"And I will call him Freddie."

Yesterday I watched a repeat of Oprah about the "Hidden world of puppy mills." I only watched the last thirty minutes, but that was enough to do me in.


I picked the show up about the time that they were showing scenes from an animal shelter in Ft. Worth. After talking about the pet overpopulation, they started talking about the process of choosing which dogs to put down. The camera panned the dogs waiting in their cages marked with a big red "E" for euthanize.


That's when I first started to get all choked up.


Then they actually showed scenes of the shelter employees putting a dog down. I couldn't hold it back, the tears just started flowing. And the worst, absolute worst part was when they showed them dumping trash bags that contained the dogs' remains into and old, ordinary trash dumpster.


Let's just say that the Golfer is really lucky that I didn't immediately jump into the car to drive to the animal shelter to rescue every dog there. Instead, I thought I'd take a minute to talk about our great doggy adoption experience and encourage others who might be thinking of getting a dog to do the same.


We went to three different shelters before we found him. I had always said that our next family dog would be a shelter dog and I was holding true to my word even though there was a pet store filled with cute little puppies just down the street. Instead, I drove 40 miles away to look at a Maltese mix that I had seen on the county's animal shelter Website.


When we got there we had to walk past lots and lots of cages, each filled with two or three dogs a piece. Most of them were large dogs; dogs that are darling and cute as puppies and then eventually grow up. When I asked the shelter worker about this she told me, "The small dogs and the puppies are always the first to be adopted." It made my heart ache.

When we first laid eyes on Freddie, he was pretty pitiful looking. His hair was almost completely covering his eyes and his legs and feet had been shaved.

They took us out into a caged in area so we could interact with the dog. We had done this before with several dogs during our two previous visits, but none of the dogs would interact with the boys. None of them seemed like a match for our family (which is important any time that you get a new pet.)

But this dog was different. He didn't run around the cage or run from the boys when they tried to pet him. He simply sat quietly and relished the attention. As the boys were petting him, the Cheese looked up and said, "And I will call him Freddie."

There was no way I couldn't leave him there after my child had given him a name. Just no way.

As I was paying the $50 adoption fee, the lady at the counter had asked me if I knew that he had been adopted a couple of days prior and had been returned.

"What reason did they give for returning him?" I asked her.

"They only said that he acted scared and skittish."

I decided that we'd take our chances.

Freddie is one of the best dogs we've ever owned. He spends his days quietly laying on the upstairs landing, giving him a good view of the outside. He hardly ever barks and was already potty trained. The worst thing that he has ever done was knocking over the trash can to help himself to some leftovers, but even that was minor. He likes to get on our bed and mess up the pillows whenever no body's home which drives me crazy but I can't bring myself to punish him since I've never actually caught him in the act.

We love Freddie and he loves us. He even traveled home with us to Oklahoma over last Christmas break. He was the best traveler out of all of us. He's a good dog that's just happy to be here.

And we're so glad that he is.

I'm worth what?

They briefly reported this morning on Good Morning America about a study that reported what stay-at-home moms are worth. Apparently, women like me are worth $138,000 in the real world.

I must say, I was a little surprise...at how low the amount was! I'm worth triple that at least!

The $138,000 takes into account the salaries for things like chefs, personal drivers, housekeepers, etc. I have a feeling that the amount would be much higher if it included things like a bedside nurse, a private tutor, a sports manager, and a personal psychologist to resolve sibling issues.

I have to admit though, hearing this report did make me feel a little better. My husband works hard at his job and is excellent at what he does. It's all of his hard work that pays for the T-ball uniforms, the trips to the grocery store, and the occasional video game rental. But his salary also pays for things like my make-up, occasional pedicures, and other things to keep me looking presentable. And even though I bring in meager paychecks of my own, it makes me feel guilty that I'm the one spending all of his hard-earned money.

In the midst of my guilt a few weeks ago, it dawned on me that I needed to stop bitching at him about his lack of domestic duties around the house. He travels for work and is gone a lot, and the last thing that he wants to do when he's home is tend to a long Honey-Do list.

So sitting at dinner, I told him my epiphany. I had heard it said before that mothers are the CEO's of the household, but I never invested much thought in that idea. It sounds good and makes mothers feel more important, but that's about as far as I had taken the idea. But you know what? It's really the truth.

It's my husbands job to bring in money. It's my job to take that money and use it to raise our family to the best of my ability. He pays for the groceries, I buy the food and cook it. He pays for the T-ball mitt, bat, and uniform, and I drive our child to practice, etc. You get the idea. But part of managing a happy household includes keeping my husband happy, which involves keeping myself looking good.

