Call me Mom

I don't care what people say, owning a dog is like having a child. Perhaps I didn't know exactly what I was getting into when I obtained Jordy but becoming my mother wasn't exactly what I signed up for. Let me count the ways I've become a mom....

1. I've had dreams where he gets stolen, falls in a pit, dies, gets hurt, etc. The list goes on and on and each dream is more horrifying than the last. I wake up in a cold sweat and instantly grab him. He thinks I'm insane. 

2. I do the "mom stomp." I'll call him and when he's nonresponsive I'll "mom stomp" to wherever he is and drag him away. I've seen my own mother do this MULTIPLE times. 

3. The way I call him mirrors the way a mom calls her kid. It starts out all sweet, "Jordy come on buddy!" Then I get a little annoyed, "Jords, let's go.' Then I wig out, "JORDY COME HERE RIGHT NOW! RIGHT FREAKING NOW!" 

4. I pick eye boogers off his face every day. I've cleaned up vomit, pee, and sick off my clothes and floor. I'm constantly cleaning up his mess.

5. There are days when, honest to god, I look right at him and say, "Come on, find something else to do right now." This horrifies me. My mother said this to me all the time growing up. 

6. There are moments when all I want is to cuddle with him and he squirms away like a reluctant teenager. 

7. I will show anyone who is near me pictures of him. I'm gross like that. 

8. My sister and I have "moms' night out" where we intentionally leave the pups at home. We have a blast and do whatever we want but we both are secretly missing our kids the entire time. 

9. When he was a baby sometimes it looked like he wasn't breathing...I would panic, wake him up, and then practically cry when I realized he was alive. I assumed he'd die of SIDS. 

10. I've wagged my finger in his face when I've scolded him

11. When he misbehaves I snap my fingers at him

12. I would kill and/or die for him 

Practically Perfect

I believe that perfection is basically unattainable, but only by the tiniest of margins. I think we come so close to perfection and maybe catch glimpses of it but we only truly know it once or twice in our lifetime. I'm ok with that. What I have come to realize in my twenty-four years (yes 24, I know I seem as wise as a woman who has lived two lifetimes) is that I have moments and experiences that are practically perfect. 

I have had nights that are practically perfect. There are nights where I recognize what is happening and I take a beat to soak it all in. I absorb the laughter and friendship. Last summer I went out for the unofficial 5 year high school reunion for the class of 2007. There couldn't have been more than 12 or so of us at our favorite bar but it didn't matter. We told old stories and laughed at our classmates, our teachers, each other. Timeworn jokes became just as funny as the day they happened and the warm blanket of familiarity fit snugly around us all. It was practically perfect.  

Just last week I spent five plus hours in a pub in Boston with some of my favorite people. Embarrassing stories were traded and memories relived and new adventures told. There was beer and smiles and giant hugs and sarcasm and love. It was practically perfect. 

Those are examples of what my favorite practically perfect nights are like. I have fuzzy memories of practical perfection from my younger days. I remember building snow forts in our subdivision, our mothers watching warmly from inside the house. I remember summers spent barefoot from sun up to sun down. I remember rushing to the barn first thing and being on my horse until it was so dark I couldn't see her ears. I remember summer league softball. My childhood was practically perfect. 

Small moments can also exist in the frame of practical perfection. I recently had a texting conversation with an old friend that lives on the complete opposite coast from me and it made me feel not so alone for the night. We shared laughs and fears and anxiety. A text conversation, something so small and used so often, yet it filled me with contentment. It was practically perfect. 

I've had cups of coffee that are so good they seem perfect. There's been nights when I swear my beer was perfect. And each time I smile and recognize how practically perfect it tastes. 

Books, movies, songs...they too can be practically perfect. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green is as close to perfect as I've read. I find Phantom of the Opera an almost perfect movie.

So maybe people say you shouldn't even bother reaching for perfection because it's impossible. Maybe they'll tell you it simply isn't worth the effort. "Go home," they'll say. Isn't that settling? Because without reaching for those perfect moments, I don't think we'd hit those practically perfect moments, those practically perfect nights...and I'd hate to live in a world without them. 

