Moving On Up

I've been playing with a new design for awhile and have decided to go in favor of some cleaner lines and a new space.

You can visit me at my new home: http://theselittlemoments.wordpress.com/

Please update your blogrolls and keep reading. I love having you!

Can't I Have It Both Ways?

While rushing to get to an early staff meeting, I encountered the daily challenge of crossing the street across from my office. Sure, there's a crosswalk, but people don't stop. Even when I do my patented death stare and disappointed head shake at them.

A car on the opposite side stopped to let me go, but one look up the street told me I better wait, because the car on my side was flying. So there I am, giving the aforementioned death stare, when the car screeches to a halt. As I start to cross the street both the driver-side and passenger windows roll down and two guys lean out. I make the mistake of turning to look at them as I cross and am met with a "yeah, baby!" and some cat calls.

I am instantly pissed. It's 8 a.m. I am on my way to a very long staff meeting and I am tired. The last thing I want to deal with is obnoxious comments from some unidentified men.

As they drive off and I begin my walk down the street, a smile forces its way across my face. I am wearing the pants that make my butt look cute and my legs look super long. I do have on adorable stilettos that may make me strut just a little.

Then I get pissed at myself because what, now I like the attention?

Guess I can't have it both ways!

Irked

Dear Fergie Ferg,

Thank you for doing such a service to our nation's youth. Without you, "Delicious" and "Glamorous" would always be misspelled. I'd like to add "Tasty" to that list, but unfortunately, you spell it wrong. Newsflash: there is no "E" in Tasty.

Sincerely yours,

Molly

It's OK

I've decided that it's OK...

- to not like wheat bread. I know it's healthy, but you know what? I get more than enough of the good-for-you stuff. I want my sandwich on a non-wheat roll. Preferably a hard roll.

- to worry that my feet will grow when I have kids (it happened to my mom) and I won't fit in any of my beautiful shoes anymore. (Although, what a great excuse for a shoe shopping spree!)

- to own a Celine Dion greatest hits CD. What?

- to not answer the phone sometimes. Caller ID is a wonderful thing.

- to have conversations with the dog. He might not talk back, but he's a great listener.

- to wish that My So-Called Life was still on TV. Even just in syndication.

- to enjoy it when Michael works on a Friday evening. Bad TV + a new magazine + no one to tell me the show sucks = sweet.

- to tell myself repeatedly that muscle weighs more than fat.

"Welcome To The Real World She Said To Me"

On Friday night I attended my sister's orchestra concert. The show was great. And predictable. Like every Pops Concert before, the show ended with all three orchestras performing Stars and Stripes Forever. And just like every Pops Concert I had played in, as the last section of the song began, in full FORTE, they dropped the American flag. So patriotic.

I knew it was coming. Every year as I stood in the orchestra pit playing those very notes, I couldn't look at my friend Abby without laughing. Laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it. At the audience clapping along, goofy grins plastered on their faces. It was always a riot.

As I sat there watching my sister and laughing to myself, I realized how weird it was to be on the other side. Watching, not playing. That was me up there from fourth grade till graduation. Hours of practice, countless concerts and one amazing trip to Australia, New Zealand, Tahiti and the South Pacific. And for the first time in a long time, I longed to play in a group again.

Afterwards, we all filed into Cafeteria A for cookies and juice. As we pushed through the double doors I felt like John Mayer should be playing in the background. It was all so familiar to be back there, but also so strange.

Had it really been only seven years since I last walked those halls?

It feels like a lifetime ago.

Want. Chocolate.

I'm hormonal this week. The good thing is I did the shopping before in preparation because I knew if I went this week, I would return with Entenmann's chocolate covered donuts probably crunchy Cheese Doodles. Because those are my two weaknesses this time each month. So while it's a good thing that I didn't buy them, I'm not going to lie. I'm craving them big time.

But my hormones did get the best of me last night. I cried during the news. There was a piece about soldiers going off to war and leaving their families. It was so sad to watch them kiss their husbands/wives/fiances/significant others goodbye while tears streamed down their faces. I was seriously moved, but was holding it together. Until Michael looked over at me and said, "I love you, baby."