I consider myself a feminist. I believe in Girl Power and all of that good stuff. But I also believe that when you choose a certain path, when you made the conscience choice to stay-at-home and raise the children that God blessed you with, you have a responsibility to do it well. How many successful CEOs do you know that spend their days bitching and complaining? Not many. And if they do they don't stay successful for very long.

I earn every last penny of that $138,000 every single day. And just like anyone else who works hard for the money (Donna Summers anyone?) I should get to enjoy spending some of it every now and then. No longer do I feel guilty for spending a little money now and then on my own personal beautification. I figure it's just part of my invisible six-figure salary.

In fact, I think I'll go shopping and give myself a raise.

On this episode of Jon and Kate Plus 8

For the last 3 days I've done very little. Over the long weekend I read three whole books, something I never seem to make the time to do anymore. (Impressive, yes, but two of the three I had read half of and needed to finish.) I actually took an hour nap on one day, which I haven't done since I don't know when, and the only place that we drove to was the grocery store for a few staples that we had run out of like Lunchables.

Because I had been doing so much reading throughout the weekend, I was ready to watch a little television yesterday afternoon. Not much was on worth watching, but I persited. I landed on TLC, a channel that I used to watch all the time while I was pregnant (Baby Story anyone?) but haven't watched much of since. Except for one show--Jon and Kate Plus 8.


Whenever the Golfer sees me watching it, he'll usually say something like "Why do you watch that crap?"


"It's not crap. It's real life," I'll reply.


The Golfer doesn't understand why I would want to watch a show about parenting when that's what I do (and complain about) all day. But what he doesn't understand is that this isn't regular parenting. This show is about parenting 8 kids--six of which are all three-years-old.


Yesterday there was a Jon and Kate Plus 8 marathon and I watched just about the whole thing (the Golfer is out-of-town.) The more I watched, the more I fell for this family. It's refreshing to see other parents losing their temper, rolling their eyes, and getting fed up in general.


I've finally figured out why I'm so drawned to watching this show--these people are real. They aren't perfect parents and they'll tell you as much. And the mere fact that they are raising 8 kids amazes me. I struggle with only having two.


Sure, the mom, Kate, gets on my nerves some times. She's a little too anal retentive and controlling. But you know what? I have a feeling that if cameras came into my house and started recording all of my parenting moves, I would probably get on peoples' nerves too.


These people are doing their best and I appreciate that. Even though they have 8 kids, they seem to know each one of them so well. They recognize their kids differences and celebrate each kid for who they are. It made me wonder whether or not I do that with my two.


The Cheese stopped running around in his Storm Trooper costume long enough to ask me, "Why do they have 8 kids?"


"Because that's how many God blessed them with."

"Why don't we have 8 kids?"

"Because God knows better," I told him.

The Cheese: Potty talk?

The Cheese Eater was outside in the backyard playing yesterday afternoon. I was quietly sitting on the couch reading a book.

"Mommy? There's scat in the yard," he ran in to inform me.

"What is 'scat'?" I asked.

"Mommy," (rolling his eyes in exasperation) "...'scat' is another word for poopy."

"Oh, well, I need to come and scoop the doggy poop in the yard. But, buddy...poopy is not called 'scat'."

"Uh huh, yeah there is."

At this point, I wasn't sure what to say. My son walked back out into the yard and that was the end of our conversation. I was glad that it was over because I had a feeling that the word 'scat' was a word for poopy that adults sometimes use that he was mispronouncing--a kind of bad word that we refer to in our house as Potty Talk.

But I couldn't really get onto him because I wasn't sure if that was what he was actually saying. And I didn't want to pursue it too much further and end up basically teaching him the bad word in the end.

"No son. The word isn't 'scat'. It is actually pronounced sh..."

I'm a fairly liberal, open-minded, tell-it-like-it-is kind of parent, but that's a little too much even for me.

But not so far in the future I'm going to have to have a parental discussion about cuss words. I am a parent to two boys--it is inevitable.

And I have no idea what in the hell I'm going to say to them.

Update: Apparently, scat IS a word that means poop. From Wikipedia: "In medicine and biology, scatology or coprology is the study of feces." My child doesn't have a potty mouth--he's a genius with a better vocabulary than his mother. He learned it on a nature hike during a birthday party. I'm the one that's the idiot.