And You Think You Have Pet Hair Issues!

It's at least 90 degrees out. Russell's brushing dogs this afternoon and this is what my porch looks like at the moment. The collies are dropping their winter coats. Pretty awesome, isn't it? And this is just from the first two. There are seven more to go!

Don't have much to say about this - I think in this case the picture is worth at least 10,000 words. Just looking at it makes me hot. I'm going to get a glass of ice water now.

The Freedom of the Big Fail

I made an incredibly ugly shed this week. I didn't mean to – it was supposed to be fabulous. In fact, I secretly pride myself on having an incredible color sense. On my mom's side there were generations of Scottish weavers, and I imagine myself to be the beneficiary of their collective artistic magic. I don't announce this to people, but I think it, when I'm all alone.

So we have this shed in our backyard. A standard wooden shed, which doesn't have to be painted, but had weathered to kind of an ugly blackish brown. I followed Martha's advice and picked out colors after lots of deliberation. I painted swatches to see them in all kinds of light. I looked at it for days, soliciting opinions and only listening to the ones I liked. (Isn't that always the way?) Then I painted and I got help from a variety of inexperienced young painters.

Check out my ugly shed! Everyone's been really quiet about it - a sure sign that it's ugly. Finally today I got a comment that I think kind of sums it up. My friend had called me artistic a few minutes before. Then I showed him the shed.

"Wow! What are you going to paint it?" he said.

"I just painted it. I think I don't like it," I replied – to give him room to say he liked it.

"It's awful – someone else picked the colors?"

"Nope – all me - and you just called me artistic, remember?"

"Yeah...well your artistry is really with words, you know?"

I don't always give myself permission to have the big ugly failure. I'm worried about what people will think of me and hate to draw attention to myself. I make the small quiet tidy choice, instead of the bold, potentially horrific one. And I'd like to thank my sweet husband for being pretty nice about the ugly shed. I am trying to fix it, it just might take me a while to figure out how. Now that I'm properly humbled, I'd love your suggestions.

I Love the Name Stephen Hawking, Don't You?

You never know what you're going to hear when you're driving kids in the car. As you turn the key, you become magically invisible and they talk as if they are alone. And it starts young – even toddlers are not immune.

This was the conversation that I got to overhear as we went to school recently:

"I love the name Stephen Hawking, don't you?" says one first grade twin to his sister.

"Is that what you're going to name your baby?"

"Maybe. Especially if it's a boy. He has ALS, so he is in a wheelchair. He talks with a machine."

"I'm not going to name my baby Stephen Hawking."

"That's ok."