Then I lost it.

So really, it's his fault.

I'm heading home to New York this afternoon to see my family. I'm really looking forward to it.

Have a great weekend!

Just What I Needed

Remember when I talked about how glorious it would be to work from home? I was right. My boss, being the awesome boss he is, suggested that since I was going to spend the majority of my day writing my magazine pieces, if I felt like working from home today he'd be OK with that.

I felt like it.

Especially after our big move yesterday, I could use a little time away from the desk. And today has been every bit as wonderful as I thought it would be. I woke up at 7 as usual, showered and made myself look pretty. I've been in this state for awhile and there's one thing I still hadn't done. Gotten my Rhode Island license. So after primping and straightening my hair, I was off to the DMV. I was out of there pretty quickly (shock) with my new (temporary paper) license in hand. All that primping was a waste of time. The picture ain't that great. Of course.

A part of me was sad to hand over my New York license. No matter how long I live here, I will always consider myself a New Yorker. It's who I am. It's why I pronounce dog "daawg" and coffee "cawffee", why I throw my hands up in irritation and bad drivers "what are you DOing??" and refuse to eat my sandwich on a bulkie roll. That's what they call a roll in Rhode Island. I don't want a bulkie roll. I want a HARD roll. (Side note: when I first went to college I ordered a sandwich on a hard roll in the dining hall. The woman looked at me and said, "Oh no, dear. Our bread is fresh." Um...right.)

Afterwards, I dropped off my car for an oil change like a responsible adult. A responsible adult who may or may not have waited almost 6,000 miles for an oil change. I know, I know. I was back home by 9:30 and with my grande soy chai latte by my side, and was ready to work.

And work I did. I had a phone interview with a hilarious woman for a piece I'm writing and by the end of the conversation I kind of wanted to be her friend. That's weird, right? I couldn't help it, she was awesome. And she works from home as a freelance writer. And is having a baby. And is funny. She should blog.

I just finished the piece. I had so much information and I thought I would never pull it together. But I did...and I like it! Maybe it's because it's on one of my favorite topics: Weddings.

Which brings me to now. I'm thinking lunch since it's after two and I haven't snacked all day! Another plus! Then it's one more piece to write.

I know this won't be an all the time thing, but if I could do this, even once in awhile, I'd be really happy. I'm actually looking forward to going in to work tomorrow since today has been productive while also relaxing.

Awesome.

Still Here

I'm still here. I'm not sure if you missed me or not, but since I post every weekday perhaps someone thought it odd that it's been almost two days since you heard from me.

Yesterday we packed up our office. Today we moved.

I'm not too happy about it.

My old office was great. Hardwood floors, my own little space with a window that overlooked the street (allowing me to spy on who came in late, who went to lunch with whom and what everyone was wearing,) and sun. Glorious morning sun that heated the chilly room and wonderful afternoon sun that made the space cheery and inviting.

My new office is neither cheery nor inviting. There is no morning sun to warm the chill. As a matter of fact, the room is freezing. Turns out there is some afternoon sun which is the silver lining in an otherwise gray situation. There are no hardwood floors (although perhaps they're under the carpet?) and we're right across from the bathroom.

My boss (who shares an office with me) came up with a slogan for the day: "From the penthouse to the outhouse." Basically, we got shafted. And while I'm trying to make the best of it, I'm not dealing entirely well yet. My life report card would say, "Molly plays well with others, but needs improvement accepting change."

So, yeah. Freaking A, this sucks.

I'm going to go hang a poster or something. Maybe that will help.

Beginnings

Later this week we're moving offices. We've all been moving things around, sorting through files and throwing out unwanted stuff. Through the course of the move some interesting stuff has been found, including the cover letter I wrote just about a year ago.

In my opinion, it's pure cheese. Because, in all honesty, I quoted Forrest Gump.

