One Week Old

He is still so tiny... 5lbs, 7 oz! Down from 5lbs 12.5 oz at birth. But still perfectly precious! This is a little late, as he was one week old on 12/9!

Cletus- The first week with you home was amazing. The first night was hard with everyone adjusting to the new addition. But, you  You are already growing, and at the end of the week, you were eating 2 oz every feeding. You had some difficulty getting used to sleeping in the pack-n-play, but we made some adjustments and now you are doing just fine. You are wearing preemie sized clothes. When awake, you are the most attentive baby, staring intently at what interests you. You are perfect and Mommy and Daddy are totally in love with you!

Pregnancy in Review

I was not very consistent in posting during my pregnancy. So, just for the sake of having it written down, here it is in review!

1st Trimester- Pretty uneventful. Main symptoms were fatigue (lots!), heartburn, and morning (all-day) sickness. I craved mangoes, bananas, and french fries. No maternity clothes yet! Total weight gain- 5lbs.

2nd Trimester- Again, pretty uneventful. Fatigue lessened at about 12 weeks. Morning sickness disappeared at 16 weeks. Hello insomnia:-) I craved bananas, orange juice, and french fries. I first needed maternity pants at around 18 weeks. Total weight gain so far- 15 lbs. My body pillow became my best friend. Big event this trimester- I first felt baby move on 8/12/10. We found out we were expecting a boy on 8/17/10!

3rd Trimester- Uneventful up until week 35:-) Fatigue started to set in again, most annoying symptom is lots of ligament pain! Still craving orange juice and bananas. Baby is a night owl like his daddy, and is most active after dinner, before bedtime. Total weight gain for entire pregnancy- about 25 lbs.

And, here is the only pic of me pregnant past 20 weeks:-)

It Started With A Routine Sonogram...

And ended with a baby!

Introducing our little Cletus* 
*- still a nickname...

4 weeks early, 5lbs. 12.5oz, 17 inches long...

His birth was quite the ride, the story shall come soon!

Chubby Cheeks

I can't wait to kiss them. And regardless of what Sugarbear says, I think I see a full head of hair...

Normal Is As Normal Does...

Last weekend I drug my ever-supportive husband to a prepared child-birth class at our hospital. It was a good experience, with some helpful techniques for labor, a bunch of information I already knew about the process, and some good advice about the hospital. Plus, we got a tour of the labor and delivery, as well as the postpartum floor. Sugarbear was a trooper, particularly during the mock labor portion, valiantly coaching me through breathing exercises, giving us something to laugh over later.

It wasn’t until the second day of class that I had this thought of how incredibly weird this whole thing still is for me. One of the reasons I like our hospital is that everything is right there. My OB’s office is in the hospital, as well as any specialist we may require. So, when we were looking for infertility treatment, we decided to go with the ARTS department at the same hospital. There is a rather large ARTS department, taking up almost a whole building on one side of the hospital. (The complete opposite side of the hospital than the several OB practices, I might add… a nice touch.)

I could go on explaining the set-up of the offices, the atmosphere in the ARTS department, but I won’t, as you probably wouldn’t get the nuance unless you’ve been there, done that. For instance, it always struck me as interesting that the ARTS department was also housed alongside the rehab department, as in rehab for spinal cord and brain injuries. I can’t explain why that was interesting, but it seemed to fit.

Anyways, the point of this story is that last weekend we found ourselves on the same side of the building, going through the same doors, for our birthing class as we did for our fertility treatments. It struck me as weird. Or maybe I was just reminded of how life changes in directions we don’t expect. This time last year, I was going to that building on almost a daily basis to get poked and prodded in preparation for what would be a second, obviously unsuccessful attempt at a stimulation cycle. The last time we had been on that side of the building together, we were there for what would be a smashing failure of an IUI. I remember that day because we had gotten very disappointing news from the lab, almost making it futile to go upstairs for the IUI. I remember being so crushed, struggling to be hopeful, hiding tears from my husband in the elevator because I didn’t want him to feel at fault when this one failed too. He held my hand and apologized the whole way up the elevator for something he had no control over. My turn to apologize would come a week later with more of my lab results, so it definitely was a joint effort!

