Pound puppy

As you may recall, there's been a puppy-shaped hole in my heart since last summer when we tragically lost Toby.

Fast forward to last week, my darling granny sent me some birthday $$ because I'm in my twirties and my granny still does this. Geatest. Granny. Ever.

I read the card which chronicled all the places Granny had gone on her senior bus pass. And then that check enclosure spoke to me. It said, "Kendra, nothing would make me happier than to see you happy. Why don't you go buy yourself a puppy?" It was practically a sign from G-O-D (which, nota bene, spells D-O-G backwards!). Seriously, it was now my mitzvah to adopt a dog.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, you are already grumpy, woman!

I cased Petfinder.com and stared at mut mugs day and night.  I decided on a particular pound because it's a high-kill shelter. A part of me thought maybe this would reduce my carbon footprint or whatever if I saved one dog from euthanasia.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking what about Loverpants? I told Loverpants of my plans and ::insert hubby eyeroll:: it was clear he was so over my wet blanket routine about dog ownership. So he said, "Okay, fine. Just don't get an actual puppy. Get an older dog that doesn't need to pee every 4 seconds."

The wee ones and I ventured to the shelter after school. Little Man was completely underwhelmed by the animals because he was overwhelmed by the smell of tinkle.

Baby Girl was completely flipping out, "Ohhh! We're gonna get the puppy of my dreams!"

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, this is not going to end well at all.

The yellow lab mix in kennel #6 threw a lasso around my heart immediately. She licked Baby Girl's hand and was just so mild and lovely.  We took her into the little play area and she whizzed like a racehorse. The police officer dog catcher fellow who was bald with a jolly smile and a big mustache leaned over the play area and explained, "That's what I do when I get excited. I just pee myself!"

We also discovered the yellow lab was probably in heat. Oh. Cool.

Baby Girl informed me that we should name the dog Mirabelle.

Punch

me

in

the

gut.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, YOU CAN'T LET HER NAME THE DOG YET!

We couldn't take Nameless Yellow Lab home yet though because her owners still had 24 hours to come claim her. And also, she was in heat and stuff.

Later that evening, we told Loverpants of our puppy selection and he stood mystified that I really went through with this and then he really felt duped. Cue 24 hours of marital awkwardness and eggshell walking.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, you can't believe we do that, too. 

Yesterday, Loverpants and I had an honesty session and he conceded that fine, just get the dog on Monday.

And then I thought about how summer might be a better time to do this, when I'll be home all day and can help a dog adjust. Then I thought about burying my face in the fluffiness of a dog's warm coat and about the yellow lab's sad eyes longing for a home.  Then I thought for the 2398402384th time about how my kids are still so young and how they need me totally focused on their needs a lot of the time. Then my heart started beating really fast. I don't know if I can pull the trigger. I don't know if I can do this.

Later last evening, I was gathering up my belongings to go to hot yoga and I realized my yoga mat was shredding something fierce and getting pilly little plastic bits all over the floor. Gross.

I decided then and there that I could no longer handle the adrenaline of thinking about a rescue dog and how it's going to change everything.I took the $$ from Granny and headed to the yuppy outdoor store and bought a new yoga mat.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, Oh no she just di-int.

To which I say, Oh yes. Yes. Yes, she just did.

So, to review, instead of using birthday money from my granny who has lived her whole life in sacrifice to others, I elected not to rescue a dog from being ground up into salami.  Instead, I bought myself a new yoga mat so I could continue to perpetuate whole industries built upon stuff that white people like.

And then you all decided I am the worst person in the history of the world and I didn't deserve to own a dog anyway.

Then I cried a lot because turning a year older and realizing you are more of a yoga person than a dog person is a lot to handle in the heart all at once.

Then I listened to a lot of Bruce Springsteen because it's his 64th birthday, and I wondered if he was more of a yoga person or a dog person. Or if he sometimes does yoga with his dogs. Which one might even call doga.

The end.

Review: Stitch Fix

Twelve years of rocking the Catholic school uniform and this grown-up girl is taking back her wardrobe. Every Sunday I glance at the 5-day forecast and pick out my outfits for the workweek. It's a task I enjoy; it feels creative and curatorial. I have a penchant for putting unlikely pieces together in my outfit selections. Y'all know how I love my gig styling for Keaton Row. (Click the button on the right sidebar if you want a custom styled lookbook just for you, beauty!). Sometimes a gal wants someone to style her, though. Sometimes she wants to be Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman" after the Rodeo Retail Snobbers make a Big Mistake. Huge.