Now, let me explain. My boss has a great sense of humor. In fact, a sense of humor was a requirement in the job description. As well as a love of chocolate. Hence, "life is like a box of chocolates." Yes. I really wrote that in my cover letter.

But you know what? I got the job.

I remember my first interview really well. I desperately wanted to sound upbeat and confident about what I could do. I was praying that despite being right out of college with absolutely no experience in PR, I would be given a chance. I remember thinking I made a big mistake when my now boss said, "well, I'm not really a big fan of Forrest Gump..."

Shit. Oh shit.

"But," OH! There's a but!

"I liked your cover letter. I can tell you can write." Phew.

When that cover letter surfaced last week I was surprised. I hadn't thought about it in so long. And then my boss began to read it. Out loud. In front of people.

I was so embarrassed. I could feel my face getting hot and all of the sudden I was the color of a tomato. It may have gotten me the job, but it's definitely not one of my finest pieces of writing.

As we pack up for the move and I go through my work from just a year ago, I can see a change. I've gotten better. Besides learning the PR ropes, my writing, both professionally and personally, has improved. I'd like to think I've come pretty far since that cover letter.

And that makes me feel pretty good.

Stay At Home Me

I woke up this morning to snow. Lots of snowing covering the yard, the deck and the cars, but not so much on the street. But since I had obsessively checked the weather reports yesterday I knew that the worst of the storm is due this afternoon. I hate driving in snow and wanted to avoid getting stuck in something yucky all together. So I'm working from home today. And I'm really glad I did as my street is now icy and white.

I told my boss I could really get used to this working at home thing. Editing while in bed while What Not To Wear plays in the background? Yes, please. I actually saw a story on the news last night about companies that are allowing employees to pick not only their own hours, but the location from which they work. If they want to work from the office, the work from the office. If a coffee shop, kitchen, or, like me, snuggled under the comforter in their queen-sized bed is more their scene, then so be it. The argument was that by incorporating your job into the environment that makes you happy, you'll actually be more productive.

I can't exactly test this theory today because two thing I need to do I can't access. But I definitely see the logic in it. And today only reiterates what I've always know. Eventually, I will work mostly from home. I lucked out with my current job because the office is a fairly relaxed, non-cubical environment. But a lot of offices aren't. And I don't want to end up in an office like that.

Can I make a living as a stay at home writer? I don't know. I would really love to one day. Truth be told, at this point I'm not confident enough to find out. Being only two years out of college I feel I need more experience in the working world before I take a step back from it.

Right now I'm happy. Happy with my job, happy with where I am in my life.

And today I'm especially happy, because I'm still in bed.

That Was Way Harsh, Tai

The other day I stumbled across this blog. Basically, people submit their blogs for "review" by three women who proceed to rip them apart. I find this blog absolutely atrocious. These women are catty and bitchy and seem to have started a blog as an excuse to be just that. Since people (mostly women) are voluntarily submitting their blogs, the women can justify tearing them apart. And from reading their reviews it seems to me that since their own writing is just sub-par, they pick on others to feel better about themselves. So those who can't write...critique? Where is the logic in that?

Lately I've been really annoyed with the blogging community. When did it get so mean? The attack on Clink the other day and the bitchiness I referred to on Tuesday really surprise me. I don't find this stuff on men's blogs. Why are women so mean to each other? It's really sad that we have to break others down to feel better about ourselves.

Ugh, it's like a virtual high school.

Oh Baby, Baby

I want a baby. Not like, right this minute, but one day. Actually, I want two. Or three. But probably two. Over the last year or so my desire to be a mother has intensified. I'll see a tiny dress in Marshalls and imagine dressing my own daughter in it. Or I'll notice a baby-sized ball cap and picture it on the peach fuzz covered head of my baby boy. And the shoes! Oh the shoes! Itty bitty packages of cuteness.

Maybe it's because most of our couple friends are having babies. Or my time spent working in a daycare allowed for hours of chubby cheek kissing. Or the fact that I feel even more in love with Michael than I did five years ago and the visions of our future are feeling more like a reality and less like a dream.