Fast forward to last week… we are going through the same doors, walking by the same offices, I have to use the same bathroom. But, this time, we are going to a classroom to practice labor relaxation techniques with 10 other first-time parents. Weird. I have a very good sized little boy growing inside of me… I feel his rolls and nudges every day. It is undeniable looking at me that I am with child. Yet, I remain part of that other club… I still have a feeling that I don’t belong in this room, that it’s just by some weird fluke that I’m there, that I’m still on the fringe… but, I have to remind myself… to these other people, you are just as normal as they are. To the teachers, you are just another pregnant lady. As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes it’s good to be normal...

Dear Cletus...

Dear Cletus,

I am extremely grateful and blessed to have you sharing my tummy while you grow. I love that it is difficult to tie my shoes, and I am thankful for the indigestion... THAT BEING SAID...

My bladder is not a trampoline. Please try and keep that in mind.

Sincerely,

Mommy


PS- It's about 6 weeks after the fact, but we have confirmed that Cletus is indeed a boy... I will not be posting pictures of said confirmation, as I think it is a little weird to put totally nakey pictures of my child in public, even sono ones... but, we are very excited about our son! But, here is a little peek at his too cute nose...


                                      

No She Didn't...

Yes I did....

Yes, I am the worship pastor's wife who yelled "oh crap!" in the middle of the offertory today.... why?

Because our little church is out in the country, basically in the middle of like, three corn fields. We have a bug problem. Lots of bugs... crickets, beetles, spiders etc.

Also wasps. Great, big, red wasps that tend to get in the door and fly around during the service... one of which decided that it would be a great idea to dive bomb me during the offertory... so, I'm sitting there, minding my own business, when BAM! Something big and buzzy knocks me in the side of the forehead and gets stuck in my hair... I immediately knew what it was, so I did what I normally do in those situations, I jumped up, swatting myself in the head, and yelled. Thank goodness I had enough peace of mind to remember I was in church, thus the only slightly offensive phrase. I am incredibly fearful of things that fly and sting (I was stung as a child:-) Spiders, crickets, bugs in general don't bother me. Live and let live... wasps, on the other hand, and I'm the crazy lady yelling semi-profanities during the offering. 

The funniest part was when one of the deacons got up, came back to where I was sitting, and asked if I would like him to go find the wasp and finish him off...

Good times.

Half-Baked

Proof to my family that there actually is a baby in there... and he/she is just about halfway done...

Cletus

So yes, these are almost 2 months old. Yes, Cletus has just about doubled in size from then. But, I thought I would post them anyway... less than two weeks till the 20 week pics!

Hello World! (I'm still debating Sugarbear that he doesn't actually see six fingers...)

My favorite so far... I love the little piggies and baby tushie!

No, I still cannot believe that this is actually happening... when donkeys fly, remember? Still in awe over here...

Thoughts of an Infertile Pregnant Lady...

Yes, we are those annoying people who are not going to reveal the name of their offspring until he/she is born. Why? Mainly because we don’t want to see the looks on anyone’s face if they don’t like our chosen names. After all it’s hard to say you don’t like a baby’s name once the baby is ACTUALLY named, right? Plus, we like to be a little contrary. We were going to not find out the gender until the birth, but not knowing the names is torture enough for some members of my family. So, for now, we shall call him/her ‘Cletus’… as in “Cletus the Fetus’… no offense to anyone named Cletus, it’s just the only thing we could think of that rhymed with fetus.

To say we are happy about Cletus is definitely an understatement. We are over the moon about Cletus. We wholeheartedly consider Cletus a miracle, given that, as I’ve said before, it was supposed to be medically impossible for us to conceive on our own. Are we the only people who have ever gotten pregnant after being told they couldn’t? No, of course not. But, Cletus is most certainly our little miracle baby. Every good and perfect gift, right? So, we’ve managed to do what 95% of people are able to do, and are in fact, with child. So, the whole infertility thing is over, right? We’ve accomplished our goal. We are no longer in the ‘IF” club, right? Big ol’ wrong!

No matter how many children we have, biological or otherwise, the label will still be attached, and it colors everything. Everyone’s experience is different. Everyone has a different take on things. How does it affect me? It means that I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rug to be pulled out from under me. I can’t describe how incredibly blessed and happy I feel getting to have this experience. Perhaps I took it for granted before I was told that I wasn’t going to be able to do it. But, it’s very strange to mix that feeling of blessed and happy with the feeling that this can’t be really happening.

What is impossible with God? Nothing. But in the deep smothering blanket that is infertility, it is very hard not to become very involved with the science. And according to science, this is supposed to be impossible.

