Me: Now can we? 

Ty: Um, nope. Just smile and look at the camera. We're on vacation. 

Me: What about now? 

Most common question asked of married couples:

 

"When do you think you'll have kids?" 

I was really surprised at how many people asked that question soon after Ty popped the question. It typically went like this:  

• Oh my gosh! Congratulations! How did he do it? 
• Can I see the ring? 
• When's the wedding?
• So when are you guys going to start having kids?

I actually have a friend that started saying "We're not" in response to the question just so people would stop asking - especially her parents. I think this is hilarious.

Since Ty and I started dating, there's always been something for me look forward to with Ty. 

See below:

• Moving in together.
• Getting engaged.
• Planning a wedding.
• Buying our first house.
• Getting married.

I think it's only natural for women who know they want kids to start obsessing over it the moment they get hitched. That was me. That wasn't Ty. Good times.

So, needless to say I had to pump the breaks. Obviously, we want kids. We were just a little off on when to start, you know, trying. About 4 months ago, I had an "ah ha" moment (after Ty basically said he wasn't ready. At our Valentine's Day dinner. At a restaurant. Where I cried. And walked out. And didn't talk the whole way home. Mature.) 

The reason I was obsessing about starting our family was because we didn't have any goals as a couple (and because that's all anyone asks you about once you get married). We bought our house, we'd practically furnished it (this mission has since been completed, thank you very much!), we got married. Check, check, check. Next up - babies!! Right? 

No. It was time for some "in the meantime" goals. 

We are going to Hawaii in November. We also started talking about going to Napa Valley this year, maybe Vegas, and then Greece for our 2 year anniversary next Spring/Summer. We also have loads of babies surrounding us / about to surround us so we can get our baby fixes in. (Who am I kidding? This is great news because I can get MY baby fixes in and Ty only has to worry about me obsessing over other people's kids and not our own... yet.)

Babies are obviously in our future. In the meantime, I will enjoy being with my husband. 


By being with I mean annoying him until he gives in and agrees that the next thing on our to-do list is to get pregnant.

Our Problem Child

 

Many of you know Ben. He's OUR (more on this in a minute) adorable Cavalier, who up until recently, has been extremely low maintenance. (This doesn't count the first year of his life where he ruined about a half dozen pairs of my shoes, ate Maddie's poop and barfed it up all over the house and on furniture, and ruined a practically new coffee table by chewing all four corners down to nubs while he was teething.)

Before we got Ben, we had MY dog Maddie, and TY's dog Snoopy. Ben is OUR dog. We got him together. We split the cost of him right down the middle when we found him about three months before we got engaged. (I can't believe I bought a dog with Ty before he put a "ring on it".) His, mine, and ours.

About 6 weeks ago I got a call at work...

Ty: Hey Babe. We have a problem. (Never good.) 

Me: OK - what's up?

Ty: I was walking the dogs this morning and noticed that Ben's butt hole is really red and swollen. I think something is wrong with his anal glands. (Two words I have always hated - "anal" and "glands".)

Me: Oh man. That sucks. When are you taking him to the vet. (Obviously.)

Ty: Babe, I can't. I have to be in Tacoma in an hour. (In other words, "Can you help for once?")

Me: Umm.......... uhhhhhhhhhhh..... (as I see that I am in back to backs for five hours straight) OK, I will make it work. I will clear my calendar for the afternoon and head home.

The short of it is this. About 2 hours (and $120) later I was at the vet with the poor kid as Dr. Kanahwhahshsahdjasa tended to an infected anal gland. Luckily the thing burst while she was eye to eye with it and not me. (I did however get a good look at it after wards. I know, that's disgusting.)

Spring forward to this past Sunday. I'll set the scene. It's about 70 degrees out, sunny and lovely. We took Maddie and Ben (Snoopy was at the Beach with Grandma and Grandpa Jensen) to a near by park in our neighborhood. Ben is absolutely addicted to fetch. Addicted may just be an understatement. After about 20 minutes of constant ball throwing and fetch, we decided it was time to go. Just then we noticed Ben's back foot bleeding. Ty scooped him up and I saw it. A dangling, bloody nail almost completely pulled out of the quick. UGH! We made our way home in a haze. I was practically in tears over this. I know Ty was too. We both just felt so bad for our baby. 

