A Hairy Tale

Hi y'all. I know I've been MIA for a month or so (okay, almost two).  Let's leave all the excuses of a job and a kid and busyness aside and jump back in.

I've thought about what I want this public notebook to be, and I want to get back to the basics. I don't have the time or energy to be the next super-crafty mama, or recipe junkie, or aspire to be another Pioneer Woman. 

This is snapshots of my life and what I learn, sharing along the way.

So to dive back into the self-effacement with both feet, I present to you the story of me dyeing my hair.

Now, I've dyed my hair off and on for the past 4 or 5 years...more consistently when I moved to Seattle since there was no SUNSHINE to make my hair that radiant beach blonde it's always been. 

When I moved to Oklahoma I going to Sally Beauty and mixing my own concoctions--and usually they turn out great. So I set out a few weeks ago to dye my hair a shade or two darker blonde.

The irony of this, lest it be lost on you, is I was dying my hair a tad darker so to be closer to my natural shade and I wouldn't have to worry about dyeing it anymore. Just stick with natural stuff like chamomile and lemon and things like that and avoid those nasty chemicals that can't be good for anyone.

Just a shade or two darker was all I needed. That's what I was going for.

Then I made the mistake of trying a different additive to keep the red and brassy tones out. It was Ardel Unred...in case you are crazy like me and whip up your own hair recipes.

THIS is what I was left with.

Oh heavens. I was a brunette. A brunette with charcoal undertones.

It faded down a bit...well, turned more (ironically) reddish...

Thank the Lord for color corrector...this was Round #1

It was still a bit darker than I wanted it so Round #2 of color corrector...

Isn't this a nice, dried out shade of...straw? (tongue in cheek)

Then a plain old box of hair dye...twice...

By now my bathroom reeked of chemicals. Keep in mind I had started all this to avoid pouring more chemicals on my head...but at least it is now back to blonde. And actually not that much worse for wear.

What's even more funny is this ended up pretty darn close to my natural color...it just took a very circuitous route.

As for Tatum and Roy they are constant companions. Well, Tatum is constantly with him and Roy seems to tolerate it. She "loves" on him now, giving him hugs, laying on him, using him as a pillow while she drinks from her sippy cup. He gets nearly half of every meal she eats, and she gets to mercilessly chase him around the house with her walker squealing in enjoyment.

I think it's a fair deal.

That's all for today. I'll leave you with this parting shot of my little dancer...

If You Leave a Dog Alone...

If you leave a dog alone...

He's going to think you're not coming back.

If he thinks you're not coming back,

He's going to panic.

If he panics,

He will dig in the trash.

If he digs in the trash,

he will find the only poopy diaper that's been in there in over a month.

If he finds the one poopy diaper that's in there,

He's going to want to pull it out.

If he pulls it out,

he will want to drag it across the house.

If he drags it across the house,

he will want to shred it.

If he shreds it,

he will want to roll in it. On the carpet.

If he rolls in it (on the carpet),

it will get in his fur.

If it gets in his fur,

it will get in his collar.

If Dad comes home to find this mess,

The dog will be sent outside.

If Dad tries to clean it up,

he will use a vacuum.

If Dad uses a vacuum,

it will clog.

If the vacuum clogs,

Mama will have to clean it out.

And vacuum.

And go to the store for carpet cleaner.

And mop.

And insist on giving the poop-crusted dog a bath.

If Dad gives the poop-crusted dog a bath,

Mama will want to cut his nails since its been way too long and the water will make them soft.

If Mama tries to cut his nails,

the dog will wrench his paw away and Mama will cut wrong and the dog will bleed.

If the dog bleeds,

he will track blood all over the freshly mopped house.

If he tracks blood all over the freshly mopped house,

Mama gets to mop again.

If Mama gets to mop again she will decide to drag a comb through the dog's hair to check...

and she will find more poop on the dog.

If she finds more poop on the dog,

Dad gets to give the dog another bath.

If Dad gets to give the dog another bath,

Mama gets to clean the shower.