I realize it's not entirely realistic for me to be pining for a baby of my own. There's that whole getting married thing. And the fact I'm not exactly ready for the life change that comes with having a child. I like my mid-week martini dates, weekends out and the freedom to come and go as I please.

For now.

But someday. Who knows, in three of four years I could be a mom.

That's completely terrifying and absolutely amazing at the same time.

The Glamorous

There's a blog I read sometimes. I don't read it everyday, I don't link to it and I've never commented on it. It's because I don't like the author. She's a snob.

Then why read it? I don't know, I think it's because being a mean girl is interesting. It's like those girls in high school you didn't like but secretly wanted to be friends with. I don't want to develop a blog-relationship with this woman, but I am sometimes curious about what she's up to. Even though I find myself rolling my eyes at her posts, shaking my head or even voicing the occasional "what a bitch!"

She's the skinny girl who knows she's skinny but complains about being fat so someone will tell her she's not. She's the girl at the bar batting her eyelashes, sticking out her cleavage and fake laughing to get a guy's interest, only to toss her hair in his face and move on the minute he buys her a drink. You know they type I'm talking about. She may come across as pretty, but her insides are ugly. And although I've never seen her, I know this is true. Because like all of us who blog, she puts herself, her insides, out there for us to read. And I assure you, it's far from pretty.
I wonder if beneath the Prada covered exterior this woman has true friends. Friends that will remain true despite her designer bags, rich husband and big house.

I might not have all those things, but I have a life filled with friendship and love.

And I wouldn't trade that for anything.


** I've had some requests to share the URL for the blog, but I've decided not to. I'm probably just paranoid but oh well. I'll tell you this much, the writing isn't that good and the woman appears to actually be just an aging bitch who now is married with children. Sorry to disappoint, but you're not missing much.

Tales From The Gym

My favorite elliptical was open. I did a brief scan of the surrounding area as I approached, noticing the woman to the left and the empty machine to the right. I put down my water bottle and iPod and left to get a magazine. When I returned the woman was at a moderate jog, alternately pushing her arms out in some slow tai-bo type move. I didn't really get it, but who am I to judge? (HA!)

I started running, when BAM! It hit me. B.O. My nostrils went into panic mode. B.O.? Not B.O.! Now yes, I know, I'm at the gym. Where people sweat. Including myself. But B.O.? I am deeply offended by B.O. (See here and here.) The smell was getting worse and I glanced over at the woman, now rapidly tai-boing, allowing for her armpits to be exposed and slowly kill me with their toxic emissions.

I thought it would be rude to stop working out suddenly and change machines so I stayed. I'm not sure why I did, why I was afraid of hurting this woman's feelings. I tried breathing through just my mouth, but that just made me thirsty. So I sucked it up.

And then, when I thought it couldn't possibly be worse, an older man began his workout on the machine to my right. The machine facing the opposite direction from mine so his rear is near my front.

And ripped a deadly fart.

Life Furnishings

In just two hours we managed to spend enough money to cover a mortgage payment. Today I bought a laptop, the most expensive thing I've ever bought and my first real big girl purchase. We also bought a whole new set of very non-office looking office furniture. We will probably weep when the credit card bill comes.

This is my first laptop and I'm enthralled with all it's fancy features. Seventeen inch screen? Droooool. Michael and I are already arguing over who gets to use it. The novelty of using it on the couch, in the kitchen, lying in bed, hell, even on the toilet if I really wanted to, is not wearing off. This is great!

But the coolest part? All the shopping, for us, for our home, felt just right.

Perfect, actually.

It Is Friday, Right?

Fridays are supposed to be a good days. I can wear jeans, the weekend is rapidly approaching (and Michael is off!) and everyone is more relaxed. Like most nine to fivers, I appreciate Fridays. But so far, today hasn't been all that great.

