SCRIPT, SCRIBBLE AND SCRAWL

PETEY, IS THAT YOU? Last winter, my son Ryan insisted on getting a therapy dog.  His approach led me to this interpretation:  "I really want a dog, and I know Mom is totally gonna say no, but if I say I want a "therapy" dog I might have a fighting chance."  Well, his strategy was very well laid out and his sales pitch all too persuasive, because I caved in... there's no doubt, dogs really can be therapeutic (excluding Chihuahuas).  And apparently, I must have felt that the two dogs already living in the house weren't contributing enough to the poop piles in the backyard, or chomping away at the 600 pound bags of dog food fast enough to make me say "HECK NO, we are not getting another dog!"  So...as a surprise gift for Christmas, I came home from the Humane Society with this gem.  He was a rescue from Austin, Texas, displaced during Hurricane Harvey, and transported to Spokane in search of a new family.  One look at him and I immediately tho...

THE HATED CHILD My oldest daughter Jessi moved to Williston, North Dakota five years ago.  Yes I know, over there the "boom" met its "doom" quite some time ago so why is she still there?  Believe me, that question escapes my lips vehemently, with no clear answer in return  That doesn't stop me from hitting the repeat button...unfortunately, she keeps hitting the pause. Where's the mac and cheese? The first time Jessi came home for a visit she professed incessantly how she was the "hated child".  A prime example:  "Wow, I see that you guys go out to dinner a lot" (a big shout out to social media for giving her siblings a great bragging platform...).  "How come we never went out to dinner when I was living at home?" to which I replied "well as a single parent raising the four of you,  I had to live within my means which meant providing dinner in the comfort of our own home, creating the creamiest mac and cheese...