If Mama gets to clean the shower,

at the end of a weekend of severe weather,

long nights with several heart-pounding wake-ups,

a teething baby,

and after a day of a day of cleaning,

and painting,

and vacuuming,

and mopping...

at 1:15 in the morning...

she will want to pull her hair out and scream.

But she won't.

Since that would wake the baby.

So, moral of the story?

Don't leave the dog alone.

Either that or sedate him.

20 Weeks on the 20th!

Only four more sleeps 'till Christmas, y'all!

This is the only picture I have of Tatum on her back because the wrapping paper was JUST TOO INTERESTING not to turn over and play with it!

You'd never believe that a few minutes before she had a big boo-boo lip out and was cranky!

Moving to another subject, the other night I had just laid down Tatum for a nap and was at the sink washing a binkie, when I heard a low rumbling sound. 

At first I thought it was thunder, then I looked at the sliding glass window and it was shaking!  Having recently had three earthquakes I immediately thought it was another one, dropped the binkie and ran down the hall to grab Tatum.

It was only when I got down the hall that I realized the light fixture in the entry wasn't swinging...and one major thing: the ground wasn't shaking.

Walking back to the living room where the sliding door was still rumbling, I looked down to see Roy leaning against it, itching.

Dur.

That's all I've got for you today--except we officially submitted our offer to the seller of the house we like yesterday and are waiting for them to laugh hysterically and counter offer!

Gone Bananas

Here's the cutest little banana you've ever seen:

And the cutest chocolate-banana, too:

Oh, and Matt went to a costume party last Friday as a rocker, and I went as a 3 year old.  I guess combined you could have called us Kid Rock..

All for now! Happy November!

The Birth Story from Roy's Point of View

(Note from Mom: in case you missed it, Matt posted his thoughts as a new father HERE, and you can either scroll down or click HERE for the birth story and pictures)

Hello.

You've heard a lot about me, but I've kept my peace until now.

I'm Roy. AKA the FIRST baby.  Please do not forget that. I've accepted this new addition to the pack but I want it understood that I was here first. Got it? I'll keep reminding you as needed.

I've known something's been up for awhile now.  Mom smells funny and either she's been eating far too much or there was something else going on with that belly of hers.  So I stepped up the guard duty.  Personal escort for 3 am bathroom trips, I made sure her feet were always warm, and despite the fact that her walking duties were seriously shirked I still followed her around incessantly and let her love on me as needed.

Two weeks ago I was on the bed in between her and Dad, and I could sense something was different.  She wasn't sleeping, and didn't seem to appreciate my attempts to lay on her legs. She got up and I, being a good dog followed her into the living room where she and that person who sounds just like her but looks a bit different and calls herself Nonnie started working on a puzzle. 

I tried to find a place to lay next to her but she kept pacing which just aggravated the heck out of me. Can't she stay still and let me do my job?  After awhile they went outside for a walk (I even heard them say the word!) without me.  What gives?  Who does she think is going to take care of her out there?  Surely not that Nonnie person! I waited by the door until they got back.

When they did get back, Dad got up and then things started to get interesting.  Mom was groaning and walking around and I tried to stay by her but she seemed rather irritated and kept almost stepping on me, so I lay down and just watched her with alert ears.

Eventually they left me in my bedroom and rushed off somewhere, which really had me worried!  After a few hours the upstairs neighbors came and got me, but how could they expect me to calm down? Something was happening to my Mom and I was not there to supervise! I paced the floors until they showed me a picture of a teeny person (I think it was a person).  So that was it...Mom had a puppy.  Knowing all was well, I laid right down.

More time went on, though, the neighbors went to sleep and still Mom and Dad weren't home. Something delicious smelling came from the laundry room...it was right at my level too.  It seemed to smell like old goat cheese and was wrapped in a white cloth-like thing with elastic and tabs and placed in a low bucket.  I decided to treat myself to some dessert.

When Dad came in to find me he was not too happy about my choice of a midnight snack.  He kept saying something about a "dirty diaper" and could hardly stand to be within a few feet of me. He took me outside, grabbed some spray and rags and headed back upstairs. 

