On living here

Sometimes I think I live on Wisteria Lane. Things are just too perfect-looking on the outside: perfectly manicured lawns, bright blooms, sweetly trimmed bushes, wrought iron enterance gates, a few dozen Lexus', Mercedes', a Porsche, sweet little doggies who wear bejeweled collars & sweaters. 
I have a neighbor who uses a leafblower on his entire yard every damn morning. He is adamant about blowing all the leaves, dust, dirt, & grass off of every square inch of his driveway, walkway, & backporch areas. 
I have a neighbor who walks briskly several times a day with her dog, who is not on a leash. She never smiles, she never chats, & her dog is odd. 
I have a neighbor who is the host of a popular sports radio talk show, who lost his wife last year. I never see him. Sometimes I wonder if he exists.
I have a neighbor who is nosey, bossy, & a bit of a Nazi about EVERYFUCKINGTHING. She tells you what to do. She corrects you about things that she finds wrong. She sends emails to all of the homeowners about random things that she really doesn't need to be bossing us about.
I have a next door neighbor who has Alzheimers. I never see his wife, who cares for him, but he walks to the mailbox & to the end of the street for fresh air every day. He smiles brightly & gives me a salute.
The neighbors on the other side of me are not so friendly. They complained about my dogs barking last year when our home first flooded. Really?
Did I forget to mention that this neighborhood is small, with under 50 homes in it? We are the youngest couple in the neighborhood, with 2 other couples being in their late 30s, but childless. My girl is the only child, other than 2 teens. All of my neighbors own other homes in other states, have children in college or our age, have more money than time, have fancy things & beautiful homes. Several of the homebuilders live in this neighborhood, as well as the actual developer. One of my neighbors has a bumper sticker on his car that says "Impeach Obama". All my neighbors are conservative and W.H.I.T.E.

I don't fit in.

I am loud. I am liberal. I voted for Obama. I have a 4 year old. I don't always bring in my recycling container from the curb right away. I don't switch out the flowers in my beds every month. I don't drive a Lexus (although I did, but HATED it). I don't have a second home. I don't put clothes on my dogs. I enjoy things that are not by & large part of the conservative point of view. I cuss. I don't put a shock collar on my dog (although we did buy one for Max, but we are returning it). I don't care about the homeowner's association drama, or the dues, or what time the gates open or close. I don't have a fit if people walk with their dogs off of their leashes. I don't care if someone drives more than 10mph down my street. I could care less if you park your damn car on the street.

But I am kind and friendly and I try my hardest to pick up my dogs' shit when we are walking around the neighborhood. I say hello and try to make small talk. I bite my tongue when something is said about healthcare reform.

I like to think that all of my neighbors have a ton more going on than they let show. They are more than their manicured lawns & perfectly placed holiday decor. They are deeper than the car they drive, than the amount of money they make. I hope that they are dysfunctional in their own ways, like all of us. As I drive or walk by each home, I imagine what is going on behind closed doors. I giggle when I hear that leafblower first thing in the morning, because I know he's got issues.

I don't fit in. I want a neighborhood with people our age, with children my girl's age, with neighbors that come over for dinner, or to hang out in the backyard after work. I want a house where my girl & I can scream as we play a silly game, and not have to worry that someone hears us & thinks something random or erroneous. I don't want to compete with these people. I don't want to feel out of place. I don't want to disappoint my husband or look like the white trash of the neighborhood. I don't want to live on Wisteria Lane.


After all the others, he is "the one"

I've been pretty quiet about this whole "adopting a boxer" thing, until last month, where I sweetly stated the following on Twitter:

I'm *this.close* to saying F*$% this adoption place.
8:29 AM Sep 30th from TwitterBerry

We have officially decided to pass on this boxer rescue, which I will now call Lick-my-ass Boxer Rescue. There are a couple of other boxer rescues in our area, and I'm sure we will look into them, but right now I'm so beat down by it that I would prefer to shoe shop online. How about these?:

*As a side note, I can't afford any of these damn boots. I mean, I could, but I would have the guilt FOREVER.*

Anyway, while I drool over the can't have's, let me give you the short version of Lick-my-ass boxer rescue agency:

We filled out the paperwork the very end of July. We waited.
And waited.
Finally, mid-August, we get an email that they are processing our paperwork, & should have someone call us to set up a home visit.
End of August: home visit by the most annoying bitchface volunteer evah. She immediately rubs me the wrong way, questioning how we care for Daisy. Then she starts steering us away from the dogs we are interested in, one of which we met the day before at a dog adoption event. She also starts steering us towards dogs we have not been interested in. She also throws in, "You probably don't want to get a dog that will take your attention away from your daughter." I hate her. I make faces at her after she leaves.
Mid September: We meet dogs, but none that we originally wanted to meet.
Dog 1: Obsessed with the tennis ball so much that he has to be dragged back to his foster mom's car, barking, pulling, & foaming at the mouth. Not at all interested in us, although he was great with my girl.
Dog 2: Adopted before we could meet him.
Dog 3: We meet a sweet dog that just had tumors removed w/ no biopsy results yet. We like him, of course.
Dog 4: Mysteriously, he "became aggressive" the day we were supposed to meet him, so they cancelled the "meet & greet" until they "can figure out what is going on with him". They assure me his profile is being taken off of their site, that we will get to meet him soon.
Dog 5: We don't want to meet him, so I avoid the foster mom's email.
Dog 6: We grow interested in this guy, seeing that he supposedly has a sweet personality. We meet him, and he is very sweet with us. But when he meets Daisy? He tries to eat her face off. Several times. And she's a patient old lady, but she could only take it for 35 minutes or so before she tried to take his face off. He had to be dragged out of our home.
Yeahhhh, not so much.
Dogs 7, 8, & 9: They give us the wrong information about several dogs, all of which we don't get to meet.

By this time, I am more than beat down. They start emailing us pictures of dogs that are new to the rescue, and I immediately respond to the ones that sound like a good fit. We do not get to meet any of these guys. 4. 4 damn dogs that we don't get to meet because the lady is a bitchface. And they have these random excuses for it: "Oh, another family asked to meet him before you did" (even though I responded to the email a full 3 minutes after it was sent to me), or "He's not really 3, he's 7", or "He's not a good fit for your family".

Then the biopsy results come back on Dog 3. Not good. I take the results to my vet, to get an opinion from a trusted, well-liked individual. He says to RUN, not walk, away from this sweet boy. Based on the results, he will surely have more tumor issues. I can't do this. I can't adopt him, only to have him be so sick, only to have to put him to sleep if he gets too sick. I just can't. I still miss my old man dog, and I can't do this shit again so soon. I can't do it to me, my girl, our old lady dog. No.
So I tell them of our decision concerning Dog 3.
That's when all the shitty emails begin. They are pissed that hubby compared adopting him with buying a lemon of a car. They start questioning our "financial ability" to care for a boxer after I stated that I didn't want to incur a cost of more than my mortgage payment right off the bat. Then they want to know if we have really researched the breed: Are we aware how common tumors are in boxers? Are we aware of their needs? Then they get upset that we might not care enough about our 'fur family members', how they do not agree that we have felt steered by them, that they do not need to justify why we couldn't meet certain dogs, that they "must be doing something right", since they have had over 1100 dogs adopted out in the last 5 years. FML.
So, after a few days of emails, we are done. As of September 30th, we are done. We stop responding to the snotty emails from the head of Lick-my-ass Boxer rescue.

After almost 2 weeks of nothing, we decide to fill out the application for another boxer rescue in the area. On October 11th, we fill out the application, look at the dogs' profiles, and pick out a few that we would like to meet.
On October 12th, I get an email back from this rescue, asking for a bit more information.
That same day, Lick-my-ass emails me about a new foster. I guess they didn't read our last email about being done with them? I calmly respond that we will not be adopting a dog with them. The end.
On October 13th, I receive a call from the foster mom of one of the dogs at this new rescue, stating that she would like to see our home and bring a dog, King Tut, for us to meet.
We meet King Tut on the 16th. He is sweet & gorgeous & way too skinny.
We ask to meet him again on the 18th, when it isn't raining, so we can walk him w/ our old lady dog.
We get approved on the 18th.
He comes over and stays.
He is ours.
Here is our Max:

