Panic at the Hair Salon

While I know it is a common thing to do, I have never referred to any of my pets as my “children” or myself as their “mother.” I’ve encountered plenty of people that say, “This is my baby so and so” while pointing to a cat or a dog and smiling. And I’ve always found this to be creepy. Now that I have my own children I consider it borderline offensive because it seems so insulting to compare the raising of a human being with the raising of a pet. If nothing else, it is at least belittling to both the animal and the child. But having said all that, I can also understand how it happens. I was reminded of this the other day when dropping Prairie off for grooming. While I wish I could trim her fur and nails myself for a variety of reasons – both financial and as a matter of principle – I cannot. We

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Heirloom Spiders

Slowly getting used to our 292 year old house in the forest.  Little things like window blinds and Target and IKEA storage make things surprisingly reassuring.  The newness distracts me from the occasional squishy floorboard I sink into and the various wood and old smoke smells throughout the house.  The weird little window screens that we prop inside the windows are now only letting in half the bugs they were a week ago.  As a result, the moths are no longer flying directly into my forehead while I lay in the bed reading by the glow of my iPhone.  The urge to launder the bedding with DEET has passed with fewer morning mosquito bite discoveries.  The kids have finally discovered the yard with meandering paths, rock walls, old wells, and ferns.  I am slowly letting go of the fear that they will be crushed by the steel cage of a speeding Volvo which leaves room for the new fear of

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