So, what does that look like for me? It looks like me having to force myself to tell my family and friends we are expecting, as I was so terrified that things were going to end badly any day, because it had to be too good to be true. It looks like me absolutely panicking in the middle of Target, like in tears panicking, because my mother wanted to buy me a maternity shirt, just to celebrate. I was 9 weeks along at the time, and the only thought that was going through my head was “I’m only 9 weeks. This is still just a fluke. And then I’ll just be an infertile woman with a maternity shirt”.

Sundays are my favorite day of the week now. Why? Because each Sunday marks a new week in my pregnancy, another week down. Another week I don’t have to worry that this is too good to be true. It’s hard to reconcile that feeling with the intense joy I feel. Very strange indeed.

I know every woman has anxiety associated with pregnancy. Every pregnant woman has moments where she fears something will go wrong. But to couple that with the thought that technically, it shouldn’t even have happened in the first place, and it adds a whole new level.

And Now, For the Rest of the Story...

So, yes… big surprise. We were more than a little shocked. You see, we had been told a year ago by our RE (whom I really like very much), that we would be able to get pregnant on our own, and I quote, “WHEN DONKEYS FLY”. Not to share too much, but we both had a part in the infertility dance, and our doctor was fairly confident that it would take a miracle for us to even get pregnant without the most expensive of invasive interventions. Did I mention expensive? But, we could only do what we could do, so we proceeded to do two, obviously unsuccessful IUI’s. The first once was immediately devastating, because it is new, and you read all the statistics, and are just sure it’s gonna work. But, I bounced back fairly easily. The second one, while not so immediately devastating, was more of a stealth kick in the pants… it was more of a lingering sense of failure, and affected me a lot more as time went on. So, there we were, gathering our tattered emotions and finances together for one, last-ditch effort at an IUI before we had to either give it up or start contemplating selling organs on the black market. (I kid, I kid…) That was supposed to be February… yet, I procrastinated. I didn’t call my doctor. Then comes March, and I still procrastinate. Sugarbear is very frustrated at me by this point, because I am ruining the plan. For lots of reasons. I didn’t feel at peace about it, I was afraid of more failure, and selfishly, I resented the fact that I would spend days injecting myself with expensive hormones that make me a nightmare to live with, not to mention all the oh-so-fun sonograms, gallons of blood drawn, the procedure itself, and the progesterone-filled two-week wait, while my dear husbands contribution consisted of a ten minute, not totally miserable appointment. See, told you it was selfish. But mainly, I just wasn’t there in my heart or in my head. Then, along comes April. After being threatened with a very unhappy Sugarbear if I didn’t suck it up and make the appointment this time around, I talked myself into it. So, I called and let my Dr. know our plans, with instructions to call back on a certain day. I waited, I waited, and nothing. I try to talk myself out of the possibility of hope, because it just has to be a fluke, right? We’ve been told more than once that we would need major medical intervention for a chance to conceive, right? I joked to Sugarbear that I could be pregnant… he complimented me on my hopeful statement, as hope has not been my strong suite, while also reminding me that miracles do happen.


So, off Sugarbear goes on the men’s fishing retreat. I spend pretty much all day counting in my head and trying to not panic. Sugarbear is gone, so I reason that I could buy a pregnancy test, just to assure myself that it was indeed negative, and he would never know. So, I buy two. And a case of mangos… which should have clued me in, because why did I need a case of mangos? Anyways, I couldn’t wait until the next morning, and finally cave after dinner. That sucker turned up two blue lines in about 5 seconds.

I am in my bathroom, hyperventilating. And then I have to call my best friend, because someone has to pinch me. The next morning, just for kicks, I take the second one, still expecting it to be a fluke. Again, 5 seconds, so positive it cannot be mistaken.

Then comes the fun part, telling Sugarbear. See, something had been bothering me tremendously before then. I was so incredibly sad that I wouldn’t be able to surprise my husband with a pregnancy announcement, even it was just a cliche` giftwrapped urine soaked stick. After all, during a treatment, everything is controlled so clinically, and Sugarbear is aware, down to the hour, of when I get test results. No fun there. But, as God had provided one miracle already that weekend, why not some extra, right? It was the one weekend that Sugarbear was going to be gone, it was his birthday weekend, and it just so happened to be THE weekend. So, not only did I get to surprise my dear hubby with a baby, I also got my cheesy reveal that I had been grieving the loss of. How did I tell Sugarbear about our little miracle? Well, I framed a picture of a flying donkey and wrapped it up, along with the positive tests, just for kicks.