He looks a little out-of-sorts here, after less than 24 hours with my crazy kid & my crotchety old lady dog. But he is sweet and silly and soft and so loveable. He is playful in the mornings. He loves all of the neighborhood dogs. He is scared of my hubby, but is growing more comfortable with him by the day. He fits here.
He also pees & poops on the floor if he's at home more than 5 hours w/out us. He has torn up the most random things, including one of my flip flops, a throw rug, and a My Little Pony. We bought him a crate this past weekend, and he loves it. No complaints from him at all about being in it at night or during the day when I am gone.
He loves to lie on me & nibbles me when I scratch his side. He finally growled this morning, staring out the front door at the pumpkins on the porch. He "talks" to me in the morning when I am getting ready, sitting proud on my bathroom rug, making sweet puppy eyes at me. He follows my girl everywhere, and likes to watch her splash in the bathtub.
He is stealing our hearts.
As for Lick-my-ass Boxer rescue, this week I emailed the one foster mom we really got along with. She is the sick dog's foster mom. I sent her a picture of Max, & asked about her sick boy. He is doing well, she says, and is planning to adopt him in spite of his health issues. We discussed the similarities in personality between the two boxers. She is happy for us. I can only hope she lets the assholes that run that agency know just how successful we were with another agency.


Don't Boo Us, please. Unless you have a death wish, then BRING IT ON.

You may have seen my tweets 7000 hours ago when a strange package showed up on our doorstep at 10:30pm on a random Wednesday night last week. I had the giggles for so long, and seriously, I'm pretty sure it won't be as funny to any of you as it was to me. But still, here goes:

I'm sitting in the living room with a perfect view of the front door. I see someone run up to our porch, ring the doorbell, and run off. Hubby & I both go look out a window to see if someone is hiding in our yard. We live in a teeny gated community, so seriously, what the hell?

Hubby turns on the front porch light and we see an orange bag sitting on our doormat. He says "Let's just wait until tomorrow to see what it is."

Sure. I'm patient. *snort*

So he decides to open the glass on our door, to get a better look. Our door looks similar to this, where the glass opens from the inside:

So hubby opens the glass, and we both peer out. Yep, an orange knapsack thingy with a drawstring and a pumpkin face on the front.
Hubby then decides to get the broom. He doesn't want to touch it. You know, it could be a bomb. *rolling my eyes*
He pokes it through the metal lattice of the door. Then he knocks it over, and says it feels heavy. Then he gets brave and touches it, telling me: "It feels warm."
My response?: "Maybe it's fresh baked goods? Or fresh dog shit?"
Him: "I'm getting my gun."
Me: "....."
He comes back with his handgun by his side, and I bust out with the giggles. He glares at me. Tells me to stand behind the door. I continue to giggle.
He reaches down with his hand and pushes the bag over with his hand.
I continue to giggle.
Here's where he gets pissed at me.
I can't stop giggling. I keep imagining whomever the person is, watching us from behind a bush, poking this damn thing with a broom & now holding a gun.
Me: "Omg, let's just open it! It's a fucking pumpkin bag for cripe's sake!"
Him: "Do you not remember the lady who was shot in the face like 1/2 a mile from here?"
Me: "Uhhhh........."
Him: "I don't see why you find this so damn amusing. WTF is wrong with you?"

At this point, I just can't stop. And I'm telling you, he is FUMING, which is making me giggle even more.

Him: "Fuck it. I'll open it so you shut up."
Me: "YAY!"

Here's what was in it:

Yep, candy, a little light-up pumpkin, witch's brew punch mix, 2 halloween towels (not pictured), and a halloween candy jar. And a note that says we have been "Boo'ed" by our neighbors. There was also a halloween picture that we were supposed to put on our door, showing we had been Boo'ed.

I continue to crack up, fits of giggles, tears, snorts and all. Can.not.stop.

Hubby stomped off to bed, as I called out "So glad it wasn't fresh dog shit!....Or a bomb."
The next evening, we were Boo'ed again, since I didn't put the picture up on our door. This time:

A Monster drink, 2 Shiner Bock's, cute halloween napkins, & candy. No dog shit. Or bombs.

And this is what my kid does with the bucket:

I'm not sure whether I should be disturbed or proud.


