She's here.

Meet Miss Molly...

No lack of love around the house for this pooch.

 (Except maybe from me, but I'm working on it.)

The polls are closed...

...all votes have been tallied, and the results are in.

Let's see, what do we have here?

Scout - 8 votes

Molly - 8 votes

Okay, well, the numbers have spoken and the name has been decided.  Our puppy shall be known as...*drumroll*

Scolly.

(Or....Mout?  Hmmm, perhaps another poll in is order....)

Our farm.

The fact remains: We're getting a dog, so why not add some chickens to the mixture?!

Might as well.

*Sigh*

As we continue to ponder over which name we should give our new puppy, naming the new chicks has been much less stressful. 

Meet the newest additions to our farm - Flora, Della, Spot (or Sirius Black, whichever you prefer), Martha, and two as-of-yet unnamed chicks which belong to my "much-too-busy-to-name-a-chicken" daughters, Brooke and Raegan.  So for now we'll just call their chicks Thing 1 and Thing 2.

Six fuzzy little chirp-balls.

Who live in my kitchen.

In a cardboard box.

Who have learned to escape from the cardboard box and run like.....chickens around my kitchen.

While squeaking and pooping on the floor.

They're getting me ready for the puppy, aren't they?

Except the puppy poop will be bigger and MUCH more difficult to clean up.

Thanks chicks, at least your trying to prepare me.

Raegan's Thing 1

Martha

 The kids set up a Lego maze for the chicks to run through.  Poor things.  

They were completely lost AND they almost became the cat's lunch.  (See below)

Adam, being the thoughtful decorator he is, made a little drawing for the inside of the chicks' home.  Notice how lovingly Thing 1 is gazing at the artwork. 

 

Spot, named by Adam.  The rest of the kids know this little chickie as Sirius Black.

 

These chicks certainly live up to their name!  They are so CHICKEN!  One little sound or bump to their home and they all scurry into the corner and pile in a fluffy heap of poultry.

John made some little windows in their home.  They love to stick their heads out and see the
  action of the kitchen, hoping they don't end up on that dinner table someday as Enchiladas con Pollo.

And while we're on the subject of animals, I might as well include a picture of Matthew's "snow dog."  

Sadly, snow dog is dead now. 

Name

I never imagined naming a dog would be as hard as naming a child.  Man oh man oh man.  However, after much family deliberation (discussing, arguing, fighting - whatever you want to call it) we have it narrowed down to two names.   The problem is half of us want one and half want the other.  

I want to know what YOU think, so please take three seconds and cast your vote (on the right) for your favorite. The two choices are:

1) Scout (from one of the greatest literature reads of all time - To Kill a Mockingbird).

2) Molly (as in the unsinkable Molly Brown OR Molly from the American Girl Dolls, with which my girls used to be completely obsessed).

Here's a photo of our Goldendoodle girl (part Golden Retriever, part poodle):

Sorry, it's tiny and the only photo we have....taken by the breeder.  We have yet to meet this 2 1/2 pound fuzzy wad.  

So....does she look like a Molly or a Scout?  (If you hate both names, please vote for the one you hate the least.)

(Notice I said nothing (too) negative about the dog in this post.  I am working on changing my attitude about this irreversible situation.  And I'm doing better!  After I got in bed last night, I didn't cry!  At all!  Which is the first time since we made the decision to get a dog that I didn't climb into bed and break into uncontrollable and turbulent sobs.  Progress, people.  Progress.)

Dog

I can't believe I'm going to blog about this.  I have unrelentingly refused to write/talk/blog/think about this subject.   I have been under the impression that if I don't write/talk/blog/think about it then it will just go away.  AWAY!  Like a bad dream.  And, oh boy, I have had plenty of those lately.

But I can deny it no more.

It's really happening.

We're getting a dog.  

There, I said it.  We're getting a dog.  A DOG!   I, me, Maryanne, will be the owner of a furry, slobbery, eating and pooping machine. 

The truth hurts me.  Badly.