Then Nonnie came down with a big plastic thing held up by a handle that she put on the kitchen table, and Mom followed slowly being helped by that lovely friend of hers who knows how to scratch a butt really well.  I bounded up to Mom but she recoiled instantly shrieking, "GOOD LORD YOUR BREATH!!!"  Not exactly the reception I had planned.

They finally let me back inside and I sniffed that small person-thing once or twice but was more excited my people were back to give me the attention I deserved.

I must have done something right because they gave me a big Kong filled with peanut butter, muttering something about "masking the smell." They all finally went to sleep and would you believe it? Mom and Dad wouldn't let me in the bedroom! They said I stunk too bad to be in a small space!  And so I paced from their door to Nonnie to Charissa and back to the door until finally Mom opened the door and let me in and then opened a window.

Something was making squeaking noises from that mini-bed,  but I couldn't see over the rim.  Mom finally pulled this little bundle out and laid it on the bed with her so I took a few more sniffs.  Hmmm.  Not to sure on that one, but maybe she'll be gone in the morning.  Seeing everyone was okay, I went to sleep.

The next morning those wonderful people who own my best friend Cooper came and picked me up and I got to spend a whole day and night with them.  The day after when they brought me home I was beyond tired, and that little person was still around and Mom was still holding it.  This kinda irked me.  What was I, chopped liver? Actually in my case that would be a good thing, so what was I? Chopped cucumber?  I decided to give them the cold shoulder.  All day when either of the females called me I just ignored them. Slept with my back to them, didn't even look at them.  

That got pretty old, so I acquiesced the next day and returned my full attention, and figured since the tiny thing was still around I'd better get used to it and guard it as well.  The hardest part is trying to keep my eyes on everyone at once--one in the living room, two in the bedroom--I pace all day long! Do they know how tiring that is?

So now I've accepted this little person is staying.  I do my part and check her out each time I come back from outside or they take her out, sleep by her swing, stay on Mom's side of the bed when the baby is asleep with her and all that good stuff.  

They tell me just wait until she's old enough to start dropping me cheerios and playing with me...'till then I'll have to just keep reminding them that I'm the FIRST baby!

How NOT To Talk To A Pregnant Woman

In the past few months I've had some things said to me that just stop me in my tracks and make my jaw drop.  For the most part, God's had grace on the people who've said these things and I've mostly smiled politely, but I thought I'd offer up a nice little tutorial on pregnancy etiquette--for those pregnant ladies you know and especially those pregnant ladies you don't know. I also know I've been guilty of saying some of these things too, and to those pregnant mommies I've said any of these I'm so sorry!


 I've asked a few friends to throw in what bothered them the most as well, so here you have a guide:

What NOT to Say to a Pregnant Woman

1.  You're HUGE!

I've gotten this a number of times, most recently from the lady behind the bakery counter at Safeway last Saturday.  I didn't see her at first, but according to my mom she saw me and made a beeline all the way around the counter and came in front to give me this lovely complement.  


Here are a few response options:
(in the same surprised voice) You TOO!!!
Actually I'm having a pony.
Watch for me on the next Biggest Loser!


 As my mouth hung open trying to think of what to say in response that was semi-nice (thank you?!), she added...

2. Are you having TWINS???

No.  I am not having twins. I'm growing a person in my belly. So never, ever ask if a woman is having twins...if she is she will tell you. (I've gotten asked this 3 or 4 times too, by the way). 


Optional replies:
No, obesity runs in my family.
I believe in healthy babies
Actually I have a tumor.


3. This is the biggest I've ever seen you!


Again, what do you say in response to this? Thanks so much, you either! 


 A friend who was told this (at her baby shower) would have like to have said: you try being pregnant in the middle of the summer with 90 degree weather and 70 percent humidity carrying a cantaloupe in your belly!"


4. You look like you're about to burst!


Yes, that's what happens to pregnant women.  We just pop. Or burst. Or blow up. Or explode like a time bomb. Or my personal favorite, "You look like you're ready to spawn!"  To their defense these men were fishermen...but still...spawn?


Try saying:
Then you'd better stay back, you might get splashed with amniotic fluid (I did use this one...)
I'm not a zit and I don't pop.

5. OH MY GOSH....[fill in the blank]...


Just refrain from starting any comment to a pregnant woman like this.