A teeny update & then we are back to "normal"

Oh hai! Have you missed me? Well, I sure have missed my little corner of the internet, even though it's messy & a bit of a dirty whore.
So, in the past week:
-My dog has been named Max, after lots of voting from everyone (including you, my dear readers)
-We got a contract on our house, and after the initial low-ball offer, they gave us an offer we could happily handle. We have to be out November 22nd. I will miss my house, but what can you do, right?
-We are renting a house until we find something we love at an awesome price. We didn't feel like we could do that in less than 30 days, and didn't want to rush. Now, where we are renting is the issue. My hubby changes his mind hourly, although I must admit all of his ideas are good ones.
-We are combining the office and the house, wherever we end up. It just makes sense to save $3K a month in rent on a pretty office building that only the 2 of us (and 7000 lbs of construction-related stuff) share.
-I was featured on Five Star Friday a couple of weeks ago. How cool is that? Thank you to whomever nominated me....I think I have an idea of who it was.
-I have so many post ideas, they are pouring out my ears, I swear it.
-My other site was shut down, so we moved. We had already been planning on moving, but seriously? Some asswipe douchebag fuckface schmuck concerned citizen reported us to Google. Seriously? That little red box up there in the upper righthand corner of your computer? The one with the little x? You can hit that mo-fo at any time to leave a website you aren't digging.
-I'm worried about my girl lately. She has become more argumentative in recent weeks, and listens less, if that's even possible. Is it the age? I mean, even knowing stuff about child development, I feel lost here.
-Did I mention that my hubby deleted everything off of the DVR again? Sigh.


Part II of the heart

[See Part I here]

I moved into my own apartment at age 19. I was 35 minutes away from my family. My husband & I had just begun dating. I loved the freedom.
Until one day, between classes, when I walked into my kitchen & almost passed out from the shock of my heart "doing it's thing". I ended up driving myself to the ER, about 1 minute from my apartment.
My cardiologist suggested adding another beta-blocker, & he played a bit with the dosages.

Three days later, I was back at the ER. New scripts, different dosages, another trip to the ER. I saw the same ER doctors and nurses about 12 times in less than a month. Same shit, different day: EKG, chest x-rays, IV, bloodwork, not-so-fun medications pumped into the IV to 'restart' my heart's rhythm.

I tried all the stupid techniques to try to get my heart to 'restart' on it's own: take my medication immediately, cough, retch like I'm puking...none of them worked. I lost a job 4 days after starting it, due to a random episode 20 minutes before my shift started. My then boyfriend left work so many times to drive me to the hospital, when I couldn't drive myself.

Finally, after a shitty summer of being poked by needles, prodded by the same doctors and nurses, my cardiologist found a medication that my heart seemed to like.

And it worked.
It worked for about 4-4 1/2 years.


I was a newlywed, I had my first 'real' job after college, I had my first house.

I started having my 'episodes' again. The first time, after all that time, I was at home folding laundry. Then, a couple of weeks later, it happened in the middle of the night, when my hubby was over-served and snoring on the couch. Then again, when I was at work, on my way to a court hearing. And again, at work. And again.

We weren't planning on kids yet, but we knew we would want them eventually. I couldn't go through this while pregnant. Not only would the pregnancy put a ton of stress on my heart, but my heart would put a lot of stress on a pregnancy. I wouldn't be able to take any medications, including the awful-feeling stuff they pumped through my IV at the hospital. And I sure as hell couldn't just 'ride it out' if I had an episode while pregnant; it was terrible.

Since there were no other medications to try, no more combinations, no other options, I opted for surgery.
I was 24 years old and I was scared shitless.