I never in my sane adult life thought that I would bend to such extreme pressure as has been put on me by family members who-shall-not-be-named (you know who you are).   My children have begged (begged!) me for 20 years for one of these furry hounds.  I was budge-less.  My foot was solidly super-glued on the ground.  I would never (never!) ever (ever!) own a dog.   

I don't like dogs.  They bark.  They poop.  They bite (I have personal experience with this).  They eat things they aren't supposed to eat.  They smell (like wet dogs).   They mat.  They go into heat (or go in search of heat, if you know what I mean).   They leave bits of fur all over the house.   They chase me when I go running in the mornings, and ferociously yip at my ankles.  They have to be bathed and groomed, and taken to the dog doctor. They jump on you and sniff you in places you don't want to be sniffed.  They have to be dog-sat when the owners go on vacation!  

Oh. My. Gosh.  Why would ANYONE in their right mind want a dog?!

So, ya, we're getting a dog.

(Repeating that 3 times within 5 minutes is part of my therapy.)

We pick her up in Idaho on March 18th.  The day that my-life-as-I-know-it will end.

For the past three nights, I've dreamed BAD dreams about this dog situation.   Haylie suggested I record these dreams so that, one day, when I am so in love with our dog and can't imagine life without her, I can reflect upon these silly and ridiculous dreams.  Ya, right.   

Here they are anyway....

Dream #1: 

I was in our back yard.  My family was there and a lot of other people (I don't know who they were because they didn't have faces).   This big, mean dog approached me from behind.  I tried to get away from it because I knew it was going to bite me.  As hard as I tried to escape it was all in vain.  The dog got a hold of  me and clamped its jaws around my leg with its dagger-like teeth barely touching my flesh.  And then it just sat there - waiting. Waiting while I stood there petrified, afraid to even breathe.   Everyone around me stopped what they were doing and stared at this dog with his jaw wrapped around my calf.  Waiting.  Waiting to see what it was going to do next.  Was it going to sink its teeth deep into my leg and cause severe pain?  Or was it going to compassionately remove its jaw and let me go.   It was tense and no one knew what the dog had planned.

In the end I don't know if the dog took a chunk out of my leg or not because suddenly I was in an elevator.  And it was turning upside-down as it went from floor to floor.  With me in it.

Dream #2:

I received a knock on my door and when I answered it there was a short hispanic woman standing there with three young girls.  She went on to tell me that that John was the father of these children.   (I apologize to my young nieces who I know read my blog - remember girls, this is only a dream!)  This news brought me complete and utter shock.  The next thing I knew this woman and John fell into a very deep hole in the front yard and, well, passed away due to their injuries.  

Suddenly, the hispanic woman's mother shows up.  She goes on to tell me that she will take and raise the two older girls but I will need to raise the 18-month-old girl AND THEIR DOG!  No!  Not the dog!!!  

As I was standing there contemplating the monumental tasks that were now in front of me, the dog ran away.   By the next morning he had not returned for which I was SO. VERY. HAPPY!  No dog - YEAAA!

Dream #3:

We had decided to adopt all 10 of the breeder's puppies - too difficult to chose one so we just took them all. There was a lot of snow outside and the lawn-care guy shows up to spray our lawn snow (??).  As he is spraying fertilizer on the snow all the puppies got out and got sprayed on.  They all immediately died.  But for some reason I knew that if I got them into a tub of water quickly they would be okay and not be dead.  So I rushed them into the house and threw them into the bathtub which was full of water.

They all drowned.

Help me.  Someone?  Help me....please.....help....help....

I ♥ NYC - Coney Island

One of my favorite movies from the 80s is the movie "Big."  Starring the much-unknown-at-the-time Tom Hanks, it's about a 12-ish age boy who is tired of being a kid.  So he and a friend go out to Coney Island where they come upon a Magic Wish Machine.  Tom's character puts a coin into the machine and makes his wish to become, well, big.   Everyone who is anyone has seen this movie and knows what happened next.

Ever since I first saw that movie I have wanted to go to Coney Island.