6.  Get your rest now...while you can!


Personally I've been able to sleep great this pregnancy (which I think I owe all to a memory foam mattress), but I know a lot of pregnant woman who ended up sleeping so much better after their baby was born because they could sleep comfortably again! The thought that sleep might be worse after the baby is born is almost unbearable! 


This goes for dads too, I think.  Matt is normally a super-deep sleeper, but the past week or so he wakes up every time I roll over or get up to use the bathroom.  He's trying to get his rest, but I think reminding him he's going to be getting less soon is just added pressure.






Now that you know what NOT to say, you CAN say...


You look GORGEOUS!


You have so much to look forward to!


You're all baby!


You're just glowing!


How many weeks are you? (whatever she says, respond: You look juuust right!)




Anything along these lines is appreciated. 


So there you have it--a brief tutorial to help you determine how to talk to  pregnant woman.


And here is a pic of Week 40...and yes I know I look like I'm about to pop. 

What were/are your biggest pet peeves of things people would say to you during pregnancy?

Humorous in Hindsight + Week 38

I've been trying to write this story since the fourth of July but was enduring a week long migraine which made everything I wrote seem depressing instead of humorous.  This is meant to be humorous, so I've just had to wait.

Oh, and while I thought that we got pictures of my belly on my birthday for Week 37, it turns out they were all from the neck up...oh well.  Here's Week 38...where I'm past the point of wearing maternity pants because  Miss Tatum is riding so low! So I'm pretty much relegated to dresses, skirts and stretchy leggings until she is born.

On to the situation that was at the time beyond aggravating but in hindsight still makes me laugh.

Since being pregnant I've had this lovely side effect known as rhinitis of pregnancy.  Its where my nose runs constantly and I sneeze probably 20 times a day on a good day.  Lately, I'm not sure if its just worsened or combined with allergies, but I've been getting sneezing attacks where I'll sneeze repeatedly for 10 or 20 minutes. Combine that with a 6.5 lb baby and 6 lbs of uterus, placenta and amniotic fluid resting on my bladder and its not a good combination.

On the Fourth of July I was going to meet Matt after he got off work in Issaquah, and together we'd head to the fireworks show. I was right on time, was dressed and only had to put on mascara and get the room ready for Roy and head out.  I had half an hour to do this.

Then I started sneezing.

And when I sneezed, I peed just a teeny bit.

So I changed my undies, put a liner on and went to apply mascara.

Aaa-CHOO

Psssss

I changed the liner, and went to try to put the old sheet on the bed (there's no keeping Roy off while we're gone) and let my eyes stop watering when...

Aaa-CHOO

Psssss

I sighed and changed the liner again, and got half the sheet on the bed.

Aaa-CHOO

Psssss

This time I had to change my undies again, and got one more corner of the sheet on the bed when...

Aaa-CHOO

Psssss

Changed again and got the other corner on the bed

Aaa-CHOO

Psssss

Now these weren't just 'dry' sneezes.  These were filling-up-two-kleenex-of-snot-sneezes. I made it back to the bathroom and managed to put mascara on one set of eyelashes when

Aaa-CHOO

Psssss

You ladies who've sneezed with fresh mascara know that it smears everywhere when you sneeze, so I wiped that up and...

Aaa-CHOO

Psssss

Changed my underwear again and this time managed to keep the sneezes at bay until I had done both eyes and they dried. Thinking this sneezing attack might be over I went to find Roy's kong to fill with peanut butter and...

Aaa-CHOO

Psssss

I changed my underwear again, got the kong and went for the peanut butter and...

Aaa-CHOO

Psssss

AAAAARRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!

Roy just kept cocking his head from side to side and looking at me like I'd lost my mind.  I filled the kong with peanut butter and got halfway to the bedroom and


AAA-CHOOO
Pssss

This went on for 45 minutes before I could get out the door with mostly dry panties and only semi-smudged mascara.

Who ever heard of being late because they were sneezing? Admittedly it sounds ridiculous, but that's how my afternoon went. I only showed you ten sneezes but in that 45 minute span I probably sneezed at least 40 times.  I thought I was going crazy! And it is pretty humorous when you think about it.

