Unconditional Love

As I'm cleaning the kitchen from last night's fajita fiesta, I walk into the family room to find that Sophie has just thrown up. On my Ugg boots. Yep, my relatively new (2 months), charcoal gray, short Uggs. And what did I do? I asked Soph if she was OK. I pet her little head and calmly walked into the kitchen to remove the mess from my boot.

I've always thought how blessed I am because our pups have never thought of my shoes as chew toys. But now I understand the horror finding half-eaten shoes must evoke from shoe-obsessed moms like me. And it is the unconditional love for our furry beings that keep us from screaming, yelling or harming them in any other way. How can I be mad at that little face?

Maybe I'll soon be ready for motherhood after all...

To Write or Not to Write...

I don't know about you, but I've always dreamed of writing a book. I'm not convinced that anyone would read it, nor is that really the point. I just have a lot to say. I'm thinking of a pseudo-memoir where the reader wouldn't be totally sure if what I was writing was based on my life or fiction (think A Million Little Pieces by James Frey except I would admit to Oprah that I had embellished...)

I haven't told you a lot about my life before Paul... let's just say it was colorful. As a matter of fact, on the morning of our wedding, two of my bride's maids had a great time recounting my romantic history and the theme was "thank GOD that one didn't work out!"

So I'm thinking that would be the premise of an interesting book. A "what not to do when dating" type of epic.

Like we need another one of those. At least it would be a great way to embarrass my future children... In advance.

Stop and Smell the Flowers

So we planted flowers at our house yesterday for the first time. As we wandered around the garden center, it became apparent that we were choosing the same flowers we had at our wedding. Hydrangeas, Calla lilies, Gerber daisies. A vision of pink, purple and blue. Now every time we drive up to our house, we have a visual, floral reminder of that special day.

If we have an argument (OK, maybe I should say WHEN we have an argument) the pups always walk into the room and make us stop and assess what we are really upset about. Now our garden can do the same thing!

If I were a Curator...

I thought I was going to be a curator at some fancy shmancy art gallery in NYC when I was younger. Instead, I was the assistant to the curator at the Hebrew Home for the Aged at Riverdale in the Bronx. Then an assistant curator at Columbia University. Then on to Boston to be an art consultant at Boston Corporate Art. None of that was very fancy. Although I did have big fun living the high life (on credit) in my 20s in Boston. Then I moved back to DC, got a position at AAHSA, and the rest is history.

I love my job. I love our mission, working with the members and knowing we are making this country better for people like my grandparents and Paul's dad. I love knowing we are transforming aging. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder, what life would be like if I had stuck with the art history. Would I be at the National Gallery right now? Would I have gone to Europe? Would I work in a swanky gallery in NYC?

None of this is regret, mind you. It is just an exercise in wondering... do you ever do that?

Regardless of where my path would have taken me, I know I would have owned these fabulous Joan & David pumps!

Dog Park Mayhem

So I woke up yesterday morning giddy with anticipation. It was the first DMV (DC/MD/VA) French Bulldog Meetup of the Spring and it was being held at the dog park in our very own town. The girls were so excited! Stella was shaking with anticipation the whole way there. It was already crowded and Stella took off running as soon as she was through the gate. Sophie was right behind her. For about 15 minutes. And then, Sophie spotted her nemesis in the form of a 12 year old, blind, deaf, miniature Pincher wearing a pink jacket. Apparently no dog is too weak for Sophie to attack and attack she did. I heard that horrific aggressive growl from clear across the dog park and then everyone else heard an equally scary sound... SOPHIE!!!! Yes, I screamed like a maniac, ran over to her and put the leash on. Time out for the Toph Monster. (If you are wondering what Paul was doing, he was drinking his Starbucks Bold. He thought I had it covered.)

After a while of Sophie watching everyone else run by her, and the arrival of more bullies (including an awesome white English that looked like Meaty from Rob & Big), Paul decided it was time for Sophie to have another turn. She did great until the Labradoodle went after the ball Paul had thrown for Sophie to chase. (Side note: If you throw a ball Sophie will chase it. If she doesn't want to play anymore, she will put it in her toy box instead of bringing it somewhat within your vicinity. She doesn't really understand how to bring it back to you. Her brain is very small.)

So this Labradoodle goes after Sophie's ball and she's like, My Daddy threw that ball to me and I'm either going to get it or take you down, Sucka. Needless to say, we heard that horrific roar again and the next thing I know Paul has her by the collar and is reattaching the leash. Tophie Time Out Part Two. We hear another ruckus break out, grab Stella and head for the car. Where I burst into tears because I don't understand what is wrong with Sophie and am sad she didn't have as much play time as Stella. (Look, I know this isn't rational, but she's my little bundle of love and I'm not rational when it comes to her. Sue me.)

Once home, it becomes apparent that Sophie has developed a limp. She is once again our concerned little being and we are massaging, petting, hugging to make sure she is OK. Without words, we agree that she needs to sleep in our bed (they are normally crated at night. they like it. oh, and they snore like bears.) So Sophie slept beautifully and was all better this morning. I, on the other hand, tossed and turned while she snored to full volume and look like a fright this morning. But at least Sophie is happy.

Next week, Paul's taking them to the dog park by himself. I'll go back once Sophie doesn't have to go to time out. Isn't that what dads do? Take their kids to the park?

"How do you Walk in Those?!"

I often get asked this question. I normally laugh and say "one foot in front of the other"! I get that the majority of people I work with don't wear 3.5 - 5 inch heels on a regular basis. But is it really that much of a mystery that a grown woman can walk in heels? Does this mean I'll get further in life because I have such a "special gift"? How does anyone walk in anything? Isn't it the same no matter what footwear you are sporting? OK, I know, I should probably be flattered by the question but for some reason this week it is really bugging me. Am I overreacting? Probably. Sometimes I just can't deal.

I do love these Calvin Klein, suede, platform sandals though. I feel powerful in them: I am woman, watch me walk!

Shoes Before Breath

Have I ever told you about Grammie? Grammie was my mom's mom and I loved her more than words can say. She died 6 years ago and I think of her almost every day. Grammie loved to shop. We always had the best girls' day out - especially when I got older. For the last 5 years of her life, Grammie was on oxygen (she had COPD and emphysema) so we would have to take her portable tanks with us. I will never forget a time we were in Marshall's (yes, Grammie LOVED Marshall's, and passed that love down to me) and I looked at her tank. The gauge read it was empty! I freaked out, ran to the car, got the other tank, ran back and we switched. I asked Grammie why she didn't say anything about her tank running low and she responded, Because, Melissie, we are in the shoe aisle.

Now do you understand where I get my priorities?