I have in no way included all of my memories of my brush with perfection. (I mean how do I even describe the wedding in Florida? Or my 21st birthday party? Or the Carrie Underwood concert?) Some things are better left unsaid.

I can honestly say I believe I've had one perfect day. It involved pink shirts, pink hair, and it was full of people I love. Can ya guess? 

Some Carrie Underwood Love

This was uber hard. Picking my favorite Carrie Underwood videos was torture...it also resulted in hours of my life down the drain because I watched endless music videos. There is a VERY different list than my favorite C.U. songs because some of her best work never made it to video format. So here are my top 8 vids for the wonderful Carrie. 

1. So Small 

I love that this video shows so many different stories. Too often we just see romantic relationships in music videos. There is family love here too. The slow motion scene is awesome and when everyone returns back to the people they love I lose it. Plus Carrie's hair is fantastic in this video. 

2. Two Black Cadillacs

This is awesome. Love the literary reference to a Stephen King novel. Granted I've never read the book but I had it explained to me. Love the cars, the black outfits, THE KEYCHAIN, her fingernail polish, the sunglasses...just everything. Carrie as the mistress...amazing. Plus she rolls up to that funeral late like a boss. 

3. Blown Away

 The Wizard of Oz...nothing more needs to be said. 

4. All American Girl

Come on, she brings back that chick from Before He Cheats AND her dog is in the video. It's an unbelievably sweet video and song without dabbling into the nasty, awful sweetness that surges through Taylor Swift...ick. 

5. Before He Cheats

The reason this video is low in the ranking is because this video could have been GLORIOUS. To this day this song rocks and yet this video fell a little flat. SHOW THAT GIRL WRECKING THIS PRICK'S CAR. 

6. Cowboy Casanova

CARRIE WHERE ARE YOUR PANTS? 

7. Temporary Home 

This is just sad in all the right ways...ask my mom. 

8. Don't Forget to Remember Me

This video (and song) was probably when I fell in love with Carrie. And now more than ever this song has the ability to ruin my day, in a good way of course. And it's the first appearance of her mom. I have to go cry now...

Why Sundays have become my favorite

Something has happened that I never thought possible...Sundays have become my favorite. Back in the day (which was a Wednesday for those of you who don't know...DANE COOK REFERENCE!) Sundays embodied everything a young child despised. It meant homework and chores and even sitting through church. In high school Sundays meant more chores and basically just waiting for the cold grip of Monday morning. In college Sundays were a day for catching up or nursing a life stopping hangover...realistically in college my Sundays consisted of ignoring my school work and watching SVU until midnight, sorry Mom. 

I moved to South Carolina and got two jobs and life has been moving way too fast. The weeks have flown by in a dream like blur. It's like I can't really remember how I got here and why. Then the sweet release of Sundays. My prestigious job in retail requires very early mornings. Now anybody who knows me knows that I DO NOT DO MORNINGS. I am a night bird through and through. So all week I'm up basically before the sun and dealing with whiny people at a retail store. But oh the glory of Sundays. You see I do not work on Sundays. I do not wake up before the sun and drag ass through my apartment. I get almost giddy every Saturday night when I turn off my cell phone before settling into my bed. 

I wake up on Sunday mornings whenever the hell I want. I get up, let the dog out, do the bathroom routine, crank some Pandora, eat some cereal, clean, dance, sort my bills, and chase my dog around the apartment. My Sundays are spent laughing at my dog and eating leftovers and discovering new music and reading books and trolling the internet and basking in my independent existence. This particular Sunday I even got a "hey girl" from a guy when I went to check my mail...SCORE! We'll be married in no time. 

Sundays are mine, well and Jordy's. The dread of the coming week is still there but it is a faint feeling in the dark recesses of my mind...because I'm too busy rolling around on the ground in my sweats with my dog to give a damn about Monday.