There was a good reason for me not posting for so long.  I was obsessed with a wonderful secret that I didn't want to share until the exactly the right time.  It was all I thought about.  I was anticipating how I would share the news.  Unfortunately, my amazing news has turned into something else entirely.  I probably shouldn't talk about it now.  No one does.  I have no idea why it's such a secret, I just know that no one ever talks about it.  It's not like I hurt someone.  I didn't break the law.  But somehow, this is one thing you never share. 

In February, we got the thrilling and terrifying news that we were expecting a baby.  I was over the moon.  I've waited my whole life for that experience and the day that I would tell Craig that he was going to be a daddy.  I ate heatlhy and scoured books and articles for how to have a healthy pregnancy.  I was going to do everything right.  I scheduled our first appointment and counted down the days.  At that first appointment, the doctor did an ultrasound and said that the baby was measuring a week smaller than she expected, and there was no detectable heartbeat.  But, she said, we should be cautiously optimistic because there was a chance that everything would be fine.  We scheduled an appointment for the next week.  That may have been the longest week of my life.  I felt suspended between trying to prepare myself for bad news and trying not to give up hope.  That next week, on my birthday, we got the news we dreaded.  The doctor said that I should expect to miscarry in the next week.  I haven't done it on my own, so I'll have a procedure instead.

I know this is part of a plan, but I can't help but wish the plan had lined up with my own this time.  We are both doing just fine.  Naturally, we're worried about if we'll be able to have children in the future.  For every story that works out great, there are those that don't and I want to, eventually, be okay with either way our lives take us. 

I have no idea why I've shared this story.  It doesn't begin to capture how we actually feel about it all, which is fine.  I don't really want to try to explain that.  Not here, anyway.  A very dear person shared her story with me and it has given me so much comfort to know that I'm not the only one.  I guess if this gets to one person, stranger or friend, that goes through the same thing then it's worth it.  If I get flack for this or change my mind about being so open, I may take this down. Of course, it's wide open on the blog, but it should only show up for a few people on facebook. We'll just see.

The Locke Marriage in Text Messages

Everyone's a critic.

No. It should defnitely say cat.

Oh. Are you at Boscos? I would've nvre gussed thatt.

I was 90% successful.

At this point he still didn't believe me.  Now we tell Max that

those sounds are coming from our old dog who didn't listen. 

It's very clear where I learned to be a dog parent.

It's defnitely time for another photo shoot.

And my favorite.  The ever supportive husband : )

Things That Make Me Want to Quote a Certain Grammy Nominated Cee Lo Song

Thank you, in advance, for this opportunity to rant.  Please feel free to read this in your best Lewis Black voice for the full effect.

1. Have more than one air freshener hanging from your rearview mirror. Whatever it is that you're doing in there should be stopped. Immediately. If it's not there because of some especially foul odor, but just because you're lazy, you need to get a grip. Immediately.

2. When I hand you a $10 for something that is, let's say $6.03 please, oh please, oh please ask me if I have three cents. I'm aware of how currency works, ma'am. You need to realize that I probably don't have three cents, or I would've given it to you. However, even if I had fifty tiny coin purses, each containing three shiny pennies, I'm still perfectly within my rights to hand you an even dollar amount. Maybe I don't want to dig through my purse for change. Maybe I need to flip a coin soon. Maybe I need to buy a bouncy ball.

3. Tennessee Residents: have any year other than the current year showing on your license plate. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN? It very clearly has only one spot for the year sticker, and you are to place the current year over the past year. What is particularly infuriating is that the incorrect places people put their stickers have instructions about what is supposed to be there. What about "Wheel Tax Decal" says that you should probably go ahead and put the year there. Why would the police care if you were in compliance in 2009? No need to imitate Bob Ross with your color pallette of the past three years.

4. Respond with "That'll be fine" to a statement. If I'm not asking your permission, please don't feel the need to give it. Unsolicted advice is also unappreciated at least 83% of the time.