Enter: Stitch Fix. On the remote chance you're not already familiar, here's my review of the process. My blog idol Jami Nato pointed me to this service a few months ago. I filled out the very thorough survey which makes a gal think about all the decisions and non-decisions she makes re: purchasing clothes.

Once you fill out the survey/profile thing, you input your credit card info. The service itself costs $20, but you can put that styling fee toward the purchase of the curated clothes sent your way, at a time that you designate. Brilliant, eh?

I scheduled a fix for my birthday week because, oh hai birthday cake. Maybe if I buy some new clothes I won't eat you all. The box arrived promptly and I was so excited because how often does a box arrive that we picked out for ourselves but that is full of surprise? Oh, the 12th of never, right?

The box's contents included the following:

Separate #1: white shirtdress $28 - although not petite, it is 100% cotton which is my preference. Separate #2: Red skinny pants $68 - not petite but I would wear these with boots anyways. Verdict: KEEPING 'EM.

Separate #3: Heart sweater - $68. The fact that this struck me as something I would have begged my mom to buy me in 1986 so I could wear it to a birthday party at the rollerskating rink made me decide, probably not. When I put this sweater on, it was snug in all the wrong places. Verdict: Sending it back.

Separate #4: Flowy skirt $68- this skirt is dry clean only which is not my preference but the fit was excellent and the piece is unique.

Verdict: Keeping it.

Item #5: My fix also contained these sweet earrings - $28. I have no need for earrings (and you can specify your needs on your survey) but I am always on the lookout for unique gifts for the lady relatives in my life. Verdict: Sending 'em back.

Clients of Stitch Fix get 3 days to try on and decide on what to keep, what to send back with no penalty. After 3 days, I believe anything you keep, you buy. All in all, I think this is a huge merit of the service. I always feel bad that I'm cutting into someone's commission when I buy something to take home and try on at regular retail establishments. Or I hem and haw for too long about the price. Stitch Fix forces you to try and decide swiftly, which is good for a deliberative gal like self.

Shipping of all items is free, which is a win-win. Actually, it's probably more of a win for the client.

And to our right is the original Stitch Fixer, Baby Girl, the fashion maven herself. Even if she is on track to have 7 years of bad luck.

Re: that book that I'm not really talking about

I am still in the phase where Nothing is Happening with my book. And by that I mean, we aren't ready to shop it for a publisher yet because we are still fine-tuning my proposal, which has gone through at least a dozen revisions. This is not a bad thing. In fact, I would choose the agency all over again, if given the chance to choose the agency all over again. My agent Heidi is incredibly thorough and dedicated to my project. She understands my heart for this book about the family we don't choose, but whom we choose to love, and the God who still chooses to love us. She understands the dilemmas I have as a writer shaping this book about my own life. She has read the manuscript a bazillion times, not because she's making a huge fortune by doing so. In fact, she hasn't yet made a dime off this work. That sort of blows my mind that someone who isn't yet paid cares so much about the quality of this whole package deal.

Let me tell you about the revisions, though. They pull all my guts out and stuff them in the dryer on a superfast spin cycle. Then they pack them back into my body bag and sew me up with twine. These revisions are a special operation. I usually love editing: other people's writing and even my own. This task of revising, though, holds some serious gravity. I've got a revising complex because these are words for a publisher to read and flirt with and fall into like with and maybe fall in love with, ultimately. For example, this one sentence that serves a sort of preamble to the proposal? I have stared at it for hours. This is not usually my m.o. Inspiration will usually strike me any old time, like while I am brushing my teeth or reading a book or while I am driving my kids home from school and listening to an old Hall & Oates song and then BAM! That's it! I'll just say, "I can't go for that (no can do)!" This one proposal sentence, though, just paralyzes me.

I am sincerely glad to be going through this exercise, though. I am learning to market my writing which is something somewhat new for me. I am also learning to appreciate this process that makes a believer out of oneself in one's own work. I used to think that all was an automatic residual: that one's confidence in one's work, if one had spent considerable time on it, was pretty much assured. So! Utterly! Untrue. I can work forever on my manuscript but if I'm not able to identify the key reasons why it is valuable, and will prove valuable to a readerly audience--then what? Big fat nothing is what.

So I push on, believing that we are closer, believing there is value in the process and in the product.

***

And just for ol' time's sake, here's my toss into the #ThrowbackThursday ring.

Baby Girl's first Red Sox game - Sept. 2008