I've wanted to go there and find that creepy mechanical red-eyed gypsy woman machine, put a quarter in her, and make a wish that I  could be....small.   Hey, if it worked to make Tom Hanks BIG, then why can't it work to make me SMALL?

(Oh, how I miss my youth.)  

(I just turned 43 last week.)

(Forty-three!)

(Sigh...)

Anyway, that isn't the real reason I've wanted to go to Coney Island.  Because I think that whole movie was really just made up Hollywood stuff.   No one can realistically put a quarter into a machine and wake up the next morning 2 feet taller and 100 pounds heavier!

Duh.

(Actually, I recently found out that I can indeed wake up 50 pounds heavier and I don't need a magic machine to do so.  I just have to eat dinner at The Cheesecake Factory for my birthday and, somehow, I wake up the next morning 50 pounds heavier.  Or somewhere close to that.)

Frankly, I've wanted to go to Coney Island because I've seen pictures of it throughout my life and just thought it was SO COOL that an amusement park was built right on the beach! 

So on our recent trip to NYC, John and I made the subway trip out to C.I.  Of course the amusement park was closed for the winter, and it was all very quiet and, in a way, a little eerie.   But I loved it. 

Remember that New York City had just received the biggest snowstorm since 1969.  Or maybe is was 1996. Regardless, it was a LOT of snow.  Because of this, I had no idea the treat that awaited us at Coney Island:

An ocean and a beach.  But not just any beach.  This was a beach covered with SNOW!   With a snowman built right on the sand!  I have never seen that before and it was so. very. cool.


 

Apparently, Coney Island is the home of the world-famous Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest held on July 4th of each year.  Who knew?!  (Not me, but I don't really keep up with hot dog eating contests.)

So, in case anyone lay awake at night wondering how many days, hours, minutes, and seconds until the next hot dog eating contest, well, no need to lose any more sleep.  Just check out the gingantic digital countdown board that will keep you updated, second by second.

Check out the contest details here.   It is very entertaining to read about, especially the "Rules" section.



Contestants have just 10 minutes to completely consume hot dogs with the bun ("HDBs" in hot dog lingo).  Condiments are optional.  It all started in 1988 when Jay Green ate 13 hot dogs!  In TEN minutes!  Holy cow, Jay, you da' man! 


However, that is nothing compared to reigning champion Joey Chestnut who holds the record for 68 hot dogs consumed in 2009.  In. Ten. Minutes!   Check it out...

(I am a wee bit disappointed in Joey.  What happened to him in 2010?  Hello!  He only ate 54 HDBs!  That's 14 LESS than the year before!  Sheesh.  Sorry Joey, my opinion of you just dropped about 7 notches.)

Partially eaten hot dogs count and the granularity of measurement is eighths of a length (I took that sentence straight from the website - I don't usually use the word 'granularity' - not even quite sure what it means.)

There will be deductions for any HDB debris left in the mouth.

Only a few months left to prepare, people.  Anyone?  Anyone?

I ♥ NYC - Central Park

John and I were laying in bed late last night, talking about....whatever.  You know how it goes. It must have been midnight when he leaned in close and said to me, "I love you, honey."   I thought for a few seconds then responded with, "Oh sweetie, I really love.....New York City."

It's true.

I really said that.

So that posed the question - Why am I so in love with New York City?  Why is it that can I go there over and over and never get tired of it?  Why is it that I was just there last week and I already can't wait to go back again? 

You would think that 4 trips there in the past 4 years would be enough for, say, the average Joe. Well, I may be average but my name is not Joe and apparently 4 in 4 is not enough for me.

John was a good sport about my "love" answer and so he helped me compose my list of What Maryanne loves about NYC:

   

* Endless exploring - I can walk and walk and walk, day after day after day, just exploring the city.  There is so much to see and so much I haven't seen!  The architecture.  The museums.  The bridges.   The little secluded bakeries and antique shops.  The neighborhoods full of Brownstones and flea markets full of vintage loveliness.  I love just going to some random area of town and seeing what is there.  I always end up finding something magical.