At least the fireworks were good!

So next time you sneeze, be thankful you don't have a watermelon pressing your bladder!

My Ammah Gets a Christmas Surprise...

It was Christmas Eve and after an evening of tamales and last minute shopping, we asked Ammah to turn on a Christmas movie. Unknown to her was that while the girls were out shopping, the boys were setting up a little surprise...

Christmastime and A First Doctor's Visit...

First off, thank you everyone for your encouragement in my last post. It is so nice hearing I'm not the only one who can hardly make it awake through the day, or that other people have had nausea much worse than I'm experiencing!

At this time, I'm at a point where you gotta either laugh or cry. So I'm choosing to laugh, albeit with a tear shed now and then from some stupid sappy commercial that wreaks havoc on my hormone-infused heart.

This Morning Cup is in two portions. The first being for everyone and the latter...well...I think women will get the most kick out of it.  Its about my first visit with the doctor, and I have a hard time believing men have anything quite comparable that they go through.

First off it is Christmas time here and elsewhere, and what would that be without a Christmas tree? I am adamant about having a fresh Christmas tree. No offense to you fakers out there, but there is just something magical about that living tree in your house. And don't tell me to get a ficus.

Our new place being a bit smaller, and the fact that we'll be out of town for Christmas made us realize a full-size tree was not in the picture this year. Luckily my coworker knew of my hunt for the elusive table-top tree, and found the CUTEST one for us!

So here's our mini-tree, complete with far too few lights because I couldn't find the 10 strands I carefully wound and bagged last year, and a doll-sized knitted cap because our star didn't fit just right!

isn't it just the cutest?

And Roy got into the holiday spirit as well...

(he's not waiting for a treat or anything)

Now we're off to pack our bags for our flight down to Arizona to be with my family for Christmas, and I have to say I can hardly wait! My family has a way of blowing Christmas way out of proportion. Its the time of year we all go berserk, blatantly lie to one another about gifts, and think of new ways to take our wackiness to new levels.

If only we could bring Roy Boy The Reindeer...

Moving on to Part II of this post, this one's for the ladies who've had to experience the wonderful times at the OBGYN...

I'm just tellin' it how it is, peoples.

My original appointment with the doctor was for 9:45 this morning. Imagine a large backwards L, with the OBGYN on top, my home at the corner and work at the far end. The plan was to head to the doctor's, then still make it to work with most of the day left. 

Right before I was ready to walk out the door, I got a call that the doctor was currently delivering a baby...could we postpone the appointment? Sure...I said (what was I going to say, no?), and I got to work at 10, only to leave at 12:45 for the 20+ mile drive back around the L. Why there was traffic at 1:15 I have no idea, but after waiting on the freeway offramp for close to 15 minutes I made it to my appointment 5 minutes early.

I had been once before, but just to see a nurse and get a quick shot. Today was the first time I was meeting with the actual doctor. I was shown into a room, my blood pressure was taken, and I was told to undress from the waist down and cover up with this - and was handed a large, paper towel-like sheet.

I did as was told, but then was confronted with a dilemma. See, the paper-towel-thingy wasn't quite big enough to wrap all the way around me. Normally that would be fine, but the way the room was positioned my back was to the door and the first thing whoever came in would see would me my plump rump sitting nudely on the table. 

Hmmm.

I fidgeted and tucked and twisted, sure at any moment the door would be opened and the song Fly Me To The Moon would take on a whole new meaning.

Finally I got the thing partway around me, and if I sat caddy-cornered on the table I was mostly covered. So I sat and waited.

Then I noticed the ultrasound that was all prepped and ready to go.

Oh dear.

During the first ultrasound I had a couple of weeks ago everything in the room was so dark I never really got a look around. Now I got to sit next to this for a long, chilly 30 minutes.

And yes that's a condom on there. A straight up Trojan, if you want to know (no pun intended...okay maybe intended).

If you're wondering what that is its a vaginal ultrasound, so they can take a look at the baby up close and personal.

