In response to The Daily Post’s weekly writing challenge: “Leave Your Shoes at the Door.”

I hate when the alarm goes off in the morning.  4:30am is so early; so uncivilized.  My bed is my favorite place on Earth, so that just makes it feel worse.  Right now my flannel sheets are on.  Even though we’re getting close to warmer weather, the nights are still chilly enough that I can justify the soft luxury of the winter linens. My king-sized bed is also a treat.  After my last bed, essentially a cot, this bed feels big enough for royalty.  My long, lanky limbs never knew what they were missing until I finally got to stretch them out as much as I wanted.

After she pushes snooze once, twice, sometimes many more times, I finally slide out of bed and put my feet on the chilly hardwood floor.  A quick stretch to wake the rest of my body up, and I make my way downstairs. With the Keurig already buzzing, I head out of the kitchen for my morning pee.  Before I can think about eating or drinking, I head to the couch to close my eyes for just a bit longer.  Although my days might not seem like much to people who work outside the house, they are more exhausting than one might think.  I’m lucky compared to some stay-at-homes.  We have a great house with lots of space.  If I need to get away from everyone, I can find a quiet place to work and rest if need be.  Before I moved in here, my life was good, but I had zero privacy.  I shared a bedroom with only one other, but she was really crazy.  It was hard to relax around her.  Here, everyone is conscious about minding their own business.

I’m not sure what my day will bring today.  I managed to get out for a nice morning walk before the rain started, but I’ll need to plan my afternoon around the bad weather.  I might not get much work done.  I’m sure a nap will happen, maybe even 2 or 3.  But I might also make a dent in some of my Netflix series – I’ve been dying to find out what happens in season 6 of Sons of Anarchy and season 3 of Californication.  Truth is though, I’m just biding my time until the next season of Orange is the New Black is released.  Someone in the house has actually just turned on season 2. Maybe I’ll watch again to remind myself what happened and see if I can figure out what’s going to go down with V in season 3.  It’s an ambitious plan, but I’ll make sure I’m in my favorite spot on the couch, so in case I fall asleep, I’ll be right where I want to be.


Love, Bones, and Fathers



I have to write about my dog right now.  I don’t care how many times pet-lovers blog about their pets, tweet about them, or include them in status updates.  I just have to do it. First of all, he is the cutest dog alive.  It’s just true.  I know EVERY person with a dog feels this way, but let’s face it: feelings aren’t facts.  The fact is, Atticus Finch is the cutest dog alive.  Look at this:



Come on!  If you are looking at this saying, “Well, ok, Atticus is cute, but my baby is definitely cuter,” you’re lying to yourself.  It’s ok if you don’t have the cutest dog in the world!  After one of many terrible college break-ups that left me feeling ugly, fat, and generally unworthy, my dad sat me down.  I was sure I was going to get the traditional dad talk.  “Beth, you’re the most beautiful, talented, funny, wonderful woman in the world.  And any man (or woman) who doesn’t see that is an idiot.”  Instead, in true Doug fashion, he said, “Beth, there are always going to be women prettier, thinner (much thinner), and smarter than you.  Get over it.”  Well then.  That pep talk didn’t help me in my state of immediate crisis, however, I thought about it a lot.  I’ve come to realize he’s right.  It’s totally fine to be second best. (Or third, fourth, tenth, hundredth, etc.)  I’m sharing this so you can internalize his advice as well – your dog just isn’t the cutest dog! Get over it!  But here’s the really good news:  your dog may be the smartest.  Atticus is not the smartest.  By a mile.  We thought giving him such an intellectual namesake would channel lots of profound energy his way, but alas.  Atticus still insists on eating cat poop.  And cat litter.  And cat pee.  And cat fur.  Not smart.  He is also very, very picky about which dogs he humps. He will only hump pit bulls and german shepherds that outweigh him by at least 50 pounds.  Often, they have metal cages over their frothing muzzles and high voltage shock collars around their tree-trunk width necks.  Definitely not smart.

However, he is DEFINITELY the cutest.  To be continued…