Someone cut the line at Starbucks. I was waiting patiently for my soy chai latte, standing third in line during the early morning rush. All of the sudden this woman came barreling through the doors, walked right up to the counter and slapped down a list. Anyone who knows me would tell you that usually, this would not fly. I would be the first person to call this woman out and remind her that there are people waiting in line. That were here BEFORE her. I went to elementary school. I know what happens to cutters. Cutters go to the back of the line.

But today I just didn't have it in me. I was too tired to make a scene in the busy Starbucks. So I let it go. No one else said anything, but there was some definite eye rolling.

All was basically forgotten with the first sip of my chai, until I walked into my building. Skunked. Again. Do you know how disgusting it is to work with the smell of skunk permeating your nostrils all day? Awful.

Which brings me to now. I'm hoping that lunch with coworkers will turn the day around. I'm also looking forward to dinner out in Newport tonight with Michael and another couple. This is huge because all of our couple friends? Are having babies. And that means very few get togethers. And when there are get togethers talk centers around, you guessed, the baby.

Don't get me wrong, I'm so happy for these friends. But the thought of a glass of wine and Thai food with a recently married, baby-free couple is looking really good right now.

I Didn't Sign Up For Gymboree

I took a risk by going directly to the gym from work. It's really hit or miss-- sometimes it's packed with the highly motivated after work crowd and other times it's almost empty. Unfortunately, last night it was busy. But I was lucky to score an elliptical and since I had forgotten my earphones for my iPod, (I know, I can manage to bring all my work out clothes and sneakers and the actually iPod to work but forget the earphones...) I grabbed an easy to read while you're running Star Magazine.

The good thing about my gym is that they have lots of new equipment and the price is right. The bad thing is that they also have a basketball court and after school activities that attract kids. Mostly kids between the ages of eight and 15. And I guess because they think it's cool they come into the gym when they're finished. Maybe it's because I'm usually plugged into my iPod, but I never really noticed them until last night. This time I couldn't miss them.

First there were the two girls on ellipticals. They must have been around 14 and after a few minutes one became bored. "Mia! Mia! Miiiiia! MIA!" I turned my head to see one of the girls yelling to the other, who couldn't hear her because she was smart enough to remember her earphones. Probably because she was well aware that her gym partner was the type of girl that frantically waved her hand in the air, "ooh, ooh, oohing" whenever the teacher asked a question. So annoying.

"MIA!!! I'm BORED!" Seriously, I almost threw my water bottle at her. Finally Mia heard her and lifted one earphone long enough to tell her friend to find another machine if she was so bored. Go Mia!

With 10 minutes left to go on the machine I spotted Gold Digger on a bike. Oh no! I had to get to the weights before he did. The image of is finger lost inside his navel cavity began to haunt me. No, no, no! Look away!

I looked ahead and noticed a woman with a girl who could not have been more than eight. The little girl was on the treadmill and the woman was encouraging her to run. The girl was only a little heavy and I felt bad for her. Wouldn't it be better for someone of her age to take dance classes or play soccer or even take walks with her mom? Must she already be told that she's heavy and be put in a gym?

I headed over to the weight machines and was bombarded by a group of twelve-year old boys. I know they were twelve because one of them was talking about his last birthday. These scrawny little boys in their over sized basketball shorts with their hair spike just so, jumped from machine to machine, acting tough and grunting as they moved the weights. It took all I had not to crash into them as they rapidly switched places with each other.

I finished up and realized how tired I was. I know you're supposed to be physically tired after working out, but mentally? No.

Damn kids.

Trigger

I listened to the self-titled Third Eye Blind CD on my way into work. (Yes Michael, you can have it back and yes, it was in a case and no, it's not scratched.) I know the words to every song. It was the CD I played on repeat in my CD walkman during a trip to the Jersey Shore. It was the CD I bought for all my friend's birthdays and the CD that makes me think of overnight bus rides during my trip to Australia.

The trip down memory lane got me thinking about other music that represents a certain time for me. There was Green Day's Dookie, the first CD I ever bought myself in sixth grade. This followed the first ever bought for me, TLC's Waterfalls, but we don't need to talk about that.

