt with those quirky ears!

And he is beginning to improve, at least considering he is still a young puppy. Anyway, I'm depending on The Dog Whisperer to get me through this thing. Unfortunately, we don't get the National Geographic channel, so I can't watch him in action. Fortunately, he has lots of books, and I've rented Season 3 from Blockbuster, and it should be in the mail now. Unfortunately, Cesar says the most important thing in dog training and teaching pooch who is Leader of the Pack is The Walk. That part is difficult for us. First of all, it's been raining since I went to the bookstore to pick up the books, which seems like 40 days and 40 nights ago; it just won't stop. Secondly, we live in a rural lake community, and typical for such neighborhoods, there is just a narrow 1 1/2 car width road of sorts that runs to a dead end. And my friendly neighbors go barreling down this road like it's Route 66. Not really a safe option for me and my entourage.

But...The Dog Whisperer suggests another option. I laughed out loud when I read about putting the dog on the treadmill. Yeah, right. Maybe in the circus, I thought. I did try it, though; I took Max in our "gym", placed him on the treadmill, and turned it on. He freaked out. Did I expect any other reaction? No. He's a dog. But then I started hearing about dogs on treadmills from other sources like this is normal, like we might soon see dogs waiting at the local gym for their turn on cardio. So I thought I'd give it another try but approach it a bit differently. I let him sniff around the treadmill a bit (I was a little wary about this because he peed on it once). Then I let him lick peanut butter off my hands while I stealthily lured him on and quietly flipped the switch to ON. And then suddenly there we were, walking side-by-side on the treadmill.

Now, since it really has not stopped raining, this has become a daily activity for us. We are up to 15 minutes now at an almost 3mph pace, and he really enjoys it. In fact, when he's loosed from his crate, he comes running in to the treadmill. Who knew? I have to say, though, I still laugh out loud when I read Cesar's thoughts on a well-trained-dog-on-a-treadmill. According to my newfound hero, after the dog gets used to the treadmill, I may be able to just "leave him on the treadmill while I get ready for work." Hahaha. (Still laughing out loud.)

A Shocking Task

We've developed quite a love/hate relationship with this little puppy of ours. We strongly dislike him (yes, I've always encouraged my kids not to use the "h" word) when he's peeing or pooping on our rug, or when he's shredding a piece of paper or the carpet or the Reading Corner chair or my baby's toes. We love him in the evening after the kids have gone to bed; he's so cuddly and calm then. In these evening hours he konks out on my his chair and is the most lovable little pup in the world.

Because we can't live all of our hours in the evening hours, we decided it's got to be boot camp around here. (And if you're some type of PETA freak reading this, just stop now and move on to another blog.) It came down to a decision: kick puppy to the curb or train him right. So after a very pricey vet visit, we bought him a very pricey collar...of the shocking sort. Our last dogs were trained very efficiently on the invisible fence, so we know this type of "therapy" works. And so far it has been quite effective. The only thing is that obviously you have to catch him the act to zap him. So what time he spends out of his crate I follow him around very faithfully and train him with my little green remote. Now he's to the point that he generally just needs to hear the audible beep as a warning and he stops his unwanted behavior. Of course on a couple of occasions I've had to zap him one. He's learning, though, so hopefully we won't be booting him to the curb, and our relationship will begin to tip the scales on the love.

I must add that when we first got the collar, unpacked it and assembled it, we explained the whole process to the kids and also warned that the little green remote is off-limits to little fingers who love pressing buttons. The kids listened with rapt attention, and Michael asked, "When he gets shocked, will we be able to see his bones?"

Perhaps the boy has watched one too many cartoons?

The Slide

We've had sick kids this week. Michael started feeling "the yuck" on Tuesday and was down for the count yesterday. Today we were wondering why Audrey was being so ornery. When she fell asleep perched atop a sofa cushion, we realized she too had succumbed to "the yuck."

Because they're dropping like flies, we've played a lot of educational games for school and downed a lot of soup. In addition, the kids were not able to accompany me today to Max's first veterinary visit. I had planned on taking them so they could see firsthand what veterinary medicine is all about.

Perhaps it was my desire to turn the pricey visit into an educational experience which prompted me to, when informed that Max has worms, request a slide of his fecal matter for us to examine under our microscope. There was a slight pause before the lab tech agreed that, "Sure, that won't be a problem!" And I'm pretty sure the receptionist snickered a little when the lab tech brought the prepared poop slide out to me as I was checking out.

I suppose I could have prepared my own slide, but, well, since they already had one made, why should I be outside following my little puppy around for a sample?

Works for Me Wednesday: Ode To My Vacuum Sweepers, Past & Present

I walked into the kitchen one day barefooted. The kids were at the table eating breakfast. As soon as they saw me, they froze, a couple of them with spoons midway to their mouths. "WHAT?!" I asked.

"Mom," one of them explained, "you don't have any shoes on!" You would think that, having grown up in Africa where shoes are generally optional, I wouldn't be such a shoe fanatic in my own house. It's just that the Crumb Factor is so very high in my house, and there is nothing I despise more than attracting crumbs to my bare foot, or worse yet, stepping in a puddle of mystery liquid. So I've learned to just wear shoes around the house. Someday--maybe in 15 years or so--I won't have to be such a shoe freak.