About 15 minutes pass of me flipping through a Women's Day magazine and reading the latest and greatest in metallic lipsticks, when I got curious how long I'd been waiting. And I wanted to take a picture of that thing because it was just too funny to pass up.

Only problem was my purse was on the floor. To get to it I would have to get up, again exposing my backside to the door. I debated and waited 5 more minutes. By then I had had all I could take of that magazine and made a dash for it. I dropped the towel thingy, then it tore a bit, but I managed to get my phone and get my butt back on the table.

Thankfully the door remained closed and I was able to settle back and once again begin the twisting and tucking of the towel to cover my rear. I'm not necessarily an overly-modest person. You're listening to a girl who used to go skinny-dipping in the ocean at midnight and then smoke cigars on the beach. (oh college days...)

But the middle of the night with a bunch of girlfriends and in the stark fluorescent light of a waiting room where a stranger is going to walk in at any moment are two different things.

Finally, almost 40 minutes later, the doctor came in. 

Hi, nice to meet you.  Please spread your legs and put your feet in the stirrups.

Most of you ladies have been there. That cold device they use...blech I hate that thing! Luckily the doctor kept me talking about random things and before you knew it she was done with the exam part and there was a picture of my little munchkin on the screen.

And what do you know, it was dancing a little boogie! It was the cutest thing!

That picture right there made up for the fact that when the doctor left she didn't offer any kleenex to...um...clean up. Oh well, I got to see my peanut dance and it was well worth the bare-butt wait!

'Till next time, I remain your excessively tired and nauseous friend.

Weird Dog and You Can Still Win an Apron!

Yesterday morning I woke up with a terrible migraine.

I took some medicine and went back to bed, where Roy decided to join me once Matt had vacated his spot.

Upon me draping my arm across my forehead, I felt something cold and wet poke into my armpit. I open my eyes and there was Roy, happy as a clam to be as close to the source of all my humanly scent as possible. I was so tired I didn't even move but fell back asleep.

An hour later, I woke up and Roy's nose was still tucked snugly in my pit. What a weird dog...

He continued his attachment right up until I left for the day. Walking with his shoulder pressed against my leg, collapsing with a sigh on my feet when I sat down, nosing my arm to be pet and trying to get into the shower with me...when that didn't work he settled with lying right against the shower door.

Its funny how he can go from fiercely independent to intensely clingy.

After reading an article on Chesapeake Bay Retrievers that was written by someone who has been breeding them for 45 years, I think we have a better understanding of our Roy Boy.

They have a sense of justice, you see. Now, how can a dog have a sense of justice? Well anyone who's ever owned a dog who's gotten into the trash and then looked immensely guilty knows dogs at least know when they do something wrong. So maybe a sense of justice isn't too far of a leap...

See, Chessies will only obey you if they feel like you are justified in what you're asking them to do. The article focused on Chessies used for duck hunting, and the writer wrote that if they don't feel you are justified in your command, the dog will look as you as if to say, "Get your own damn duck."

Pardon the french, but this has become a catchphrase in our house.

If we are eating dinner, for example, Roy has no problem obeying our "Go Lie Down" command. But the other night we were just watching a movie...no food in sight...when Matt told Roy to lie down.

Where was the justice?

Roy paused and looked at him...and kept walking around. Matt tried again, in a sterner voice. Again, Roy looked at him, moved toward his bed...and kept on walking. By this time Matt was getting ticked (I was in hysterics). Matt raised his voice and told Roy to GO LAY DOWN.

If the dog could talk, he would have said, "Get your own damn duck."

And now we realize our weird dog has some sense of justice. There really was no reason he should have had to lay down...it was just bothering Matt that he wasn't!

Personally I think its pretty funny...

kinda like this picture of him rubbing his face all over our bathroom rug and my used towel...

On another note, you can still submit ideas for shop names to win an apron!  I'm leaning towards the more abstract names...especially ones that don't tie me into aprons or kitchen items necessarily.  What if I want to branch into dog capes or mittens? You gotta leave the door open for that, right? You never know...I may be the world's next greatest designer of finger puppets!!!

Just leave a comment either here, or on the Win an Apron page!

(Ooh, and stay tuned for two new apron designs to be shown this weekend!!!)

