Blame it on the Snow

Today is the third day that school has been cancelled as a result of Atlanta's epic snow disaster, and, unofficially, that's the day when you go to Michael's and throw money at anything that you think will entertain the children. Example 1: I broke down and bought a Rainbow Loom.

The children had been using our next-door neighbor's loom (and teeny-tiny rubber bands) and have been begging for a loom of their own. The Boy and I hit CVS yesterday because I heard they had them there, but they turned out to only stock a generic knock-off called "Just The Primary Colors Loom" or something.  Luckily, the Boy is brand-conscious enough that he didn't urge me to buy the thing, which looked like it would snap under the force of those teeny-tiny rubber bands.

So, we put off the purchase until today, when the roads were free of ice and we could make it to Michael's without a problem. When we got the loom home, the kids were like, "Mom, do you want to learn how to make one?" I hate to be a spoil-sport, but honestly, no. I went to camp and went through a stage where I made all sorts of bracelets with embroidery yarn, but I was 11 years old then and now I just have other things I'd rather do than watch videos on YouTube on how to make orthodontic rubber bands into flowers...or Joseph and Mary:

Dog People

"Dogs don't shit where they sleep." The first time I heard this was my first year in law school, and a 3L said it to us as a warning to not date other students in our section. (Which advice I ignored, of course. And, of course, not only did I have to see the guy every day for the entire year, we now live in the same town and I periodically have to studiously ignore him when I see him shopping at Publix.) Up until two weeks ago, I thought that this saying was figurative, but now that we are dog owners, I have learned that dogs really don't shit where they sleep. Thank goodness, because they are happy to shit anywhere else.

We picked up our little puppy in Virginia, very early on the last day of our whirlwind D.C. "vacation." Sister was nice enough to drive the K and the Girl to the breeder in Clarke County, which is about 65 miles from Washington. This meant that they left the hotel at o'dark thirty in the morning so that we could all still make our flight home. Sister sent this picture of the Girl and her new friend:

I know. Very cute.

She was still cute when we met her in person at the combination dog walk and smoking area at Reagan-National Airport:

The cute thing only lasts for so long. Now that I know this puppy a little better, I can't tell you how surprised I am that she is not lurching at the leash to eat those cigarette butts.

Just between you, me and the Internet (I guess that would be among us), I don't really like dogs. They're just like these furry jumping, licking, pooping, humping, butt-smelling creatures. I recently read that a "major" University of Texas study showed that dog people are "more extroverted, more agreeable, and more conscientious" than cat people. Cat lovers were found to be "less traditional, more creative, and more neurotic." A few questions: (1) what is going on at UT that they're doing studies on cat people and dog people? 2) Do you know a Texan with a cat? There is no way that this study wasn't inherently biased. (3) Who funded this study, the dog lobby? I smell a Rat. Terrier. Based on this (likely to be flawed) survey, I meet 2/3 of the cat person criteria. Since I'm a SAHM who never met an oxford cloth button down shirt that I didn't like and I don't have a single tattoo, I can't really claim to be "less traditional." But, I suppose I could be described as creative-ish and I'm definitely neurotic. The question is, am I dog-person enough to adjust to life with Dog?