It's not that I don't clean up. I do. Constantly, it seems. In fact, I've also become a sweeping fanatic. But not with a broom, my friends! A couple of years ago, I discovered the magic of broom vacuums. I'm not talking about that Dirt Devil thing that's shaped like a broom but is supposed to vacuum. I've heard that one's a bust. I'm talking about the battery operated sweepers. My first sweeper of this type was my hero sweeper. A green Shark. It died, and I miss it.

After a near-tearful goodbye to my Shark, I got a Swivel Sweeper...one of those As Seen on TV things. Honestly, I would have replaced my green Shark with a green Shark, but the Swivel Sweeper was cheaper at the Linens & Things Going Out of Business sale than the Shark, so the Shark was replaced. And I don't like it as much, but it still eats up the usual floor fare--wet rice, wet Cheerios, noodles...anything 4 little people can toss on the ground during any given mealtime.

Of course now our mealtimes have an added little bonus...of the four-legged time. Max. Cute little Max. As much as I will vouch for my sweepers, I'm afraid there is no better kitchen floor vacuum than my new puppy. Funny thing is I just added Kitchen Floor Sweeping as a rotating chore on the kids' chore charts. Last two meals, though, when Michael went to grab the trusty Swivel Sweeper to complete his job, we realized that there really was nothing left to vacuum. So much for teaching responsibility. As for Max, he's definitely a keeper, and he's earning his keep to boot. I just wish we had done this Inside Dog Thing nine years ago when the crumbs first began to fall.

Must See PupE

Usually after all school work is complete, media tickets are cashed in for precious minutes on the computer, TV, or video games. Yesterday, however, no such requests were made. Instead, the kids spent their afternoon watching their new puppy sleeping. I guess a cute little snoozing pup trumps Star Wars on the Wii.

Max

After basketball yesterday, Mark and I went our separate ways: Alex had a birthday party to go to, so I took her (and Jacob to whom I owed some ice cream for completing his reading chart) while Mark took the others. When I returned home, Mark said, "Too bad you didn't have your phone with you. I would have adopted a puppy."


Since when do I remember my phone? And what does my remembering my phone have to do with my husband adopting a puppy?


He explained that if I had had my phone, he would have been able to reach me to ask me which puppy I wanted.


Since when do I care what kind of puppy so long as it's a puppy?


Honestly, I just thought he was giving me a hard time for forgetting my phone; in fact, he did at one point say, "That'll teach you not to forget your phone." So I didn't expect him to really load everyone back in the car to head to PetSmart. And I didn't really think he'd actually go through with a puppy adoption. But my wonderful husband did.


And now Max is officially a member of our family. He is the sweetest puppy and so good with the kids. He's about 9 weeks old. What kind of dog is he? you ask. We have no idea, and the nice people with the Humane Society really didn't know either. Whatever he is, he has a sweet, gentle disposition and is extremely affectionate. The kids love him...especially Michael who will sit with him for an hour playing or letting him snooze on his lap.


He seems to be a pretty good dog too. He only carried on for a few minutes last night in his crate, and he didn't mess in it. The carpet, of course, is a different story, but we're working on it. I guess I've had a long enough break from cleaning up poop since Audrey was potty trained that I can handle some puppy accidents.

A Stitch in Time

On April 28, a litter of five kittens was born. A couple of days later, we went to visit them and to pick out the little gray bundle of fur who would likely become Mr. Stitch Pierce. Since then, it has been a daily exchange: "Is it time yet to bring Stitch home?" "It's not quite time yet." "When will it be time?" Finally, it is time!

Stitch came home yesterday. Shy and scared in his new surroundings and minus his family, Stitch spent the day curled up in a box on a blanket that smelled like Mom. Last night, though, he and I got a bit more acquainted as he cuddled down beside me to watch a movie. Then (much to my dismay), the three kids were up before 7:00 this morning. They informed me that Stitch was "squeaking", and this is what awakened them. Apparently, they are all three very fluent in "Stitch Squeak" because the translation came back to me that he wanted out of the laundry room where I had locked him for the night in hopes that he would learn to use his kitty potty (which he did).

Yesterday, Mark addressed Alex's concerns about Stitch cowering in the box by telling her that soon Stitch would be out and about and acting like he owns the place. Well, Alex need no longer worry that Stitch is not comfortable in his new home; heretofore, he shall be under the impression that he rules the roost (he may have to vie for his position with the Princess, however).

The kids are great with him...very gentle and love watching him and playing with him. Last night, Alex read a book to him and then drew some pictures for him. Jacob informed us that "he really doesn't like books much because he fell asleep while Alex was reading." Audrey gets so excited when she sees her "ditty" that her little feet start running in place as she squeals in delight. I'm sure Stitch looks forward to tonight, however, when he will not constantly have 4 little faces peering at him and 8 fast little feet bounding after him no matter where he goes.

We're all excited that the time finally came for Stitch to join our family. He has certainly made a fun addition!