Okay, seriously, it is 11:15 and Jack still isn't wearing pants...

I really should be performing my motherly duties instead of blogging. Oh well. Life goes on. So according to trusty ole' blogger, my last post was May 24th. Wow. Much has happened since then. Namely: the Boy graduated from college, I "started my own business" (read: signed on as an "independent consultant" to sell stuff--thus adding to my list of things I thought I would NEVER do), got called into the Young Women presidency at church (am I the only one concerned with the fact that someone thought it appropriate that I, the queen of all things inappropriate, should be an "example" to the future women of this great church?), Jack potty-trained himself (is it any wonder he had to do it himself with a mom who blogs instead of putting pants on him???) I'm sure there's more, but I can't be bothered to mention it all.
Oh, one thing I didn't add: we got a dog. Heaven help us all. Of course, Scott and I are both arguing about whose fault it was that this animal has become part of the family...while it is true that I sort of nagged him for awhile about it, I did eventually give up until his brother's beagle had puppies and we were told Jack was getting one. Scott's exact words were: "I guess Jack is finally getting his puppy." Doesn't it seem to YOU, disinterested party, that it was in fact his idea?? Let me tell you, if you're thinking of signing onto the responsibility of a puppy--just say no. This thing still isn't housebroken which Ward Brothers Carpet Cleaners is probably thoroughly enjoying and I am always paranoid that our house stinks and am therefore lighting candles all day long. Of course people are afraid to stand for too long in one room of our house for fear that our Airwick "I spit out a puff of citrus scented airfreshner every 38 minutes whether I get your eye or not" contraption is going to blind them. You'd think I'm 15 years old trying to hide marijuana smoke from my parents!!! Anyway, this dog is pretty much the cutest little puppy you've ever seen, but besides being a constant source of poo, can't be bothered with the bajillion chew toys strewn about the house, she has to either A. Bite the cat on her bum or B. Steal one of Jack's toys and take it under a bed where she can chew it to itty bitty bits. For some reason, her main target is his Build a Bear. I don't know if it's love or hate but it creeps me out to see her pack the thing around by his throat. So pretty much these days if I'm not yelling at the kid, I'm yelling at the dog who is barking at the cat. My husband doesn't call me "Peggy" anymore, he refers to me, simply, as "chaos." I may start drinking.
In other news, Christmas is coming. Last year, I had to have been clinically insane. I felt it my responsiblity to handcraft priceless gifts that our friends and family would cherish the whole year through. I now almost officially hate quilting. This, normally, would please Scott more than words could express, but other "habits" have replaced it. Namely, this "business." Now, since it's my blog, I feel I can take creative license and go on and on about it if I want to. I won't. I'll simply say, it's actually pretty dang cool. It's an online publishing system where you upload your photos and make your own storybooks. Of course, lots of other companies are jumping on the storybooking bandwagon (who has time to "scrapbook?") but no one offers what we do at the price we have. The books are hardcover, library-stitched and beautiful. Visit my website to try it out for free, if you want. there. I'm done with that.
Let's talk about the house hunt: Silly me! I was under the impression that Scott would graduate from school, would get a great job raking in more money than we've ever seen and we'd be able to buy a cute house is a lovely neighborhood. Not so much. We're still in our teeny house in a scary neighborhood because house prices are INSANE! Seriously--for a newly graduated family, there is no way we can afford anything besides a trailer house in Kearns. (I may soon be requesting pink flamingos and brightly colored windchimes so we fit in with our neighbors. The good news is, we won't have to buy window treatments--a Dale Earnhardt throw will do nicely.) A house went up for sale in the "perfect" neighborhood. We have friends who live there and there are 4 houses with, essentially, one big yard. The kids just go from one yard to another then another...awesome. Jack would have friends to play with, the street ends in a cul de sac...perfect. Except that we couldn't afford it. They even dropped the price 15K, but we realized we just couldn't do it. Blast it all. Maybe if we sold drugs to elementary school kids...but morally and legally, it isn't going to happen. So here we are. Until a miracle happens, or until a molotav cocktail gets thrown through one of our windows. In this neighborhood, that could be any second. (Speaking of dogs and our neighborhood: our dog's newest source of adventure is squeezing through a hole in the fence to play in the scary neighbors' yard, then bring their garbage into our yard. Is it possible our neighbors have succeeded in training this wretched animal where we have failed? All I know is that if you're ever at ourhouse, and you see beer cans in our yard, know that they aren't ours--honestly!