It was an amazing day, although Sugarbear suspected something was up, as I was acting very suspiciously, insisting I video tape him opening a late birthday present. And his response, true to Sugarbear form, after opening the flying donkey, and discovering the tests… the very first thing out of his mouth… “Did you pee on these? That’s gross.”

I love my husband:-)

It's Been Awhile...

Yes, it's been over two months since I've posted... but I think I've got at least a half-way decent excuse...

Yeah... imagine our surprise when what was deemed impossible through modern medicine actually turned out to be quite possible with little to no help from anyone... More to come.

It May Not Look Like Much...

You might think I write a lot about the eating habits of my dogs… and I do, but only because I think they are peculiar, especially the habits of a certain little black terrier mix named Chica…

Chica is rather eccentric, especially when it comes to her food. We’ve already discussed how she likes to cover it up, bury it, etc. So, now we are going to discuss how she likes to sort it… yes, as in categories, organizing, by like attributes sorting.

You see, Chica has particular food tastes. We feed them hard food, but Chica prefers the kibble that has softer pieces in it. She also hates anything other than meat flavored food. For a while, we used to buy them a home-style type food that had fake green beans and carrots in it… Chica would seriously pick around the green beans. After she was done eating, the bottom of the bowl would be nothing but green beans. She would even pick them out of the bowl and set them aside. I can’t tell you how many of those stupid green beans I stepped on because she didn’t want to eat them.

Now we feed them a brand with several different kinds of pieces, and she continues sorting. She will pick the food out of the bowl piece by piece. She will make two piles. One, a pile of the pieces she likes to eat. The other, a pile of the ones she does not like. She will then proceed to eat the good pile, and will leave the bad pile behind to be scavenged by the unpicky Dachshund. Want proof? Here is a picture of her food mid-sort.

The pieces on the right are the piles... a little pile of the good food, a bigger pile of the bad food. The pieces on the left are just rogue pieces. It may not look like much, but this is a picture of the hard work of a very industrious, picky, old and crusty dog with a mohawk...

                               

I quite adore her, I do.

My New Favorite Things...

I love lots of things. My KitchenAid stand mixer... my shoes... tights... Thai food... ellipses. But, my current favorite things are these new additions to our household...

I don't know why I love them like I do. They were a total impulse buy. I was cruising along in the thrift store, when I spotted them on a shelf, being pawed over by a middle-aged couple who obviously didn't appreciate them as much as I did. So, I sidled up, took on down, and started exclaiming how wonderful they were, all innocent-like. The poor man had no choice but to concede that I obviously needed them more than his wife. Score one for me. I instantly put them in my cart, and headed to check out.

They now proudly sit on the piano, watching over the general goings-on in the house. I heart their tummies... and the fact that they look like they could have fleas. I had to live with them for a bit before naming them, but I finally decided on...wait for it...

Ham, Shem, and Japheth.

Awesome, I know.

Too Bad It's Not A Marketable Talent...

Remember this post about how the Chica dog covers up her food bowl in vain attempts to hide the food from the Dachshund?

Well, several days ago we decided to change their feeding schedule. We used to leave food out all day, filling the bowl before we went to bed. After noticing how rotund the Dachshund was getting, we decided to only put out the food twice per day for a limited time. Plus, we were hoping to cut down on the begging at mealtimes.

So, it's a few days into the new schedule. We put the food bowl out in the evening and pick it up before bedtime. You might recall that at night is when Chica scavenges for objects to cover the food dish with... but, apparently the other night she realized that the food bowl was no longer there to conceal. So, what's an intelligent dog with a purpose to do?

Well, attempt to hide the water dish, of course. Look closely. Yes, that is a bobo (disemboweled stuffed pig, courtesy of the Dachshund), in the water dish. She's a stealth, that Chica dog. Guess Ginger will have to figure out how to drink out of the toilet now that the water dish is incognito.

My favorite part is that she matched the colors... blue dish, blue bobo... genius, that one.

The Proposal

*This Should Have Been Posted A Couple of Days Ago*

So, my grandmother told me that she was tired of looking at a picture of my new mixer, and that she expected a new post ASAP. I, of course, obliged. Not that my mixer isn’t the most gorgeous thing in my kitchen, all shiny and stuff… but anyways. It is Valentine’s time… Sugarbear and I have never really been big on the whole Valentine’s thing. We usually just keep it low key, dinner at home, nothing fancy.