After an exhaustive day at work, I set out for home. I lugged my bag, a casefile, and my purse to my Yukon, feeling the last of my energy drip out of my hands as I heaved them into the backseat. I was the last to leave the office again, the sun long gone past the horizon.
My mind kept drifting back to a phone conversation with a teen later that afternoon. She was angry with me, again. I hadn't done anything out of the ordinary; I was simply the scapegoat. The phone call ended with her screaming hateful things, bursting into tears, and sitting in silence as I tried to sooth her with my words. My words did not always work.
I lived 35 minutes away, and back then I looked forward to the silence of my 23 acres. I crossed the bridge over the lake, and began the boring drive home. Nothing was on the radio; I spent most of the trip channel-surfing. I crested a hill and came up on a red light. I slowed to a stop.
I was thinking about dinner. I didn't want to cook what was thawing in the kitchen sink.
I randomly looked into my rearview mirror.
A car was flying in my lane.
At the last second, he noticed me, at a dead stop at the light.
He swerved. Too late.
He rear-ended me, going 65 miles an hour. And then over-compensated, losing what control he had, careening across 2 lanes of traffic and into a ditch. He flipped the car in the ditch.
I watched in awe as he crawled out of a window of his car, and took off running through the ditch, towards another road. He was running sideways, and tripped twice.
In a bit of shock, I watched as not one but two men came out of my periphreal, sprinting across traffic, after him. Into the ditch, after him. Tackling him. I saw a shoe flip up into the air, landing rightside up on the service road.
I was okay. He was drunk, fresh out of prison, without a license, a weapon in someone else's car.
Not a month later, I found out I was pregnant. Counting back the days on my calender, I realized I was pregnant when he rear-ended me.
And in an instant, one teeny tiny breath of a second, things changed. Something little & insignificant like a car accident became something larger than life. My chest was compressed by the thought that I had survived being hit by a drunk driver while pregnant. My baby, just a little lima bean, was protected, right? Right?
My world transformed in that instant. I became protective and defensive in a way I had never been before.
In an instant, one teeny tiny breath of a second, things changed. As it was then, it is now:
My cousin's soon-to-be 14 year old got the H1N1 piggy flu. He already had a compromised immune system. The flu developed into pneumonia; pneumonia into Epstein-Barr virus. In less than a week, he went from quiet and semi-healthy to life-support. There was no way he would recover. He died with family around him, but he was not conscious. Several of his organs were donated.
And just like that, in an instant, several other people's lives changed, as they received the organ they had been praying for.
And again I become protective and defensive in a way I have never been before. My girl got a mild case of the piggy flu. I am blessed. But now I think about how in just a teeny tiny breath, something ordinary can become catastrophic for some, and a sweet relief for others.


Music Lover Monday-The "I wish I had endless amounts of $ to spend on music downloads" Edition

Lay Me Down by The Frames ("The Cake Eaters" Soundtrack)

All Roads Lead Home by Golden State: ("Henry Poole is Here" Soundtrack)

Your Arms Around Me by Jens Lekman  ('Whip It' Soundtrack)


Random Disney shows that crack me up

Shaun the Sheep: This show is hard to find on TV, but it is so well-worth it! I crack up every time I see it.

Next up: Miniscule by Disney. They are short fims about bugs that really crack me up. I couldn't find the one I really wanted to post, but this one is silly too. Make sure you turn up the sound so you can hear all the sound effects. 

I am going with humor today, because I just don't have it in me to pull the nostalgia out of my heart & place it on your screen. Thank you for all your comments on Twitter about my 2nd cousin. I didn't know him well, but I am saddened just the same.


So simple & profound

A couple of weeks ago I read this post by Aidan over at Ivy League Insecurities. I will wait while you click on over there and read her fabulous post. No, really. I'll go read a blog or listen to some kick-ass music while I wait.

While the post struck me as sweet, Aidan speaking kindly of Nic over at My Bottle's Up, what really struck a chord was this: 

"But something in me has an urge to reach out beyond the little snow globe that is my existence. And learn. About others. About different places – geographical and metaphysical. About different people. People with different pasts and different presents. With different experiences and emotions and struggles."

Aidan is much more poetic than I, when it comes to speaking of the WHY? of blogging. For me, I have always said it's for me, my journey, an outlet, a bouncing-off place, a path through my heart & mind that I want to share. It is all of these things, for me.

I have listened to others wax on about how we blog for others, for attention, for notoriety, for affirmation, for friendship. And all of these may well be true.

I have listened to others discuss the need to be honest on our blogs, share every teeny detail with those who are reading, leave no stone unturned, we owe it to our readers.

I have listened to others discuss the necessity in being anonymous, keeping safety at the forefront of the entire endeavor, separating the blog persona and the real person.

I struggle with all of this, because as is par for me, I agree with bits and pieces of all of it. I have never been black and white; I have always made my home in that lovely gray area that scares many, including my loved ones. 

