The other night we were watching the sunset, and Annie says, "Hey! Look! God is painting the sky orange!" I say this not to make you puke, but because it was just so sincere, and I want to remember it.
I do not want to remember this puppy continually taking poops on my living room floor. He shits about half his body weight daily. All of the puppy training advice is all "ignore the bad things, just reward the good." I find it hard to stop seizing in displeasure when he leaves his presents in the midst of my unfurnished bowling alley of a living room. But then, ten minutes later, he's stealing someone's shoes to chew on, and trotting around with his ears perched and waving his tail, and you are suckered in by his contagious cuteness. Puppies do that to you.
The house still doesn't feel like home yet. We've got all of the boxes emptied (for the most part) but nothing's where it should go, and nothing is hung on the walls, and furniture is in undecided places. Usually I jump in and get down to business- but maybe it's the poopie living rooms, or my daily commute on 3 freeways, or starting a new job, or missing my Houston friends- but I'm slow to the get-go with this one. It's a bit overwhelming.
I'm currently reading "An American Wife" and wondering if Laura Bush has read it? How weird to have a book inspired by you. I already like it much more then "Prep." Still not really cooking. I made chicken fajitas tonight, and you would have thought my family was eating lobster. Poor deprived souls.