Eighth grade brought Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill, for when I was angry or just felt like being moody. This was followed by the girl-power anthems of Meredith Brook's Bitch single (we changed to words for a summer camp song..."I think farm's cool, you grow vegetables, and when they're grown you eeeeaaat them!") and I was a Wannabe for the Spice Girls. Marcy Playground's Sex and Candy, Semisonic's Feeling Strangely Fine and Savage Garden (another one we can forget) were all played at top volume as I danced around my bedroom.

Papa Roach, Limp Bizkit and Jay-Z's Vol 2...Hard Knock Life corresponded with wanting to break up with my boyfriend and spread my wings.

I bought Dave Matthews Band Crash because a boy I liked was a big fan. I could never get into it and packed it away for years until I met Michael, also a DMB lover. Since then I've really grown to like them on my own. I guess it took meeting the right boy.

Speaking of the right boy, Counting Crows' August and Everything After is the CD I associate with Michael. Always one of my favorites, it became the soundtrack to the long drives and talks into the wee hours of the morning that our relationship was built upon.

I love how music can trigger memories.

Bet you have Meredith Brooks stuck in your head now, don't you?

Is It Summer Yet?

I need a change. I'm in a rut. Maybe it's because Mother Nature is making one last attempt to prove it's winter that I want to get the hell out of here. I want to lie on a beach with a drink in my hand and the sun beating down on me. I want to float in and out of sleep to the sound of waves crashing. I want to go dancing. I want to eat Mexican food washed down by a cold Corona. I want to wake up to the sun streaming through my window instead of an alarm rudely beeping.

I need to be refreshed. I'm going through the motions...wake up, work, eat, sleep, rinse, repeat.

I want to drive with my windows down, wear sundresses and open-toed shoes. I want green grass and flowers and frozen lemonade. I want to drive past the sea wall and eat ice cream cones before they melt. I want fireworks. I want dinners outside and citronella candles. I want white capris with strappy sandals, bonfires and bar-b-qs.

Wake up, work, eat, sleep, rinse, repeat.

I want to go on evening walks with Michael, go out on the sailboat and eat corn on the cob. I want daiquiris, margaritas and mojitos, big sunglasses and naturally highlighted hair. I want fresh fruit and swimming pools, freckles and tan lines. I want sand in between my toes, coconut scented sunscreen and evenings warm enough for shorts but cool enough to wear a hoodie.

Wake up, work, eat, sleep, rinse, repeat.

How much longer till summer?

Literal Translation

When I first started this blog I wrote a post about the meaning of the title. And while I feel as though most of the time my posts accurately reflect it, sometimes they tend to stray. But today, in literal translation of the meaning, These Little Moments have made up my life recently:

- I went out to lunch with my boss on Thursday. During our conversation I mentioned that I had been exhausted lately and didn't know why. With a raised eyebrow, my soon-to-be father for the second time boss asked, "are you pregnant?" WHAT? NO! I'm adamant about taking the required measures (at the same time, everyday, since I was 16) to prevent that from happening. No!

Later that afternoon I was feeling so nauseous that I took the next day off. The rational part of me knew that I had come down with the bug that was circulating through the office. The irrational part of me freaked out for a good two minutes. Am I pregnant? I can't be pregnant. Could I be pregnant? Damn you, boss!

No worries. It was just the bug. Of course.

- We went to dinner at his mother's house yesterday. I am always anticipating the worst but it wasn't that bad. She always invites other people and counting us there were 11. Of course her table isn't meant to sit 11 so I got to straddle the leg of the table and eat on an angle. She was nice and even gave me my favorite Easter candy (solid chocolate mini-Cadbury eggs with a hard candy coating...drool....) But I knew there had to be something.

Turns out it was one of the guest's birthday. I've had dinner with this woman at least 20 times now, but didn't know it was her birthday. If I had, I would have brought a small gift or flowers and a least a card from me and Michael. But his mother hadn't mentioned it on the phone so we had no idea.

