easter, steinbach, puppies, dog hair

I just commented on someone's blog, and my blog address didn't automatically pop up when I was entering the "required fields."

Probably because I'm the worst blogger ever! (ever is said with somewhat an evil character voice)

Then I got thinking that perhaps I'm not really a blogger, but that's okay, because I'm so many other things. Then I realized that not only do I start a lot of sentences with 'then,' thus eliminating much of my blog following, but I am also not a lot of other things.

It's really true. Like, really.

Things Tiffany Is Not (apparently)
  • a cleaner (honestly, I used to try to tell my friends that my house was way cleaner before I had kids, but really, who I am kidding. I dust five times a year.)
  • a baker (i'm not even going to explain this)
  • a chef (oh, I can fry hamburger and onions and then add stuff with the best of them, but aside from the five meal rotation? not a lot of fun suppers here these days)
  • a very good dog mommy (is it just me, or is it somewhat harder to get attached to pets the same way once one has kids? there is more to follow on this.)
  • a candle-stick maker (i have honestly never made a candlestick)

There are so many things. I'm sure I could make this list way longer and more humorous, but I am also not much of a blog-post-planner. If it doesn't tumble off the top of my head as I'm writing it, it doesn't make it into the blog post.

I could make lists of the upcoming blog posts I'm planning on not writing:
  • Elliot and the epic battle of wills failure
  • bye bye jackson, hello nameless
  • why i no longer capitalize or punctuate

Hey! Did you know that the temperature is actuyally supposed to flirt with positive numbers this week? That's right! Haul out the flip flops peeps. Did you also know that I've already done a little campsite booking? I cannot wait to impose Nameless on all the other campers. I mean . . . he doesn't yip or yap at all.

The other day Steven came inside and said "Our backyard is gross."
I said "Yeah, yeah, I totally plan on catching up on the dog poo."
"No, it's not even dog poop. The backyard is covered in dog hair."

Steven and Jackson's relationship was one based on their common ground; me. Jackson knew that if he attacked Steven, and knocked him down, and gobbled him up Walking Dead style, he may not continue to be lovingly fed and walked. Steven knew that if he did something terrible to Jackson, that, well, I'd just come home with more dogs.

Steven's ammo was to continuously complain about Jackson's supposed shortcomings. Such as:
"Jackson ate the door frame."
"Jackson is chewing a mitt."
"Jackson totally ate the rope ladder off the play structure."
"Jackson ate the blue protective cover off the trampoline. And the net."
"Jackson just passed a splatball."

And on. And on. And on. Of course he exaggerates like crazy.

"The backyard is covered in dog hair."
"Seriously Steven, that's redonkulous. The dog is outside. That stuff blows away. As if you could actually see dog hair all over the yard, under the snow."

Laugh not. I went outside. The backyard is a grey miasma of doghair. It is kind of unbelievable. Seriously, as the snow melts and receeds, the doghair sits on top and gets darker and darker. The corners of the deck where the snow is gone are grey with dust, dirt, and a tangled web of doghair. It is awesome. I have no doubt that when I get the rake out a few months from now (In June, when the snow is gone. Or July. Whenever), I will literally rake up a giant tumbleweed of dog hair. It's not even normal. You don't walk through the forest and kick around a dusting of bunny, deer and bear hair. Nature is supposed to absorb that shit.

 Whatever. So Steven was right about something. It had to happen someday.

I am procrastinating like crazy. Yesterday I was going to do all the housework that I didn't feel like doing on the weekend, but instead I drove all the way to Steinbach to pick up a puppy. Really too bad they don't have puppies for sale closer to home. Right. Steinbach. No housework. Today we moved the breakfast dishes over on the table to make room for lunch. I really deteste this messy house, but who feels like cleaning on a Tuesday?

I need a maid. But you know, I'd likely clean the house like crazy before the maid got here so that she wouldn't see my dusty end tables and gossip to all her cleaning lady friends about how dirty the Verwey house is.

So instead? I ramble. It's super fun. You should all try it, and then link back here. The internets are slow today.

Want to know some things about Steinbach?
  • Nobody speeds. I'm not even kidding. The speed limit on the highway was 100. I was driving 100ish and passing people. Passing. You're not supposed to pass people when doing the actual posted speed limit. Of course I figured there was a major road break or something ahead that all the locals knew about but I didn't, so I slowed down. There was nothing wrong with the highway, people just don't speed there. Weirdest thing ever.
  • The roads have names like Loewen Ave. All the signs for businesses have names like Penner Tires, Thiessen Bakery, Klassen Foods. It's Mennonite Central! Don't get me wrong, I knew it would be, but it's still kind of fun to drive through. I didn't stop at the Mennonite Central Museum. I did almost pull over to buy eggs from a farmer who had an egg advertisement at the end of his driveway. Remember driving through the countryside to buy eggs? Me too! My brother wrote off his first car on an egg run. He was 12. We were awesome.
  • The young people in Steinbach talk like the old people in Austin (lol I am going to get so much flak for this). Of course as I drove along in hour 3 of my super special car time, I wondered if maybe I sounded odd, but just didn't know it. I decided that no, it couldn't be. I would know.
  • Alright. There's not much else. They have an A&W there. Mozza burgers are yummy. 
I should probably just blog about this Great Dog Swap '13, but by now it's half in here.

We had Easter all weekend. I love Easter chocolate. I mean . . . Easter. Jordan pretty much suspects that I'm the Easter bunny. This is evidenced by her staring me in the eye and right out asking "Did you hide this stuff?" Of course I said no. This is the second year that the Easter bunny came on Sunday morning while Steven and the kids were out driving around and looking for him upon waking up to find he hadn't actually come. One of these days they're goign to question why Mommy doesn't come on these drives. It wasn't because Mommy was in her pjs until noon.

 Well, the laundry I put in the washing machine at 7:30am needs to be swapped. I have a very slow washing machine, it would seem.

Happy Tuesday.

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