But, I did want to point out that the day before Valentine’s is more significant to us. You see, Sugarbear asked me to become Mrs. Sugarbear ten years ago, 2/13/00. And, I think the story is too precious not to tell.

So, let’s begin about 9 months prior for a little background.
 
I told about our first date in this post. A little more detailed story was that, around that time, we were doing the Experiencing God study. We met at our youth pastor’s house. One night during the closing prayer, Sugarbear, in his new found boldness, held my hand. And continued to do so after the prayer. Later, I learned that that it sort of astounded everyone the room. Well, not to be outdone in the boldness department, I decided to kiss him when he walked me to my car. It was raining. It was June. Stars were out. Music was playing… not really, but it should have been. We were standing in our youth pastor’s front yard, on this spot that had no grass by the curb. I got tired of him shuffling his feet and stammering while I stood in the rain. So I kissed him. And the rest is history. On a side note- he later confessed that he immediately went home that night and began writing a song for me entitled "Will You Marry Me"... true story, as that song actually ended up on the small album of songs that Sugarbear wrote and recorded for me for as a wedding gift... but that is another schmoopy story for another day!
 
So, fast forward nine months. We are in our second semester of college. Valentine’s Day is coming up. I’m starting to get the ‘proposal’ vibe. But, true to form, Sugarbear was a master at keeping me guessing just enough to think that I was mistaken. As Valentine’s approached, I get a raging sinus infection. Romantic, huh? Sunday was the day before Valentine ’s Day. I wake up with the WORST. HEADACHE. EVER… like, not getting out of bed, make me nauseous and dizzy kind of headache. No way am I going to church. I call my mom, and drag myself to her house so she can give me medicine and make me lunch. I then fall asleep for most of the day, and wake up slightly less ill than I was earlier. I felt well enough to go to the evening service, so off I go, sniffling and squinchy-eyed from the painful sinuses. The first thing that should have tipped me off was that before the service, Sugarbear and my mother were talking off by themselves, and my mother was acting all squirrely. The service ended, and Sugarbear and I head out to grab some dinner. I had to run some things by our youth pastor’s house too. The second thing that should have tipped me off was that Sugarbear wanted to run by his apartment and get the Chica dog. The Chica dog is a very important member of our family. I got her for Sugarbear for Christmas the first year we were dating. She is very special to him. Seriously, we’ve already started the savings account to have her cloned. (then we’ll have a whole litter!) Not really, but we would if we could:-) The third thing that should have tipped me off was when we were grabbing dinner at Wendy’s, and Sugarbear made a comment about how broke he was. I laughed, cause I thought he was just kidding, (eventually it was clear that the he was actually broke was because he had bought me a diamond ring, of course).
 
So, we then run my errand by our youth pastor’s house. We get out of the car at the curb, and Sugarbear starts looking around the ground, asking me where the spot we first kissed was. I point it out to him, as it is still the spot with no grass by the curb. He pushes me onto that spot, and hands me the Chica dog. He then starts begins this romantic, lovey-dovey speech that I contribute to the upcoming Valentine’s Day. It was one of those "you make me a better person, i want to  spend my life with you" movie script kinda speeches. It was lovely.  It wasn’t until he did the whole ‘ down on one knee’ thing that I even realized what was happening… hey, I’m pretty foggy with decongestant by this point. I, of course, said yes. Hilarity ensues as we make our rounds of telling everyone, beginning with our youth pastor and his wife, who had no idea what was happening in their front yard.

Later I learned that Sugarbear had actually bought the ring about a week before, and had spent the week showing it to people. So, pretty much everyone knew but me. My mom had even tried to convince him to propose during the evening church service, as he was playing guitar during worship. That explained the private conversation and squirrelliness. But, Sugarbear took the moment and made it simple and meaningful.

That is just like him.

Ooooh... Shiny....

475 watts, baby.

Pretty, isn't it?

Choices

Choices. Most people have choices. Chicken or Steak? Cat or Dog? Skirt or Pants? Other choices are more profound. Where should I move? What job should I accept? What house do we buy?

And then, there are the choices that aren't really choices. What do I mean? Well, the choices like "Do I treat my illness with medication or surgically?" "Do I want this divorce attorney or that one?" Choices that are about anything but choosing.

