There are two types of travelers in this world...

The first set is like my friend Kim. Aggressive. Adventurous. Inclined toward public transportation. Scoffs at FAA recommendations to arrive at least one hour before departure at the specified gate. Learns of the best museums, restaurants and sites to see not from yelp.com but from new friendships made along the way with people named Christophe, Jaime, or Kwan.

At the other end of the check in line is the second group. Passive. Sleeping in. Inclined toward concierge recommendations. Waiting for pre-arranged airport transfer in the lobby, 30 minutes ahead of schedule, nibbling away at her cuticles wondering if she tipped the bellman enough. Not afraid to try new things, but a bit unsure about how to go about trying them in the first place. Maybe we should research that a little first. Safer to just check urbanspoon.

Travel might be a lot like studying; some students are crammers. Others are neatnik, color-coded flashcard neurotics.

But if they both end up with the same grade in the end, does it really make a difference?

This weekend's trip to NYC: A+.

No Spring Chicken

Last night Peanut had a prolonged seizure.

I know she had a seizure disorder even before I met her. The nice lady at her kennel was very upfront about Peanut's health problems, but we loved our sweet doggie anyway. Like, really love her. She is our most favorite thing. We lead simple lives here in the Morris family.

Peanut's seizures usually last about two minutes. It looks like her whole body is cramping. She doesn't make any noise. She has never lost control of her bowels, which is surprising considering Peanut loses continence at inappropriate times, say, every other week.

*It has been 9 days since our last major workplace accident*

Last night's seizure was more like ten minutes. I was getting nervous and thinking about the expired DiaStat I had in the basement. Status epilepticus?

But Peanut slowly recovered, thankfully, and was back to herself soon afterward. This morning we snuggled in bed, and she has been eating and drinking normally, which is a huge relief.

I know she's getting older, and that's hard. She's aging faster than I am. She sleeps away most of the day, and I notice some white fur around her nose and eyes that wasn't there before.

I worry about Peanut getting older, getting arthritis, getting gray fur, getting congestive heart failure and getting sick. But most of all I worry that she's getting something of her life; I worry that Peanut is happy. Maybe I'm just projecting.

Not that we're going down that road just yet, but having children is going to be challenging stuff.

Its all Relative

Over the past week, Jeremy and I have spent a lot of quality time. Nothing special; just living together, without some expiration date in the near future looming over our heads. Its been GREAT. I have had "pinch me" moments all week. More on that later.

Yesterday I was telling him that some days, it is very difficult it is being a dentist because of how I often have to deliver bad news: "No, mom, we can't save your daughter's front baby teeth" or, "Sorry, dad, he needs 4 or 5 silver caps."

Then Jeremy countered with, "Kara, have you ever had to tell one of your parents that their best option was to go to prison?"

Its all relative, I guess. Which is why we should never, ever complain about anything.

First Communion

My oldest niece, Halle, had her first communion Saturday. It was a lovely, sunny day in Perrysburg, and the ceremony was in the lovely, ornate, St. Rose church. Halle was chosen from her class to bring up the offertory, a special honor for her that was no surprise to me.

Grandma and Grandpa Hoying made the trip, and we all had Eston's cake and sandwiches afterward. Oh, yes, and mimosas.

On my First Communion, I remember--other than have the blessed Eucharist for the first time--that I received from my parents a bag of cat food in a paper grocery sack, a symbolic present to announce the arrival of my new kitten, who I later named Skittles. In Perfect Parent form, it was written on the bag that my kitten's fur was completely white and still too young to be taken from her mother.

What a special, special day.

(Emersyn whispered to me after church: "Do you know that the wine is Jesus' blood?")

Yes, my dear, I do. And I am so grateful for what that means.

I think they do, too.

I Don't Know How She Does It.

My sister, Kelly,

married Mercer County's finest,

has birthed three gorgeous, polite, Godly daughters,

works full-time in IT,

throws fantastic parties, that she plans and prepares for on her lunch breaks,

is a magnificent auntie to these two crazies, plus one more, not pictured,

and lets me nap at her house whenever I want.

Also, she is at total hottie!

And all that was after being crowned homecoming queen at Ft. Loramie High School.

Talk about not resting on your laurels.

She has set the bar pretty high for any motherhood in the Morris house, but really, as far as that goes, I'm just lucky to have her as a role model.

Happy Mothers' Day to the hardest-working mom I know.

Love you, Kelly.

I'm turning 30...

...in a few weeks.

http://www.riceandbeansvintage.com/catalog/item/6710852/8694071.htm

I think I deserve this, don't you?

I have an OBSESSION with fur. Yep, the real, inhumane, PETA-disapproving stuff.

But more on that later. I can justify the obsession, really.

Look at this vintage beauty and try not to drool, it will only make your keyboard slippery.

Which will make you mis-enter your credit card information when you buy it for yourself!