Old McDonald's You Know What

Today, one of the first nice WEEKEND days we've had this year, we headed up to Shelburne Farms to meet some friends and have some fun. Officially, the farm doesn't open until the end of May, so we were restricted to the main paddock and barn, but we still had a lot of fun.

This is probably the most attention the animals got from Griffin all day. There were a ton of sheep at the farm, and they were all stinking cute.

This is where the real action was for Griffin and his friend: sandboxes full of tractors, tools and...chickens. The chickens were largely ignored by the boys.

However, Mommy worked her magic and caught a chicken! Yes! Please ignore the scary appearance, as it took my husband forever to get out the camera. I was afraid that the chicken would start to peck my fingers off while I was waiting for him to dig it out, hence the strange smile.

Haircut, Woot!

Yes, it's true, I finally got a haircut! The last time I got my hair cut, I was 14 weeks pregnant. My baby is now 7 months old. It was long overdue.

Back in the day, when I was childless and carefree, it was nothing to drop more than $100 bucks in the salon. Truth be told, it was often closer to $150, after product and tip. Now that I have other things in my budget besides treating myself, I've stopped going to see the fabulous Shelby at Indigo, and started heading to the mall. Much cheaper, and they can usually squeeze me in whenever it fits into my schedule.

Today I went armed with an inspiration picture of Rose McGowan's short, sassy shag, and went home with exactly what I wanted! Maybe not Rose McGowan's body, but certainly her cute hair. I have no before pics that show how long my hair had grown, but we did take some "afters". Whee!

Boy, I have been a bad blogger lately. With spring in the air (well, some days) I feel like time is flying by more quickly than ever. This sense of time flying is leaving me feeling more than a little discombobulated.

Case in point, Easter.

Rather than travelling down to our families this Easter, we stayed home and had my parents and Grandmother come to us. We had big fun, a great meal, and a lovely time, but it was all a giant blur. My husband and I planned an elaborate Easter egg/scavenger hunt leading up to a big reveal of our son's new bicycle. A fabulous plan, except for the fact that neither of us thought to charge the camera, and by the time we realized that was the case, neither of us could remember where we last saw the charger.

Needless to say, we have no pictures.

It was not our finest moment.

To My "Marleys"

My husband and the kids came home with a special treat for me yesterday: Marley and Me. I've been dying to see this movie since they first started advertising it. I didn't read the book (as it looked like sentimental claptrap), but as soon as I saw the adorable and funny dog in the previews, my defenses crumbled.

I knew how it would (inevitably) end. How can you have a movie about love and loss without the loss, right? Still, I watched it. And laughed. And then (inevitably) I sobbed.

I have been lucky enough to have more than one truly Good Dog in my life. Maxie Dean, the gentle giant (at least, I thought he was a giant until I saw a full-grown Sam). One day we heard weird noises from the kitchen. Some of Max's kibble had rolled under the hutch, and he had wedged his face as close as he could and was trying to HOOVER the stray pieces. Hey, waste not, want not, right?

Bailey Girl, our collie, joined our family when I was a sophomore in high school. She had a game where she'd put her head under a blanket and then nom nom nom her way out. She didn't love to chase balls all the time, but when she was in a frisky mood, if we tossed her a ball, she would prance over (there is no other word for it) and bring it back, so proud of herself. What a good girl.

Bruno. I get tears in my eyes right now thinking of Bruno. Bruno was not just a Good Dog, he was the BEST dog. I have vague memories of Bruno the German Shepherd as a puppy, so dark he would get lost in the shadows. The memories feel vague because Bruno was always there. He joined our family before my younger brother did, and was with us until my senior year of high school. It is impossible to think of my life, my childhood, my parents, my family, without thinking of Bruno.

I have so many Bruno stories: the way he loved Cheese Nips, the way he sat and smiled, the time we went on vacation for a week, and when we got home Bruno climbed in the car and wouldn't get out for 2 hours because he was scared we'd go away again. Bruno loved us, and was loved by us, for his entire life.

Losing Bruno was one of the hardest things in my life. We knew Bruno was old, we knew Bruno sick. In some ways, we were just waiting for him to give us a sign that it was time. We knew for about a week that he was going downhill. I spent every school lunch that week sitting in my car, listening to "Nothing Lasts" by Matthew Sweet and sobbing. I couldn't think about what life would be like after Bruno, because I could barely remember my life before Bruno.

The day he left us, were supposed to go to Connecticut for my aunt's birthday party, but there was no way we could leave Bruno. My dad and brother stayed home to be with him, and my mom and I left to keep the family commitment. When we said goodbye to him that day, there were no illusions. We knew we were saying goodbye for the last time. Sure enough, when we reached our destination, there was a message waiting. Bruno was gone. It was like he waited until we said goodbye to let go. My dad and brother buried him in the backyard, in his favorite shady spot, where he would always be with us.

Now that I am a grown up, with my own family, I have my own dog, Toby (yes, the klepto). My husband and I joke about Toby being half a dog, because he is a quirky individual with a lot of...strange habits. As much as Toby can drive me crazy, he is definitely one of the family. He sleeps in my son's room at night, he is on "cleanup duty" after our kids eat their messy dinner. He lets my son lay on him like a pillow, and he makes he baby laugh by kissing her face. He is truly a Good Dog, and it makes me so happy that my kids will grow up with a good friend, just like Bruno was to my brother and I. Everyone should have a Good Dog in their life.

Stereotype for a Reason

Almost four years ago, my first baby was born, and the doctor announced "It's a boy!" Fast forward to the now, and there is no doubt in my mind, he is most definitely male. This is a conversation we had this morning:

"Mommy! Where are my gloves, I need my gloves, can you help me?"

Now, I happened to know for a fact that his gloves are on the floor by the front door. I watched him fling them off last night, in a last-gasp battle to avoid his bedtime. He was not forced to pick them up and put them away, because then his diversionary tactic would have worked.

"Mom, they're not there!"

Hmm, that's weird. I made a point to remember where the gloves landed, as I knew he'd be wanting them in the morning. Did he look on the floor, right by the door?

"Mommy, they're not there, can you help me?!"

Okay, okay. I haul myself out of the one moment of semi-private contemplation I get in my day (in the bathroom, if you must know!), and head off to find the gloves. I walk to the door, look to the floor, and see them in a crumpled pile, exactly where I said they'd be. Imagine that.

"Thanks, Mom!" He runs off to play, and I wonder if I can some how market my "amazing" ability to find things in plain sight.

Just so you don't think we're huge on gender stereotypes in our house, my son needed the gloves to complete his "Cruella Deville" costume, which includes a pair of my heels and a jacket he pretends is a fur coat. Until you see him in this getup saying "Mahhhvelous", like Cruella, you have no idea how cute this kid is, even if he does have man-disease.