* The diversity - I. Love. Diversity!  I come from a place where there isn't a heckuvalot of it.  I love that, in New York City, there are so many different kinds of people, with different colors of skin, who speak different languages with all sorts of accents.  I love that people can just be who they are and not conform to any one "look."  I LOVE that I don't see "Utah hair" on top of every woman's head!  Oh boy, do I ever love that.

* The Metro - I find The Metro absolutely fascinating.  How in the HELLO did they dig all those tunnels under that ginormous city?!  Where did they put all the dirt?  How many rats really live down there?  Holy cow.  It's unfathomable.  It's genius.  And I have found The Metro is the best way to see the diversity that I love.  I could sit and ride The Metro for hours on end, just watching....people.

And the entertainment on The Metro - top notch!  On this trip alone we were serenaded on one train by some Spanish guys with guitars and sombreros -"Eyyye-yie-yie-yie," and all that good stuff.  While on another train we had some "Harlem-looking homies" who turned up the rap on their boom-box, and then cleared the isle so that they could jam, spin, and twist on their heads.  AND for the finale one kid flipped over the hand rail that hangs from the ceiling!  It was awesome.  Got that one on video. :)  

Another beautiful man played his saxophone on the platform so that we could have some lovely music to listen to as we waited for the M train.  Oh, and there was the guy on the other platform with the accordion. I LOVE the accordion.  My dad used to play the accordion.  Yes, fine artists there in those NYC subways.
(Isn't that where Billy Joel started out his career?  I swear I read that somewhere.....) 

* Broadway - I love stage theater.  Always have, always will.  And can I just say...Spiderman was THE BOMB!

* Church - Yes, church!   I adore going to church in New York City.  We go to the same one every time we visit - the Morningside Heights Ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (125 Columbus Ave., Metro stop - Lincoln Center).   It's like our little adopted ward.  They meet in the same building as the temple and I can honestly say that there HAS NOT BEEN ONE TIME that we have attended that we didn't walk out of there saying, "Wow.  Wow.  And Wow."   Just amazingly spiritual and uplifting.

* Central Park - Three of these four times that I've been to NYC has been in the winter.  However, when I went with my sister's-in-law (year before last) we went in May.  I remember going to Central Park with them and saying, "Oh my!  Central Park is GREEN?!  I always thought it was gray," (since it's always gray when we go in the deep dark depths of winter).   I can honestly say that I love it gray.   And I love it green.  And when we went last week it was WHITE.  I'll take it in any color.  I just love Central Park.

* Food - Okay, here goes.  The food.  THE FOOD, PEOPLE!   In my conversation with John last night,  I think we spent the longest time talking about the food.  It sounds lame.  It sounds shallow.  It sounds petty. But I will admit that possibly the biggest reason I love New York City is the FOOD!   Oh. My. Cow.   Where, oh where, do I begin?
Let me just say there is no bad food in New York City.
And, we discovered a new eating joint this time - The Shake Shack.   They are rated to have the best burger in the entire city.  And it's a big city!  The burgers were awesome.  Along with burgers they have fantastic crispy crinkle fries, shakes and custard.  Yes, custard!  I will shout it from the rooftops that eating burgers and fries and custard from The Shake Shack is like being in a brief, yet sublime, state of Utopia.  It's insane. Srsly.
Then there's Pommes Frites.  We can't ever leave NYC feeling "fulfilled" unless we have eaten the frites at Pommes Frites.  Good golly.  A little bit of authentic Belgian Frite heaven plopped right in middle of New York City.  Served in a traditional cone with any and every kind of dipping sauce imaginable.

Okay, so that's as far as we got with my "list," then someone fell asleep.   I think it was me.

As I mentioned in the previous post, I took a lot (A LOT!) of pictures on this trip to happiness.  I've decided if I wait to post them until I've poured over all of them, then they will never get posted.  So I'm going to take a chunk at a time, choosing one "love" for each post.

