We feel as though we are becoming official adults. We got a dog. A puppy, actually.
That is the abbreviated version of this post, so if you don't want to continue reading this gargantuan chapter, we won't be hurt.

Since we moved into our house, Nick and I have been talking about getting a dog. We debated on the breed and age and finally decided on adopting a yellow Labradoodle. The only problem: the closest one was in Wisconsin. Being impatient, we checked the internet daily, (okay...hourly), and Sunday came across a 6 month old Basset Hound Dalmatian hybrid, Dottie. We called about her immediately, sent an application, and set up a home visit. (This dog is part of an incredibly reputable Basset Hound rescue organization. Because they are driven by both love of the dog and a need to place the dog in a home that will truly nurture it (this includes buying it a coat and an insulated dog house as well as keeping it indoors all day, following a specific training regime, and quitting your job to be able to adequately foster its social development) we needed to have a home visit that would inspect the fence, the house, and our sanity.

On Sunday, we conceded to their requests; besides, we were confident in our home and ourselves as dog owners. We went outside to check out the brick wall surrounding our back yard and were remedied that a sizable portion of the wall alongside the road had never been cemented together; it had merely been stacked like a brick wall. Even though it was two in the afternoon and 30 degrees out, we bricked the wall. It was cold, and we did a moderately pathetic job. If you stay on the street and only look at it peripherally, it may not be noticeable.

Monday night saw us at Lowes buying a sheet of plywood to use as a cheap baby-gate alternative. We had them cut in in half, only to find it wouldn't fit in our car. After debating in the parking lot, we made a sketchy decision to balance it on the roof of the car, each of us with an arm out the window holding onto the sheet of plywood. We had the flashers on, drove slowly, and felt both cold and stupid.

On Tuesday morning, Dottie arrived and was terribly afraid of us. But she was cute enough for us to adopt her anyhow. She is just over knee high, and shaped exactly like a small Dalmatian. The only feature that shows her Basset identity is her long black ears and one extra large black dot on her left side.

By Wednesday morning, Dottie had skied nervously on her toenails through Petsmart, peed on Nick's arm, and successfully spent the night in her crate nearly whine-free. She was so relieved to see us in the morning that she had several accidents. (We're working on house-training her.) She also went for her first run this morning. It wasn't very long, but we're hoping tomorrow will be better when she gets to wear her new coat. Yes, we are those people.

If you have read this far, try not to think less of us.

Teaching has consumed our lives.  Not much new at the General except we have completly unpacked.  My side of the family is on the move.  Mom and Dad purchased a home in Tucson, and Maggie and Leni are moving to Los Alamos almost as we speak.  Merry Christmas to all! Or what ever Winter Solstice celebration you may embrace.

After the dust from moving had settled a bit, Nick and I discovered that our house has a smell. And not a good smell. It's somewhere between 50-year-old-paint-in-a-vacant-house and dead rodent. On Tuesday, we caved in and bought a Glade Plug-in. We had never tried one before and spent a good 20 minutes in the isle of our grocery store scratching and sniffing the various boxes. Finally we chose Passion Fruit (or was it mixed fruit? Well, something fruity.) after determining that Fresh Air was far too mild. The device is really quite advanced. It has scent intensity levels. We set it to level five and now can't decide which we like better: intense fruit or mild rodent.

On Saturday, my parents drove up for a visit and gave us an oriental rug that used to be Grandmary's. It's a pretty rug, but it reeks of oldness and smoke. We spent Saturday morning hosing it down and scrubbing it before rinsing it about 94 more times. (It's wool, and it retains moisture and soap beautifully. Also the smell of nicotine.) Finally, after letting it dry on the porch for 3 days, we moved it inside only to discover it smells worse than rodent and fruit combined. It smells like a very large wet dog. Perhaps a pack of dogs.

Enough rambling for now.
...And as a reward for your patience,
some interior house pictures!
(Please ignore all of the little piles...we're working on them!)

Today we were told the final amount needed for closing tomorrow. Turns out to be less than we anticipated. This may mean we will be able to get a washing machine sooner than expected. I am pushing for the one posted above that we saw at McCall's Pumpkin Patch two weekends ago.

If you look closely in the second and third picture you can see a batman action figure.  Is this the mark of the electrician? Or has Gotham lost their hero to another occupation?

What do you do with a General? When it stops being THEIR General...

Because the General was built in 1951, it's a bit different from modern homes. It has been painted almost annually for the last half a century, and all the seams (baseboard to wall and door-frames) are entirely non-existent and smoothed over. The doors are real wood with horizontal moulding. The bathrooms have cast-iron towel racks, one of which was built into the yellow-tiled shower. The tub is metal and coated in white enamel, which is chipped in a few quaint and artistic places. In the master bedroom, Ivy has almost completely obscured the window, save a few filtered dots of sunlight in the morning.