After dessert, the guest was presented with gifts. On the card from his mother read "blah, blah, blah, Happy Birthday! Love, The Mother, the foster children, Michael and the dog." My name was not included. My name was conveniently left off, but THE DOG was thoughtfully included.

The other adult guest had also brought a gift so it appeared as though I was the only one who didn't bring one.

ARGHHH!!!!

- Yesterday I was doing my usual weekend house cleaning and had finished just about all the chores I wanted to do. I was about to walk out of the kitchen when I noticed a few dishes in the sink that could be washed. I reached inside the blender with the sponge and "OW! Damn it!!" I dropped the sponge and cursed as I realized I had stabbed my finger with the blender blade. I wrapped my finger in a paper towel and sat on the couch with my arm above my head. That's what you're supposed to do, elevate. Right? I sat there for a few minutes looking ridiculous and feeling sorry for myself because, OW, and then decided to yell for Michael to come downstairs. He did, asked if I was OK and asked if he could do anything.

Well, no, actually. I just wanted acknowledgement of my boo boo.

"Do you want a kiss?" he asked.

Yes! He makes things better.

My finger still really hurts though.

Feel sorry for me, I think that will help.

A Post With Little Purpose

I stayed home from work today. A combination of being overwhelmingly tired and slightly nauseous (no, I'm NOT pregnant) made staying in bed very appealing. Also, it's pouring. Buckets and buckets of cats and dogs. So I feel I made the right decision.

Our yard borders a river. Most days it's very peaceful and pretty to look at and Kodiak enjoys barking at the geese and ducks that like to float with the current. Today, however, the river is in our yard, making it soggy, muddy, squishy and overall gross. I would take a picture to show you what it looks like to have a river instead of a backyard, but that would involve going outside and that's not going to happen.

Even the dog won't go outside, minus once this morning to pee. And then he left a trail of muddy footprints through the kitchen and do you know how much fun it is to lift up the feet of a Newfoundland to wipe their paws? He's 120 lbs, I'll let you figure it out.

I'm off to shower. Nope, haven't showered yet. I think it's a rule that if you stay home from work there will be no showering before noon.

You must also watch bad television, eat ice cream and paint your toe nails.

Puppy Love

I was exhausted last night and fell asleep on the couch. After waking up around 10:30, I dragged myself upstairs and fell into bed. I was sound asleep and didn't even feel Michael come to bed.

At 1:30 a.m. I sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath. It felt like my heart had literally stopped. It took me a few seconds to realize that I had jumped into Michael's arms and Kodiak was barking. Not his usual "I'm happy to be in my yard" bark either.

This bark was more of a howl and a growl in one. He was standing in our doorway looking out into the hall. It was scary. He ran out into the hall and stopped at the top of the stairs, looking down and continuing his aggressive noises. I was straining to hear what he heard, but couldn't decipher anything. After a few minutes he calmed down, but I was AWAKE now and couldn't sleep.

Kodiak usually sleeps in his crate, but every now and then we let his sleep upstairs with us. I was really glad we had made that decision. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping that I would get tired again. Just then he was off into the hallway again, growling and upset. This time Michael heard noises that we determined were probably the neighbor's kids and their car. I was still on edge, though, and tossed and turned. While I was lying there I realized how far Kodiak has come in the year we've had him. He's always been a Daddy's boy. I was a good second if Michael wasn't around, but the minute he came home I was pretty much forgotten. Now I am showered with kisses when I come home, he lays next to me when I watch tv and most of all, he's protective. Newfoundlands aren't aggressive dogs, but they are very loyal to their families.

As I tossed around thinking about how far he's come, a cold, wet nose touched my arm. I looked over to see the big, fluffy head I love so much. He rested his head on the bed and looked up at me with his big, brown eyes, as if to say "are you OK, Mom?" I scratched his head and the he lay down on my side of the bed. Something he never does. He stayed there the rest of the night until he woke me up with kisses in the morning.

I really do love that puppy.