Today I am starting with Central Park.  The day we went to Central Park, the city had just received 15-18 inches of new snow overnight.  It was a winter wonderland.  The schools were closed due to the snow and people were off of work.  There were people sledding, joining in on random snowball fights (which John did), ice skating at Wollman Rink, and snowmen being built everywhere!

Coming Home

Who goes on vacation for only FOUR DAYS and takes 804 pictures?!

Me, that's who.

That means I took, like, 201 photos a day!

I think I'm out-of-control.

Regardless, I am pleased that my trip to NYC with my boyfriend has been well documented (probably a bit over-documented, but that's the beauty of digital photography, right?).

But until I can find 43 1/2 hours to pour over those pics and get some posted here on my blog, I'll tell this little story...

Along with being pleased with my 'shutter-pressing-happy-finger', I was also pleased to return home and find that I actually had been "missed" by my children.  I was beginning to wonder if anyone had noticed I was gone.  I reminded the little ones, as we left the house for the airport last Wednesday, that I was only a phone call away.  Adam, with tears in his eyes, said, "Really? I can call you any time?" to which I assured him he could call me at any time.  He seemed relieved and I wondered if I would be regretting those words when my cell phone rang, while in New York City, at 3 a.m. only to find a weeping 6-year-old on the other end, "Come home, mom, pleeease come home.  I miss you sooo much!"

Well, it didn't happen.

Not only did I never get a call at 3 a.m. but I also didn't get one at 3 p.m.  Or at noon.  Or at bedtime. The entire time we were gone I got only one call from home.

It was Raegan telling me there was a Girl Scout standing at our front door and did I want to buy any cookies.

That was it.  It was all about Girl Scout cookies.  Not about missing mom or dad or checking to see if we were okay amidst the monumental amounts of snow which had been dumped on us and all of New York City.  Not anything like, "Are you okay?  Are you snowbound?  Are you wet and freezing and trapped deep underground in a snow-stalled Metro train in the rat-infested New York City subway system?  Mom and dad, WE LOVE YOU!  WE MISS YOU!  ARE YOU OKAY?!"  

No.  The one phone call was all about cookies.  

And, although we did indeed miraculously survive the record-breaking NYC snowstorm ("We haven't had snow like this in the City since 1936!" uttered to us by a man with a thick Bronx brogue), we came home and found that we actually had not been forgotten by our children.   The kids had made a 'welcome home' banner and strung it across our bed, complete with darling hand-drawings and a balloon where "Happy Birthday" had been crossed out and "We Love You" and "Welcome Home" had been written in its place.

It was adorable.  And I felt much better.

I'm still trying to figure out what those things are in the "M."  I think they are Chocolate Covered Orange sticks, which are one of my favorite treats of all time.   I only get them on Christmas, and this year I got 3 boxes!  In one day!  And I ate all 3 boxes in 3 days!

A box a day....it works for me.




Thanks guys, we missed you too.

Martha: The Next Generation

Anyone who knows my two oldest daughters, Brooke and Raegan, know that they are emerging gourmet chefs.  Actually, I'm not sure I should use the word emerging.  Basically, they are gourmet chefs.  In my opinion, they have arrived.

These two girls are, for lack of a better word, obsessed with cooking.  Obsessed, I say!  When each has a birthday or it's Christmas or there is any opportunity for them to receive a gift, ALL they ask for are cookbooks.  When not in the kitchen cooking, they spend their free time pouring over cooking blogs and driving around town shopping for rare and exotic ingredients.  Their dream is to go to culinary school in New York City (and once they each come up with the $45,000 per semester tuition PLUS enough for NYC lodging , I'll gladly let them go).

I curse myself for not taking a picture of the cookbooks that Brooke checked out from the library a couple of weeks ago.  It seemed like there were hundreds of them.  Maybe thousands!  There were literally stacks and stacks and STACKS of cookbooks on our family room floor for two weeks. Nightly, she sat with her collection, pouring over each and every glorious page.

These girls fight over who "gets" to cook dinner.  They fight over who "gets" to make the dessert (and trust me, there is never a lack of desserts around this house!).  

(And, just for the record, I don't fight with them.  I am perfectly fine to sit back and have someone else cook our dinner.)