5. Expect me to care if you think things have an expiration date. I've got no interest in the philosophy that for something to be good it must be less than 3 months old or greater than 10 years old, plus those bizarre caveats for things that are acceptable to like ironically. Grow up.

6. Say that you don't like small dogs. My dog doesn't like you either.

7.  Make mindlessly offensive comments about only children. You've got to let go of those fantasies you had as a child where you would've been allowed everything you ever wanted if only it weren't for your brother or sister.  No you wouldn't have. Neither was I.  You see, onlies are the whole shabang.  Grandkids?  Gotta be you.  College? Gotta be you.  All their success as a parent is measured by you.  Just you.  You get the best, but also the worst, of being the oldest, middle, and youngest child.  Think on it. 

8.  Be mad at me when I'm mad at you.  Wait your turn.


Ahhhh.  That feels better.

Untitled

Please, please, please don't go to this link if you are at all squeamish about death and dying.  You'll just find it upsetting.

I think it's really powerful and beautiful, just be aware of the subject matter.

LINK

Hair Raising

If you were ever going to heed my my warning about the banality of a post, this should be the one.  I definitely won't be posting this one to Facebook because I'm afraid I might be the first person booted off for lulling a hundred people to sleep.  Okay, maybe I'm being a little dramatic.  I know only seven people read this foolishness.

If you think you have the fortitude to stay awake and aren't operating heavy machinery, then please allow me to share.  I have a product review I'd love to pass along.  I've always been the biggest sucker for pretty packaging and the cache of luxury products.   I'm always drawn to expensive beauty potions and fine cosmetics.  I don't always give in, but I am definitely charmed by the finer things.  With that in mind, I hope you'll be able to appreciate the seriousness with which I tell you that I have found the greatest shampoo/conditioner I've ever used.  It's the Suave Professionals line.

What!!!

Maybe you aren't having to recover from shock the way that I imagine, but just know, it really is that good.  I'm a Sephora junkie and I've used everything.  Keratase, Bumble and Bumble, Aveda, Ojon, Phyto...all the overpriced brands that are supposed to be amazing.  I've also used every drug store brand ever made.  I've got wavy, coarse, dry hair that has been dyed and styled with in an inch of its life at one point or another.  Nothing has ever worked as well as Suave Professionals.  I've been using it for a few months and my favorite is the Almond and Shea Butter, but I've tried a few and they are all perfect.  The best part is, they're only about $3 a bottle, so you can afford to try a few.

I feel like a massive goober posting this, but I just had to share.  There is a formula for every hair type and I would highly recommend trying one out.  Just make sure it's the Professionals line.  I can't vouch for the other stuff.

Hey.

HEY!

Wake up.

Squirrels and Nuts

I have talked about this before, but I like to call my dog a lot of things other than his Christian name, which would be Max; Maxwell Franklin Beanpotts if you're nasty.  I call him Scooter a lot, or Potts, or Mista Pottair, a la Welcome Back Kotter.  Sometimes, he'll come if I call him DJ Skriddle and lately I've taken to calling him Dr. Lucien Farkas.

For all this and more, I'm sorry Craig.

There is one more name that I call him, and many other animals, and that is squirrel, sometimes pronounced skwee rell. 

Don't worry about it.

Anyway, this has somehow become a self-fulfilling prophecy, as Craig (via Dan) found an amazing portrait-esque drawing of a squirrel in a suit that he's using as his profile picture on facebook.  It's from an etsy page of an artist who makes them and they're so great.  There's another of a lady squirrel and I'm thinking about hanging the man and the woman in black oval frames on the wall, like silhouettes, facing each other.  In related news, I'm thinking about owning seventy-eight cats and driving a 1989 Bonneville with beige sneaks and a pocket book.  Get off my lawn and quit trying to dig up my money!

In keeping with the theme, I had a visitor this afternoon.  Allow me to introduce you to a little friend.



Taking a little bath in the snow.




Here he is, just being cute and what not.





Max thought we should invite him in for some stimulating conversation, and possibly a little light mauling.






Please and Thank You.



Um, please??





Why Not?

Sometimes this bubbles up from the maternally inherited portions of my DNA.