When Toddlers Attack

I spent nearly 15 minutes lovingly molding our favorite bilingual adventurer (below) out of Play-Doh. I finished my creation, and set her on the kitchen counter for my two and a half year old to admire.

DO NOT make fun of my Play-Doh skills.
(For those of you without an active imagination, this is Dora.)

Of course, she wanted to “hold” her. And by hold her, I knew she meant destroy her. Because that’s what my little angel does best. There’s a reason we call her “destructosaur.” First, it was the head that popped off. “Uh-oh mommy!” Then, it was her arm. “What happened to her arm mommy?” Then, it was this:

Poor Dora. Even Boots can’t save her from this misfortune. 

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An Everlasting Crush

This is our “before” picture. Note how well rested we looked!

November 23, 2001- I climbed into the passenger seat of his blue Chevy Blazer, my emotions a mix between nervousness and pure joy. He was a cute boy. A very cute boy. And he was taking me to the movies. Should I show my excitement? Play it cool? I must have handled myself quite well, because I’m now married to that very cute boy.

We met while working at Sheplers. I was 18, he was 21. I asked him to clean my boots. He happily obliged, and what started out as roller-coaster crush turned into something real. Something lasting.

A lot has happened in ten years. We’ve grown up together. We’ve fought like crazy and we’ve loved like crazy. We’ve moved five times. We bought a house, …

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