Shit we say to our dogs

Dog owners will know what I’m talking about. As much fluffy, hairy goodness that our dogs add to our lives, they also add a lot of other shit (sometime literally). We have two fur babies, a giant teddy bear named Butch and a medium-sized ferocious little lady named Mocha Bean. If you were around our house for any given length of time, you’d probably hear a lot of this:

“What are you doing?!”

“You are literally blocking my entire view to the TV.”

“Why do you think it’s okay to step on me?”



“Sit on your bottom right now!”

“Good buuueeeeyyyy!” (In a high-pitched, super excited voice.)

“Good guuuurrrrllll!” (In the same high-pitched voice.)

“What the hell are you eating?”

“Wife, I need your help. I’ll hold his mouth open and you reach inside.”

“What the hell did you roll in?!”

“Stop humping your brother.”

“Get down from there.”

“Stop humping your brother!”

“That is not for dogs!”


“What are you barking at this time? Oh, nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Your breath is melting my face. And fogging my glasses.”

“Butch is hot again.”

“Come here.”

“Smell this. Is it wet from Butch licking it, or is it pee?”

“Come here now!”

“Butch, stop licking the couch.”

“Butch, stop licking me.”

“Butch, stop licking!”

“Husband, it’s your turn to pick up the poop in the basement.”

“Stop chewing on your brother.”

“Quiet. People can walk down the street without hearing from you.”

“Mocha, leave the cat alone!”

“Look at what your son/daughter did.”

“Don’t swallow that bone.”

“The water bowl is empty.”

“Don’t destroy that toy. It’s brand new!”

“Why is he/she staring at me?”

“The cat is NOT a toy!”

“Why must you lay right in the middle of everything?”

“Move or I’ll step on you.”

“I’m sorry, was I in your way?”

“I hope you’re comfortable.”

“They are taking up the ENTIRE bed.”

“I need to walk on my feet. Not you.”

“Did he poop today? What did it look like?”

“So stinkin’ cuuuuute!”

“Mocha needs to go out.”

“Mocha wants to come in.”

“Butch needs to go out.”

“Butch wants to come in.”

“Your turn to let them out/let them in/feed them/fill the water bowl/clean up the poop/pee/drool.”

“Don’t touch me. I don’t want to get hair on me.”

“How do you have ANY hair left?!”

Here’s a picture of our furry, slobbery, lovable heathens:



Today, marriage is awesome

My Thursday started like most any other summer day. I slept in a little bit, cuddled with Mocha, watched some of the Today Show until it got annoying, checked both of my blog’s stats, and did a fair amount of yoga. I was feeling good and strong.

And then my uterus, a day fucking early, decides to start falling out of my vagina. I knew it was coming, it was no secret, but still sucked nonetheless. We’re officially at a year and a half, if you’re keeping count, and we’re no closer to a baby. THIS fact made it harder, because shit, something must be wrong for it not to happen by now. (Don’t worry, we’re looking into it.)

Anyway, the rest of my day went as follows.

When Andy got home from an appointment late morning, he immediately knew what had happened (me laying unshowered on the couch with my heating pad burning a hole in my stomach must have given it away). I ugly cried while he hugged me. We didn’t say that much to each other, just hugged.

After I was done feeling sorry for myself (I gave myself a time limit), I finally showered and knew I needed to get busy doing something. Andy and I went into town to do some errands. I purchased a new shower curtain (our other one is moldy and gross because we’ve had it longer than we’ve been married), two more pairs of yoga pants (because, yoga pants), a gift for my sister’s engagement party (because gifts say congratulations), and Andy got some more white t-shirts (because well, he needed more white t-shirts).

I Facebook messaged with two of my sisters for a while, which was nice and made me smile.

We stopped to do my summer job. I’m a dog walker for Gus, whose fur-mom is a traveling nurse. Today was my last day with him though, as they are moving on to their next adventure. Andy and I had a lot of fun playing with Gus, and he snapped a really sweet picture of us before we left.

Then Andy and I decided to have a fire to end our crappy/happy day together. Watching shit burn is pretty therapeutic. We ordered pizza because I refused to cook anything, and we laughed at stupid ringtones he was downloading on his phone.

It was one of those days when Andy and I just mesh, because we know what the other needs and we do it happily, without reservation or complaint.

Today, marriage is awesome.


Take up space

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been trying not to take up space. At least not too much space. I don’t even think I knew that I was doing this. But it was real. And it’s wrong.

Do you remember the first time you were noticed for your size? Either for being big or small?

I don’t. But I do have many, many memories of all sorts of people placing value judgments about me based on how much space I took up. For most women, and let’s be fair, many men too, we receive so much input about our size and whether or not it’s acceptable. These experiences get filed away in our subconscious and we react to them, all the time.

My experiences with size judgement occurred in all kinds of ways. Sometimes it was a positive comment, which told my subconscious that my size was okay, acceptable, perfect. Other times it was a harmful comparison or just a downright negative comment, which told my subconscious that my size was not okay, unacceptable, shameful. My subconscious is stockpiled with these comments, looks, comparisons, judgments, and emotions.