The next 30 minutes are ridiculous after reflecting on the events. We get home. Ty sits down on the garage floor with Ben. I run inside with Maddie to get a bowl of water and a first aid kit. I come out to the garage and I don't know who's panting/sweating more - Ty or Ben. Ty still has the "diaper bag" on (that's what we call the backpack we take on walks because it holds all our dog related items like water / water bowl, balls, and poop bags - with three dogs we Ty has to tote around a lot of crap) so I take it off of him. We go back and forth for a minute trying to figure out what to do. Ty then sends me on a wild goose chase to find some nail clippers - because obviously human nails are just like a dog's. Um, no. (If you recall from an earlier post, Ty doesn't appreciate where I choose to clip my nails so he has to hide these from me.) After a long 20 second search in the kitchen I go back out to announce that they are no where to be found. While I am out there he tells me he is going to go check to see if a nearby pet clinic is open but that he needed his keys. I walk inside and can't find them on the counter because they are actually upstairs in "his room" (the spare bedroom where he houses his clothes). We swap spots back outside in the garage. I take Ben and sit on the ground while he speeds off to check the pet clinic. 

Problem #1 - He DRIVES to go check to see if it's open. It's almost as if we live in Amish Country and he has to get the wagon ready to go to Merle's for a cup of locally grown barley. 

Problem #2 - He leaves without the dog. 

10 minutes later he gets home to tell me what I already know but didn't have enough common sense to realize before he left. They are closed. Weird. 

In the meantime, I have since texted our fantastic friends (and neighbors - how convenient) Jay & Lisa in my haze. They had this really great idea. Google a local emergency vet clinic and CALL to see if they are open. 

We try this and learn that only one is open and it's in Lake City and costs $98 just to get in. We look at each other and go back and forth and decide we should wrap it up since it's stopped bleeding and wait until the morning to get him into our vet in Kirkland. I then drive (my turn) to Bartell's to get some items to wrap his little foot. Note picture below.

- Ben with his poorly wrapped paw -

Needless to say, the evening was eventful. Ty and I even squeezed in a little fight. Good times. (We obviously made up an hour later, as usual.)

Ty took Ben to the vet yesterday morning first thing. Both he and Ty walked out of there with less than what they walked in with. Ty was out $200 and poor Ben was minus a nail. 

In the end, all is fine and good. We have a puppy on pain meds and a professionally wrapped paw.

- I might work out tonight -

Pajama Jeans

I'll cut to the chase. I am about 15 pounds heavier than I was when I got married. 15 pounds?! Is it my Freshman year of college again, or what? I'd like to call it the FIRST YEAR FIFTEEN.

I guess I can understand. When Ty and I started dating I was all about impressing him. New outfits for Saturday night's out, shaved legs, cute hair, consistent trips to the gym, manicures, pedicures, brow waxes, half eaten meals, etc. Of course there have been phases in the last 4 years where I've gotten, shall we say, comfortable... nothing like this though. As soon as we got engaged, I had the big day on the brain. I had wedding dress shopping to do and dress fittings to attend that were bi-monthly reminders of our big day in May. Those kept me on track as we got closer and closer to the wedding.

Flash forward to this past November. I cancelled my gym membership because I thought that if I bought a treadmill I'd be good to go. Nope. It's collecting dust, just like everyone told me it would. I have probably worked out 10 times since November. That's roughly 1.67 times per month. Yep, sounds about right. I started taking the elevator up the three flights of stairs at work because "it's faster" and because "I don't like being out of breath for the first 5 minutes of my meetings up there". Perhaps the latter excuse should have been a key indicator that I needed to get more than 1.67 workouts in per month.

I know most of you saw this coming.

Last week I decided to try XGym. It's a 20 minute workout twice a week with a personal trainer. It costs $300 per month. I wanted to cry twice in the 20 minute session. The session was free. I wanted to cry because it hurt so bad. Imagine how hard the workout would be if I actually signed up. (I didn't by the way.) In the first free session they are trying to get you to WANT to do it, not want to cry.

This all brings me to the title of this blog.

While you may think those are jeans, they aren't. They are jammies. "Pajama Jeans" are obviously the new thing and totally made for people like me. I just pictured myself wearing these to work. Could you imagine? "Cute pants! Are those new?" "Sure are - they are actually sweats that look like jeans. Pretty genius right?!" Wow. 

As much as I'd like to try these out, I think I'd prefer to put on a pair of tennis shoes, go for a walk, and skip the peanut butter M&Ms tonight. And the fudge. And the raspberry bars I made this weekend. And maybe, just maybe, the three hours worth of shows I've recorded on my DVR...