Endeavour

I decided to try my luck at a chance view of the Endeavour making it's final farewell flight over the area before settling into it's museum spot. I lucked out!

Necessity is the mother of invention

I'd say desperation is the mother of invention. I am one sleep deprived, brain fried wreck of a person. When I grew out of that late night teenage angst stage, I turned into a morning person. I enjoyed waking up early, much to the disappointment of every college roommate. Until Ava. Ava has made me dread mornings. Maybe it's her wake up call at 2 am which goes from zero to full blast at the speed of sound. Maybe it's just my old age showing. I used to laugh at all the contraptions geared to help get a baby to sleep. Have you seen those freaky stuffed hands that you can warm up to place on a child to imitate your hand? Do you know how many books have been published to train your baby to sleep? This is no joke, people. It is for those desperate parents who just want a few hours of restful sleep. I really can't imagine how families do it that have two working parents or single parents raising a baby. I really shouldn't complain, I could have it worse. (I could have it better and hire an au pair to handle Ava though.) It's not really the work, it's the battle. It's the agony of defeat that I am powerless to my almost 2 year old.
In my effort to restart the game, I've decided to change the playing field. Last night I went on a crazed rampage up rearranging both girl's sleeping situations. I installed a guard rail on Sophia's upper bed and moved the lower bed to Ava's room, eliminating the crib. I think the crib became a thing of fear for Ava. She does not like to be restrained. Sophia handled the transition quite well. I think she felt a bit like Princess and the Pea sleeping up high. Ava was excited about her new bed, too. And she did better than expected. She woke up at 1am screaming, but I laid down with her and she settled down quickly. Up again at 3:45, this time with just a whimper and she came into our room on her own. I'd much rather be woken with a whimper. This time she knew I wouldn't get away so fast, so that was a little bit harder to sneak away. I begged my bones not to creak, as I held my breath and did a super ninja stealth back to my bed. She woke again at 5:45, and this time Rick brought her to bed with us. I feel like this was progress. But we shall see. Game on, Ava. Game on.

He was such a good boy

We had to put Ruger down today. He was my step dog. When I moved in with Rick and saw Ruger's crazed behavior and pink lipstick, I told Rick that dog needed to be neutered. We had pretty heavy discussions, which ended in Rick telling me that if I decided to neuter Ruger then he wanted no part of removing the poor boy's balls. Needless to say, I may not have bonded with Ruger from the get-go. I took that 80 pound dog to the vet and he left with the Cone of Shame. He didn't make eye contact with me until the 4th of July, where he emphatically jumped into my lap and hid his head in my nether regions until the booms stopped, which was well into the wee hours of the morning. Hey, we live in a rural area and people like their guns and illegal fireworks.
Ruger, ironically named for the German gun (he was  German Shorthair Pointer), was indeed gun shy. His nickname became "Tailgate" after a botched attempt at duck hunting with the fellows. The first gunshot found Ruger bee-lining it to the sanctuary of Rick's truck, the only hiding place happened to be under the tailgate. We also fondly called him "Snoot Neuton" and "Big Boy." Ava's first word was "Ruger" and her first sentence was (spoken in inflection) "Ruger. Here big boy" when we went outside in the morning. For the past few months, she would feed Ruger his kibble pellet by pellet. He would puke after, but that dog would not refuse his kibble.
This last week, he had particularly pukey behavior. This dog was a total pansy. He had a very weak constitution, so puking it up was nothing new. Oh, another nickname for him was "Twinkle Toes" because he did a lot of tap dancing. It was pretty funny for me, knowing how much Rick loved his dog and how he was just not a manly dog at all. But the great thing about really good dogs is that the love is unconditional both ways. So anyway, back to my point. I became really attached to Ruger once Sophia was born. In my new housewife domestic diva role, we have created quite a routine around Ruger. It was a very quiet afternoon today, let me tell you. I don't think one fully realizes the impact of an animal until they are no longer with us.
Yesterday he refused food. Even bacon. We called the vet and had the discussion about the "What if's" which is a deeply depressing discussion. The vet evaluated him and gave us two options, with a caveat that if it were her dog, the quality of life he may have in the next week would be sub par. With the heavy burden of the decision in our court, I cowardly announced, "It's ultimately Rick's decision because it's really his dog." Let me tell you, Rick hated to make the decision. But it was the best. Ruger went peacefully at home, surrounded by us and our words of encouragement. He was a really good boy. I am going to miss this dog.

Goal!

Sophia started soccer. I'm not biased at all here, but she has a natural talent. And if you don't believe me, a parent even commented on her ability. Or it could have been that he said, "Wow, she really gets in there, doesn't she?" Which immediately processed in my head as "Wow, she's a little Mia Hamm in the making. Get ready for her debut in the 2024 Olympics." Nope, I'm not biased. I'm not thinking back to her mad skills when she was only 2 years old, sitting on the kitchen counter top and kicking every ball served to her solidly, wondering just how awesome she would do when she was 4 years old and serving it up on the field.

OK seriously, this was her first game. One minute into it, she got tangled up in a team mate and muddy water from the over saturated field splashed up her in eye, temporarily blinding her and leaving her helpless to get herself back up. I ran out there to rescue her and the coach scolds me with a, "You need to let her get up on her own." In my head I screamed "Back up bitch, my baby might be blind!" I refrained and mumbled, "She can't see, she got mud in her eye." Sophia dramatically plopped herself down on the chair and whined, "I'm all wet and dirty and I want to go home and change." And I panicked just a little, thinking we would have to pack up and leave one minute into the game. But we aren't quitters, damn it. So I told her she could sit on the chair and cheer on her team for the whole game or she could shake it off and play like a big girl. Going home wasn't an option. And Sophia got right up and went back in to play. A few minutes later she scored a goal. And it wasn't just an accidental happen upon the ball coming her way. She took control of the ball and maneuvered it 3 kicks to the goal. After that goal, she was fully in the game.

Night sky

For whatever reason, a picture of last night's sunset had me humming the tune to "A Change is Gonna Come."

Sophia is in Pre-K

Doesn't the two thumbs up just say it all?

Summer is o.v.e.r.

Summer is OVER. Summer is over. Summer is over!! Do you want to know something? I am thrilled to be looking forward to a new season. I remember posting how excited I was for Summer to start. And then I was so done with it all about a month ago. It could have been around the time that all of Ava's 8 teeth coming in. Really came in. Or maybe that Ava doesn't really like new environments, or people much, for that matter. Made for an awesome week in Tahoe. So awesome, that Rick realized how wound up I was after our vacation, that he took me away on a spontaneous overnighter with just the two of us shortly after we returned. And that was awesome. It just so happened to be the night of the blue moon, coincidentally the last time we had gone for an overnight trip to Napa on that level of amazing was the weekend of our engagement, when he proposed to me on the night of a blue moon.