Travels to Canada: Bridges and Boxers

Last Friday night my best friend Charissa and her wonder-dog Roxi picked me up and we headed north.

To Canada.

Its what we do, we two.

We get in a car and drive. Usually no printed out directions, no GPS...we just figure it out!  We had originally planned to stay in Vancouver but 3 seconds after I saw a picture of Whistler I made the decision that was a much better place to spend the weekend.

We headed down the road toward the freeway, Roxi excitedly prancing around my lap as we headed off on our adventure.

On the way there I called 1-800-Whistler to book our reservation at a lodge in (duh) Whistler. I talked to the travel agent who had originally helped us, and to give them quick props they were awesome! The rate they got Charissa was $30 less per night than if I booked online! While I was in the midst of giving her Charissa's info, Roxi's name, yada yada, Roxi let out a silent-yet-deadly fart.

I tried to continue to read the credit card numbers, but had to pause to whisper what happened to Charissa. As she plugged her nose and her face turned red trying to hold in laughter, I continued to try to talk to the agent in a totally normal voice.

Which was totally impossible.

Do I sound like a valley girl? Like, totally.

After far too many pauses where I attempted to suppress my giggles I finally blurted out (rather uncouthly):

I'M SORRY BUT THE DOG JUST FARTED ON ME!!! BAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!

And we were gone.  Ironically I had just bragged to the agent what a great dog Roxi was, so thankfully she joined in our laughter which was good because it took a minute to compose myself enough to finish reading off the credit card.

It was a good start to the trip.

As we pulled up to the border agent at around 10:00 that night she made no attempt to hide a massive yawn.  Taking our passports she glanced at them and asked the obligatory questions, completely and utterly annoyed with us for some reason. And the worst part was they don't stamp your passport anymore!
Boo!

Leaving Sour Sally behind we headed towards Vancouver.

Charissa had assumed her iPhone's GPS would work in Canada...but when we pulled it out to plug in our hotel address we got nothin'.  Hmmm...well I had looked (glanced) at a map before we left and knew if we stayed on the 99 it would go right by our hotel, so we'd call when we got close (we were staying in Vancouver that first night since 1) it was late and 2) the drive to Whistler was supposed to be pretty).

As we drove around we both got a kick out of not knowing entirely where we were going or how we were going to get there, but we were just enjoying the scenery. Cute little homes, bikers, late night walkers...we were taking Canada all in while making stupid jokes like, "Oh, I didn't know they had stoplights in Canadia, eh?" and "Oooh let's put some maple syrup on that now, eh?"

You know, mature stuff like that.

Fast forward 30 minutes and we were driving circles in the dark at some University campus. We had thought we followed signs for the 99 but all of the sudden our street dead ended so we took the northernly route (good guess, right?).

Hmmm...devoid of anyone to ask directions from, maps or GPS, or even the sun to get our general bearings we found an information center on the side of the road and were able to deduce the way out of that scholarly-like maze and get back to the main part of Vancouver.

Which we discovered is a big town.

Lights.  That's how we found downtown.  We followed the big buildings and the lights! And you know what? It WORKED! We found the 99 and too the route that said "99N to Whistler: Lion's Gate Bridge."

It being dark and all we thought we had crossed the bridge and pulled over in a park to call the hotel.  A very jolly Indian man answered the phone and Charissa asked for directions from the 99. I whispered "mention the Lion's Gate Bridge" to her and she did.

"OOOOOHHH!!!" he exclaimed, "the BREEDGE the BREEDGE !!! You are ON the BREEDGE ?"

"Uh," Charissa said trying not to laugh, "Yes."

"Are you in the MIDDLE of the BREEDGE ?"

"Did you go OVER the BREEDGE ?"

"Have you CROSSED the BREEDGE ?"

The man was entirely too enthusiastic about this bridge, yelling so loudly Charissa didn't need a speaker phone, and she managed something the affirmative while I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle giggles.

"O-KAY. You are on the BREEDGE ! YES? O-KAY. You go OVER the BREEDGE , yes? O-KAY.  You stay on the right inside, then the left inside at the end of the BREEDGE . O-KAY. Then AFTER the BREEDGE you get to CAPILANO and stay right. And a LEFT at CAPILANO. This is AFTER the BREEDGE ? O-KAY?"