I blog for me. 
I blog to get it out, to see it in print, to prove to myself that my feelings are accurate, real, and justified. 
I blog for support, for a shared sense of SHARING, for new friendships.
I blog to organize my thoughts, my dreams, my emotions, my past, and get a grasp on my future.
While I give you tattered threads of my heart, share dreams that haunt me, I also keep my distance. I am not completely honest with my readers about all of me, all the time. Not that I lie, but I withhold things, things that I'm not quite ready to admit to myself, and certainly not to my readers.
And each time I let fear rule my hands as I type up another post, I think "Maybe I should take a break. Maybe I shouldn't share all of this. Maybe no one gives a shit about it. Maybe I shouldn't give a shit about any of it."
But I hit publish anyway, shaking, fearful that I will disappoint someone, shame someone, throw someone for a loop, push someone away. I am such a people-pleaser, even those people that I have never laid eyes on, even those lurkers, even those who don't deserve the pleasure of my pleasing.
And then I read a post like Aidan's, so simple and profound. And I think "Yes, YES, I have got it right. See it's right there-she thinks like I do. This must be right." And I feel a sense of freedom, of companionship, of pride. I feel as though I have a true friend in Aidan, although we have never gone shopping together, nor have we gone out drinking and dancing until 2am. Nor have we even emailed back and forth. But I read her post, and I realize that we are all doing this shit for the same reasons, and they are all true and just and beautiful.  


Over the top & Under the bus

Moxie Mama totally threw me under the bus (except, she was also under the bus, so isn't it really that she dragged me under the bus with her?...) and bestowed this award on me & my blog. It makes me blush a little (okay, no it doesn't). I love that mama, and truly wish I could meet her like yesterday.

So here goes. I will play nice today.

1. Where is your cell phone? Hand
2. Your hair? fuzzy
3. Your mother? Awesome
4. Your father? Complicated
5. Your favorite food? Sweet
6. Your dream last night? Hopeful
7. Your favorite drink? Jose
8.Your dream/goal? Publication
9. What room are you in? Living
10. Your hobby? words.
11. Your fear? Lonely
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Productive
13. Where were you last night? Campus
14. Something you aren’t? Quiet
15. Muffins? top? *snort*
16. Wish list item? ANTHROPOLOGIE
17.Where did you grow up? Here
18. Last thing you did? Showered
19.What are you wearing? shorts
20. Your TV? Massive
21.Your pets? Gas-y
22. Your friends? Loyal
23. Your life? up-lifting
24. Your mood? nostalgic
25.Missing someone? DUH.
26.Vehicle? dirty
27. Something you’re not wearing? panties *dirty whore!*
28.Your favorite store? Amazon!
29.Your favorite color? Ocean
30. When was the last time you laughed? recently
31. Last time you cried? week
32. Your best friend? Eh.
33. One place that you go over and over? past
34. One person who emails me regularly? 3giraffes
35. Favorite place to eat? bed

And yeah, read into that (35) what you will. Bwahahaha!
Also, Moxie Mama said my answers would be highly entertaining, and seriously, I am not entertaining when I am required to count my words. I am a rambling entertainer.

So, now that I've played nice and failed miserably at being entertaining, I am bestowing this lovely award/mememememememememe on the following:

Jaded Perspective

Chains of Yesterday

The Quest for T

Doof Mom


Music Lover Monday-Workout R&B edition

"Make Her Say (Poke Her Face)" by Kid Cudi, Common, & Kanye

"Lookin Boy" by Hot Stylz (This song cracks me up).

"I'm the Ish" by DJ Class (I have a thing for sexy lips, not gonna lie)

Don't forget about the Pills Session II! Send your post to alittleleftoflost(at)gmail (dot)com! Please join the ranting!


Is today Thursday? Is it October? WTF?

I'm pretty sure this week is the longest week in.existence. I am worn the fuck out, my allergies are kicking my ass, I haven't posted, my reading for school has suffered, my house looks like a tornado dropped the medicine aisle of a drug store on it, and I haven't exercised. Or worn anything remotely sexy or even decent.
My girl's cough is still alive and phlegmy. We are on day 5 of a sneaky-ass fever. I'm waiting on the doctor's office to open, so I can pretend I didn't just scour the CDC's website about the H1N1 virus. I'm trying not to flip flop out.
All that being said, the point of my post is not to think about the damn flu or complain about how I feel. It is for this:

Happy Birthday to my sweet friend, Peggy. Yes, she lives in New York, and no, we haven't officially met, hugged, and Squeeeeee!'ed, but I love her just the same. She makes me smile and laugh, and she's WONDERFUL. Also, go check out her website Lil Foot Designs, where you can buy the softest blankets for your babies EVAH.
(And Peggy, I'm sorry you won't be getting a birthday card from me, since it's still sitting on my kitchen counter, waiting on a stamp. xoxo)