(Yip, this set-up pretty much works for me.)

Brooke and Raegan are not your average cooks and they do not cook average food.   They make things called Fesenjan (Chicken and Beets in Pomegranate Walnut Sauce), Harissa Baked Purple Hedgehog Potatoes with a Yogurt Mint Dipping Sauce, and Coconut Red Lentil and Chickpea Soup topped with Toasted Slivered Almonds, Feta Cheese and finished with a light drizzle of Olive Oil.

These are the kind of meals we eat at our house.

However, as delicious as these meals may be for us adults, I can say they usually do not sit very well with the little boys; Matthew (10) and Adam (6).  These boys feel greatly deprived of hamburgers, tacos, and spaghetti.  You know, BOY food!  Of which Brooke and Raegan never make!  

Until last night.  Brooke was feeling rather kind and generous towards her brothers and therefore decided it was "time to cater to the boys."  So, she made Matthew's favorite dish of all time: Lasagne.  

Lasagne with MEAT and OOEY-GOOEY CHEESE* and NOODLES!  

It was nothing short of little boy heaven at our house last night!

We quickly consumed half of the pan, being careful to save the other half for the boys' dinner tonight. Oh boy!  Were they ever looking forward to dinner tonight!

We set the pan, covered with aluminum foil, out on our back patio picnic table.  It was certainly cold enough to keep it there over night, and we do this all the time with leftovers.  When it's this cold outside, it's like "the world is our refrigerator!"

But this time it wasn't meant to be.  You see, apparently we have raccoons in our neighborhood who like to eat all of our neighbor's chickens.  And I guess now that they've eaten all the neighbor's chickens they have now turned to eating LASAGNE!

THIS is what was left of our half-pan of lasagne.
 (And how thoughtful of said raccoon to not eat ALL of it.  What a nice raccoon to
leave us a few, dry, licked-clean noodles.)

THIS is the aluminum foil which was found several feet away, cruelly sliced by the raccoon's paw and carelessly thrown to the side of the sandbox.  Just look at that
perfectly guilty paw print!

I guess the world is no longer our refrigerator.  

And I guess the boys will be eating Farrow with Red Cabbage and Lemon-Scented Quinoa for dinner tonight.

*Addendum: My aforementioned daughter has informed me that the "Ooey-gooey cheese" was actually "Ooey-gooey TOFU mixed with a bit of cheese.  Such sneaky, sneaky girls.

The best of men

The phone call came early this morning.  And when I heard it ring, I knew.

I knew and I didn't want to answer it.

John's dear father had just passed away only minutes earlier. 

The emotions right now are hard to figure out.  

There is happy.  So happy for him.  He is finally free of the painful body which has kept him captive for the last 8 months.   Happy that he is finally with his parents and his brother.   It's been so many years since he has been with his mother.  The thought of their reunion is overwhelming to my mind.  

Then there is sad.  Sad for us as we are left behind, missing him so much that it physically hurts. Missing his wisdom, his smile, his laugh, his excitement over the car he has been restoring for as long as I can remember.  Missing him wearing his leather jacket that says, "Handyman Club of America, Lifetime Member."  Missing our "Flying Dutchman."  Missing everything about him.

Just missing him.

I just can't quite figure out what to feel.  And my heart is so full that I feel it will explode.   I thought if I typed out these feelings, that somehow it might help me to feel better.   I hope.

When Raegan returned from India in August we took her to see Opa in the care center.  She hadn't seen him since he became sick with that really ridiculously rude cancer.  I am so happy I grabbed my camera as I ran out the door.  The photos we have of them together are priceless.

This morning, when I told little Adam that "Opa died" he got a surprised look on his face, then he lay his head on me and after thinking for a minute said, "Well, it's kinda good because he won't ever die again and he's getting to see Jesus."

Is there anything more true and correct and beautiful than that?  Opa IS getting to see Jesus, and because of Him, our Savior Jesus Christ, Opa will never have to die again!

There isn't a more beautiful thought in the world.