Every time I was told to “sit here” or “stand there” or “go through here” because I could “fit,” my subconscious got sent a message that my size was acceptable. That I was regarded highly or liked enough because of how much space my body did and didn’t take up.

Every time I was called “tiny” or “too skinny” or “rail-thin” with eyes showing jealousy or disgust, my subconscious took some hits of shame and began to feel like maybe my body didn’t take up enough space.

Every time I was laughed at because of how certain clothes fit my body, my subconscious was jolted with pain, anger, and even more shame.

Every time I was told that my body needed to lose an inch, or firm up, or be something that it wasn’t, my subconscious took notes on the need for exercise and portion control.

Every time I was compared to a friend or a sister or a stranger, my subconscious became abuzz with resentment, because when body comparisons are made, someone always gets hurt.

Every time I was excluded from fun things because my friends didn’t want to be in bathing suits around me or were worried that I’d get the most attention from guys, my subconscious stored sadness and pain that would overstay its welcome.

Every time I was told I don’t eat enough, or I eat too much, or labeled anorexic, or told I had gained weight, my subconscious began to close her doors and retreat inward, because she knew there was no way to win this fight.

It wasn’t until I began exploring yoga that my idea and ideals for body size took a different path. I remember doing a particular yoga video in which the instructor was giving directions for body placement on the mat. And she specifically said, “Spread out. Take up space.”

There was a part of me that recoiled from her words, and immediately felt shame at the thought of “taking up space.” The messages from my subconscious came into view and reminded me that society says that I, as a female, should be small and tiny and barely there. How dare I take up space, as if I could use up too much space that there wouldn’t be enough left over for anyone else.

Well, how dare I let society, or anyone, dictate how I feel about my own body! After all, it is my body. And finally, there was a shift. Not only could I laugh at this ignorant notion, but as I spread out on my yoga mat, I felt something different. I felt pride. In my shape, in my body, in my person. I am a person, and I will take up as much space as I need because I matter.

Here’s me, taking up space and being proud of it. 🙂


Kayla’s Quirks: Succulent Bush – August 16th

I have an office with a total of zero windows and a million sterile cinder blocks for walls. For these reasons, I wanted to invest in some fake plants to make myself believe that I don’t in fact work in a musty, old closet.

Mission accomplished! I found two very interesting looking plants to add amongst the families of daddy longlegs who I share my office with.

One of the plants I picked is named “Succulent Bush.” I’m not even kidding. Andy and I had this conversation while shopping for plants.

Me: “I love this one. It’s so interesting looking. All the kids are going to want to touch it.”

Andy: “I bet you’re right.”

Me: “I’ll have to train them that the area is for adult’s only and tell them they aren’t allowed to touch my succulent bush.”

Andy: (laughing)

Me: “Wait, I probably shouldn’t say that at school.”

Andy: “You shouldn’t say that in public either.”

Here’s a picture of my succulent bush:

succulent bush

Made in China. Shocker!


A picture is worth a thousand lot of words. Here’s a recent photo (a total selfie, by the way) that I think tells some things about me. I photoshopped in some numbers, and voilà!

numbers info

1. Trees. I live around lots of trees. This isn’t an accident. It speaks to my quiet personality. I relish solitude and detest being in bustling, busy, noisy places for too long. Part of the reason I live in the sticks is my husband – Andy loves being in the woods, and so we bought a tiny house on 5 1/2 acres of mostly wooded land. It’s quiet here (mostly) and we both enjoy it immensely.

2. Hair. I’m a brunette, and I’m so glad. Not because of dumb blonde jokes told by even more ignorant people, but because I find brunettes more attractive. However, I did spend a part of high school and college trying to change my hair color – sometimes blonde, sometimes lighter brown, and then this one horrible, awful time when I tried to put in blonde and red highlights using boxes of hair dye at home. The colors mixed and I ended up with huge chunks of pink and purple hair. Then, I went to my local JC Penney salon to get it “fixed,” and I left with very dark brown and a top layer of purple (PURPLE!) highlights. I looked like a witch, just in time for my senior prom and high school graduation. Ugh. Anyway, I’ve been back to my regular shade of brown for probably 8 years and I’m not changing it.

3. Glasses. I’ve been wearing glasses for 6 years. I wear them for distance, generally all day, and I’m one of those weird people who actually likes wearing them. I’ve never considered contacts because I will not touch my eyeballs. I can’t even put on eye makeup (I’ve worn mascara like twice in my life and both times someone else had to force it on while I tried not to cry). The glasses in this picture are brand new and I love them – they’re bold and add lots of decoration to my otherwise “Plain Jane” face.

4. Namaste. I bought this handmade necklace 4 years ago at a craft show, long before I really got into yoga. For a while, I’ve really connected with the meaning of the word, and I wear the necklace as a reminder. While there are many definitions for Namaste, I connect most with this one: “I honor the place in you in which the entire universe dwells. I honor the place in you which is of love, of truth, of light, and of peace. When you are in that place in you and I am in that place in me, we are one.”



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