Do I want to go through this fertility treatment or not? Is this worth it? Am I making the right choice?

I don’t talk to a lot of people about our babymaking issues. In fact, I could count them on one hand, even if I’d had a horrid shop class accident leaving me with just two fingers. Well, I write about them occasionally here, but I’m talking like, actually completely talking about my “feelings” talking about it… you know, if I had feelings:-)

I go through this cycle of thought sometimes where I start to question the choice we’re making. Usually it starts during a Dr’s appointment, like when I’m in the middle of what feels like my five hundredth internal ultrasound (seriously… I’ve given the wand a name… we’re that close)… when my arms are black and blue because apparently I’m harder to get blood from than the proverbial turnip… (seriously, the nurses draw straws when I walk in the door)… or when I start thinking about money as “treatment” currency… (as in, the electric bill this month was one vial of Follistim… my student loan this month was three-fourths of one Ovidrel syringe, etc)

Then, I get angry because I tell myself that this isn’t a choice… that if this was a choice, I’d be knee-deep in dirty diapers by now. If this was a choice, I’d be choosing baby names, not naming the very cold ultrasound wand that, if it were a gentleman, would have bought me like, 100 dinners by now.

The choice that is about anything but choosing.

In reality though, I have a choice. We could do nothing. Remain childless. I’m not in the state of mind where that is even registering as remotely okay, so scratch that. We could adopt. There are multiple barriers to that for us right now… not least of which being my job that prevents us from fostering (just our preferred method of adoption… but to each his own), and a whole wide range of fears, most of which are too personal to get in to here.

So, where does that leave me at the moment?

With my feet in the stirrups, questioning my own sanity, wishing I had the guts sometimes just to get off this stupid roller coaster… but, the thought of getting off is just as scary as staying on. Nice choices.

Hunting and Gathering... or Maybe Just Gathering...

The Background-

A- For Christmas, Sugarbear makes a very large batch of Chex mix... and it is exceptionally good, which is something, as I do not generally like Chex mix. But, his is good, and this year, we had bags and bags of it. We gave it out to family and friends at Christmas. As we were preparing for what turned out to be a VERY long drive to Lubbock for Christmas, we organized all of the gifts into boxes, which explains why there was a box on our dining room table that containted zip-loc bags of chex mix.

B- When it gets really cold out, we leave our dogs inside when we leave the house. They are generally good dogs, and it is never a problem. So, a few days before Christmas, we went to church and left the dogs inside, as it was cold. We came home, and nothing seemed amiss.

C- I hate, hate, hate doing laundry... specifically, I hate folding and putting away laundry. I have been known to leave a load of laundry in the recliner, waiting to be folded for a couple of days... shocking, I know.

In THIS post, I have described how Chica covers her food... and how we can hear her at it in the middle of the night, pushing around in the dish with her nose. Well, that night, we heard her doing the same pushing and arranging in the living room. Sugarbear wondered what she was rooting around with, as her food dish is in the bedroom. I didn't think anything of it until the next morning, when I found this in the living room, under the table.

Yep... it is a bag of Chex mix hidden under a towel and a tshirt. The laundry is obviously from the recliner, but it took me a minute to realize that the Chex mix had to be from the box on the dining room table. As I uncovered it, Chica ran up all happy, obviously proud that she was providing for the 'pack'...with purloined Chex mix. You can't tell, but the bag is smooshed flat, Chex crushed... apparently she pushes and covers with force. I was laughing too hard to get on to her. I pushed in the chairs on the table and went about my way.

Well, that evening, we went out, leaving the dogs inside again. We came home, nothing amiss. We go to bed, and when I get up the morning I find this in the living room floor.

Yep... it is ANOTHER purloined bag of Chex mix... this time in the middle of the floor, covered in the same towel that she had used to cover the bag the night before... (as I hate laundry, and it was still in the recliner.) Again, she was pleased as punch when I uncovered her loot, and fully expected me to praise her gathering prowess.

Upon further inspection of the table, not only were the bags of Chex mix strewn about the table, the other gifts had been gone through and inspected... assumedly by a curious little black dog.

I can just imagine the Dachshund and the cat sitting on the floor, egging Chica on, snickering. What I can't imagine is, Chica is a healthy, smart dog... she went through all the trouble of climbing up on the table, going through the boxes, and hiding her booty...she could easily have torn open the bags and had a feast... but yet, she didn't eat any of the Chex mix. Weird little dog.