OMG

Today, I thought I would make Ed nachos for lunch. I haven't made nachos in years, so imagine, to my surprise when my pregnant nose was telling me that my Mexican lunch was smelling a little like dog food. Ok, alot like dog good. Weird, but whatever.

Fast forward to afternoon snack time. I want nothing more than to whip up a batch of poppy seed muffins. I preheat the oven, and I'll be darn if I don't smell dog food. Ok, time to clean the oven I think to myself. I can do that later, right now, I want to stuff my face with buttery muffins.

I open the oven and this is what I find:

Ya'll, that is DOG FOOD in my oven! I wasn't just smelling things! Upon making this discovery, I tried desperately to hypothesize how my dog's food has found its way in my oven. I didn't put it there, I never have dog food on the counter, so it couldn't have fallen into the oven. I was so confused. I ran into Ed's office. "Ed, I don't know how this is even possible, but there is a mound of dog food in the corner of the oven." Ed just looks at me and smiles. "What?" "Come here, I'll show you." Ed inspects the oven and thinks this is the handy work of a mouse. "What's the last thing you cooked in the oven, the meatloaf?" He asks. "Nooooooo, it was your nacho lunch!"

At this point, I am slightly freaking out and utterly flabbergasted. I don't understand. I keep a clean house. I even have the cleaning ladies come a couple of times a month the help clean. I have seen no signs of a mouse anywhere. I'm not sure I am buying into the mouse theory, but it is the ONLY logical reason why there is animal food roasting in the oven at 400 degrees.

My imagination kicks into overdrive. I haven't seen a mouse in over two years. When I did see one, the poor thing was already dead, tiny, and the kind of mouse that when it's alive you say ahhhhhhh, how cute! I shutter at the thought of a potential T-Rex rodent beast digging food out of Chino's bowl, lugging it thought the laundry room, across the kitchen, and somehow into the oven. And, excuse me, but who does this mouse think it is? We certainly have discriminating culinary preferences now don't we? Digging out the dog food? Fine. But who does he/she/it think they are that I am going to toast and warm their dinner?

If I sound a little mad, it's because I am. I'm pregnant, hungry, and my poppy seed muffins are doing me no good in batter form sitting in the fridge while I clean my oven/rodent food storage receptacle.

*Shalayne

Noise

Sounds Presley Anne enjoys:

1. Her Daddy's voice
2. The musical talent that is Radiohead

A sound Presley Anne does not enjoy:

1. The Xccelerator hand dryer in the Town & Country bathroom at Bronte, TX.

Hope everyone is enjoying their hotter than Hades weekend. Today should be interesting as I will later find myself within the historical and secretive world that is a Masonic Lodge for my Papapw's instillation. Photos to follow.
*Shalayne

Presley's Farmer

When Ed is not laboring away outside, he can be found laboring away inside. Ed can not wait for a day when he has Presley all to himself at home. He is sure she will enjoy the plowin' farmer decal he put on his office wall. I think he is right. All that is missing is the plush rocking sheep that is currently being held hostage in my mother's store. (My mom has all of the fun baby stuff and won't let me touch it until after the baby shower.) Her little rocking sheep will tuck into this corner where she can watch her daddy as he works hard for she and I.

I'm going to cork these two walls in the future so Ed can better organize his maps and data.

That's right, bar graphs and pie charts. Like other people don't keep data tacked onto their walls?

Please note: Ed and I will practice responsible parenting and will safety plug the outlet in the near future. Presley will have to find another outlet to see if my car keys will fit in it or not.

*Shalayne

Miss Morgan

I've known Morgan since she was itty bitty. It's hard to believe she is days away from being 16 and a junior in high school. Morgan is a queen candidate in my hometown's annual queen contest. Her mother asked if I would take a few photos of her and I gladly obliged.

Originally, I pictured Morgan's photos as very bright and vivid with pops of color. But once I began looking over her photos, I realized she has a pretty, feminine softness about her. Therefore, I kept her photos on the soft side. Here is Miss Morgan:

*Shalayne

Kind as Christ

As I was packing for the Independence Day weekend, I grabbed the first book I saw and threw it in my bag. We headed off to the river to celebrate as we usually do, lazily by the Devil's River. The book I haphazardly threw into my bag coincided perfectly with the holiday weekend. The following is an excerpt from the book, To America Personal Reflections of an Historian by Stephen E. Ambrose.

"We're fortunate in being Americans. At least we don't step on the underdog. I wonder if that's because there are no 'Americans'-only a strew of immigrants-or it's because the earth from which we exist has been so kind to us and our forefathers; or if it's because the 'American' is the offspring of the logical European who hated oppression and loved freedom beyond life? Those great mountains and the tall timber; the cool deep lakes and broad rivers; the green valleys and white farmhouses; the air, the sea, and wind; the plains and great cities; the smell of living-all must be the cause of it."

"And yet, with all that, we can't get away from the rest. For every one of our millions who has that treasure in his hand there's another million crying for that victory of life. And for each of us who wants to live in happiness and give happiness, there's another different sort of person wanting to take it away."

"Those people always manage to have their say, and Mars is always close at hand. We know how to win wars. We must learn how to win peace. Make the world accept peace whether they damn well like it or not. Here is the dove, and here is the bayonet. If we ever have a son, I won't want him to go through this again, but I want him powerful enough that no one will be fool enough to touch him. He and America should be strong as hell and kind as Christ."

-Lieutenant Thomas Meehan in a letter to his wife eleven days before Operation Overload in Normandy.