This made no sense but we both could see that was the best we were going to get so we thanked him and told him we'd see him soon.

Hanging up we began to chuckle as we related how many times the man had said THE BRIDGE!!! What bridge? We wondered! Did we go over it? There was a section where we could kinda see water on both sides but it was nothin' to write home about! Heaven's sake!

We were still wondering why the man had been so excited about that particular landmark???

Then we rounded a corner.

OOOOOHHH we said in Unison.

THIS Bridge!

Photo by Clarke Photo...couldn't find any copyright so hope its okay!

This bridge was HUGE! I mean Golden-Gate proportions! No WONDER he was so excited about the dang blasted bridge! We somehow managed to figure out his directions and find ourselves at the North Vancouver Hotel.

By now it was getting closer to midnight and we were ready to crash. We met our jovial friend who was glad we had made it OVER the BRRRIDGE, Charissa paid an extra $25 for having Roxi with us and we walked into our room.

Which smelled like motel.  And not in a freshly-cleaned-good sort of way.  Oh well, we thought as we tossed our stuff on the beds, its only one night.

I headed to the bathroom and had just noticed the toilet was a bit rusty and dirty when I closed the door and saw...a pair of boxers hanging on the back of the door.

Uhhhh...Charissa? Are these your boxers?

I picked them up using as minimal finger area as possible and brought them out.

They weren't hers. They were the previous' travelers.

Ew.

After all that a drink sounded so good, so Charissa brought up some Coronas she had in our trunk. When we realized we didn't have a bottle opener.

Hmmm. I whipped out my trusty Buck knife and started prying away while Charissa...to the everlasting horror of all mothers....went to town with her teeth.

Maybe I'm a more difficult travel mate than I thought if she needed it that much...

Juuust kidding.  We eventually got our beers open, broke open some tortilla chips and settled in for the night, snuggling Roxi and all that good stuff.

Next up: Whistler!

Guard Dog

Before we delve into Heatherly's wedding, I wanted to give you a little update on the Roy Boy.

Most of you, by now, are familiar with his crazy antics. How he helped me paint, sometimes loves a little too much, and how he personally edited my Bible.  

I haven't given him much blogspace lately because, well, he's calmed down a bit. 

I know, I know. Impossible you say...especially those who have actually met him. But lately he's been doing a lot more of this:

and this:

But today while repotting some plants in the backyard, I noticed him staring into the greenbelt and ever so slightly sniffing the air for a long time.  Then slowly the mohawk of hair began to raise along the ridge of his back.

The dog has pretty good senses about people and what's around him, so I called him into the house and locked the door.

Twenty minutes later he went into stealth mode again:

I peered over his shoulder to see what it was, and saw...

a cute little bunny.

Now we may think its cute, but to Roy it was an intruder on his territory and he was not going to have it!

The mohawk rose and a deep growl emanated from his broad retriever chest.

With his sight on the bunny he slowly sank back like a coil being tightened...

Then he SPRANG into action and let out a bark and a growl to scare any intruder!

hair was even standing up on his tail!

the bunny scampered to the far end of the house and Roy bolted to the bedroom to ward him off!

he kinda looks like a bunny here...

Once in the bedroom he got his sights on that terrible, awful intruder again...by jumping on the bed...

Roy get OFF of there!

What? Aren't I a guard dog???

Back and forth from the living room to the bedroom he bolted trying to get a better look at that bunny. 

When I couldn't see the rabbit anymore I let Roy outside (on his leash, of course...who knows how far into the tangle of blackberries he would chase a rabbit!). 

He roamed the perimeter and sufficiently marked every bush to let anyone know this was his home!

When he was finally satisfied he had scared off every furry or feathered creature in the vicinity he headed back, and plopped down in front of the door again...cause you never know if that thing might come back...

Good dog, Roy! I know no crazy bunny is going to attack like the killer rabbit with big pointy teeth from Monty Python!

RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!

The end. I will catch you up to date on the wedding soon, I promise.