Greetings from an Igloo.

Yep, it's still cold.  You know its bad when the weather folk start using the term "polar air" as easily as they make awkward jokes.  And...done talking about weather.

It's somewhat relevant, however, because it has forced us to stay in the shack 99% of the time instead of just 95% of the time.  So what have we been up to? 

1. You likely all know this because I'm fairly sure my mother is working her way through the Amery phone book to inform everrryyybody that we're moving back to the homeland.  I can almost feel my 15 year old self grinding her teeth at the idea, but here we are.  Luke has a good opportunity for a much less physically demanding job, and it really will be convenient to have family close.  Also looking forward to tossing our little darling(s) to my sister and going on long, romantic weekend getaways with the husband. Starry eyes and all.  (ha.ha.ha.)

2.  Oh, you want to hear about our dog?  Me neither.  Last week he gnawed the corner off a plastic tub, shredded a perfectly good basket (that we caved and bought at the co-op after feeling not sufficiently hippie when responding incorrectly to the sweet "Did you bring your own bag or box?" question 100 times too many.) and sprinted to throw up not once, but twice on the only tiny plot of carpet in the house.

So.

Instead of using my usual approach of stomping around, Luke thought some public shaming would teach the rascal a lesson:

My inner bandana-wearing 90's child loved it and my black heart softened ever so slightly towards him.
He hated it.

Or maybe it reminded him of how worried he was about the effect this long winter will have on his wheat crop.

Either way, he was mysteriously more calm since the shaming. We're coming after your title, Cesar Millan.

3.  We drove past the adorable little baby store in town one day, and I realized I would FINALLY be able to go in there without having to make up a story about buying a gift for my sister/cousin/friend. Sweet freedom.  Doting husband replied with "Well, yeah, you're almost to the point where they won't say, 'Is she a chubby girl looking at baby stuff, or is she pregnant?' "
Gunned it home.  Ate more bagels.

4.  Despite my brief delusional foray in art education my freshman year, I am the anti-crafter.  I looooove all the cuteness, and my poser crafter pinterest boards would make you think otherwise, but crafty I am not.  Everything turns into knots or dissolves in my hands, so any suggestion of creating something usually makes me sweat.  Cue the boredom combined with the damper on my nesting because of our move without a date to a house we have not found yet.  So I made these:

Little cloths for the baby to puke on! AWW! I'm sure they'll get ditched in favor of regular old towels, but I'll take this tiny victory of sewing two rectangles together.

And that's about it.  Later!