I’M PROBABLY THE PICKIEST EATER YOU’VE EVER KNOWN. I can proudly claim that title. From the time I was two (or so I’ve been told), I’ve eaten no more than five cheeseburgers, I haven’t tried things that I should and I’ve ingested things I probably shouldn’t. I guess I developed quite the stubborn streak at two years old, and decided that not only was I a big girl who didn’t need nap time, I’d also eat only what I want – when I wanted it.

Back then, it was Cheerios. All Cheerios.

So much Cheerios, my mom probably never wants to ever eat them again.

My parent’s tried to break my bad habit. Oh lord, did they ever try. They even tricked me a few times. Mom used to cook fish strips mixed in with chicken strips, just to make sure I got a little omega 3. Dad and Sam went even further, and put peas and carrots on my plate one night. I was told I couldn’t leave the table until I’ve eaten them. This concept was nothing new, but I thought it was weird that they kept watching me. “Eat it.” “No.” “It’s good.” “NO.” “Just one bite”. “NOOOOO!!!” Tears were shed. They were laughing. Why would they try to make me eat something so. . .so. . .disgustingly horrifying?! “It’s candy,” they tell me. Bull, its peas and carrots and I can SEE IT RIGHT THERE.

Turns out, it was honestly candy. I sat for over an hour, bawling because I didn’t want to eat candy. Spare me.

When bribes, gifts, and you’ll sit here until you take at least two bites never worked, they turned to FORCE FEEDING ME strawberry jam. One sister held each leg, mom held my shoulders, and dad propped open my mouth and dolloped in a teaspoon full. I haven’t forgiven any of them to this day. (And for the record, I just barely tried it again recently, just on my own accord this time).

I’m a little bit better about eating now. I actually eat real foods, like bananas, meatloaf, steak and ribs, casseroles and the like. I don’t fear trying foods anymore, but some things never change. Mom still tries to get me to try different things, and the first thing out of her mouth is always this:

“All that’s in it is____”

“and this ___ and this ____ and this ___.”

I’d fill in the blanks, but honestly it’s like my brain shuts off after hearing the first sentence. It could be the BEST CAKE IN THE WORLD and I still wouldn’t try it if that’s the first thing I hear. Words like that are always followed up with:

” . . .that’s all that’s in it.”

That’s great. Call it stubborn, but I’m just not interested. It’s sentences like those that drive me to eat junk food again, just to spite those words. And while I’m at it, let me list for you all the ingredients in my 44 ounce soda. Caffeine, carbonation, yumminess. End of discussion.

“Aww Mutley, you’re just a little liability. That’s what you are. A liability.”

“He is NOT just a liability!”

“You’re right. Ollie, you bring so much love to Granny and the little girl that you could never be a liability.”

“HEY! Who’re you calling little? I’m almost twenty I’ll have you know!”

“I didn’t say young, I said little.”

“- oh.”

“You are little aren’t you? Would you rather me say big girl?”

“I’m blogging about this.”

“Go ahead.”

ASHLEY PUT IT PERFECTLY when I told her how my day was going. I’d almost forgotten to feed the  dog this morning, completely forgotten to bring my snack to work, and to top it off I’d managed to spaz a whole 32 ounce Mountain Dew on the ground before I’d even walked in the doors at work. All before 8:00 in the morning.

It was going to be one of those days.

“So you’re having a “so-duh” day,” Ashley types to me in instant messenger. Took me a few times reading it to get it but her play-on-words was only too true. To be honest, I’m having a “so-duh” week that feels like it’s lasted at least twice as long as any normal week should. I’ve felt stuck at my efforts to accomplish anything – making it places on time, being in bed at time, talking to people normally, listening, working. Not only am I malfunctioning, but my equipment is too. Camera dies. Car runs out of windshield wiper fluid (ok, ok, that one I will take the blame for. It’s not my fault that I love to turn my wipers on just to piss people off on the freeway). Every effort to complete my taxes turns out in chaos and arguments over absolutely nothing because I DON’T WANT TO DO IT. I DON’T KNOW HOW. THE IRS HATES ME AND MY LITTLE DOG TOO.

Strangely, I’ve felt stressed but motivated through the whole horrid five days. I compare it to being emotionally bipolar, but instead its functionally bipolar. I have a clean house, organized papers, taxes done, college papers out and waiting and I still feel like I haven’t gotten a damn thing done.

The irony of the whole thing? Someone in the office unwittingly passing me a sheet on stress management right when I was at a breaking point. I wonder if it was life’s way of telling me, life sucks, so suck in that pouty lip and deal with it.

THE DAY I GOT MY DOG was a very fun day. Ashley and Aspen, Mom, Machelle and I all loaded up in Ashley’s vehicle and headed due West (ok slight lie, we headed North for an hour and then West). On the way to Wendover to meet my Aunt, we have to drive past the Utah Salt Flats. The illusion of water is so amazing to see on the horizon, and the pools of water that are here and there are even more strange, considering they are surrounded by pure salt.

That’s mom in the background. Camera died shortly afterwards, so I have no pics of her. Which in turn makes me want to slap someone. And yes, I am conceited. Deal with it.

Machelle didn’t know I took this. She doesn’t read the Mo blog and she’s the type that’ll steal your lunch money, so if anyone tells her I’m toast. Or more like roadkill.

What was the most surprising thing of all? Aspen’s spur of the moment love of the land. That lil girl was headed for the mountains in the distance. Mom told her to come back once, she turned, shrugged and said, “No” and kept on her way. May I remind you, she’s not even one and a half yet.

Ready, set, GO.

Hey little girl, want some candy?

I’ll take that as a no . . .

But at the end of the day, she still loves her momma.

And Aspen? Your momma loves you right back.

Thank you again to all parties involved – Ash for driving, Aspen for being a such a good little tot on what would’ve been a loooong ride if you weren’t happy with it, Mom for arranging everything, Machelle for ceasing to cuss at me and being the first to thank me for buying your lunch, and last but definitely not least, my aunt and uncle for giving me their precious little mutt.

I should write a novel, just so I can write five pages worth of thank-yous. Or maybe I’ll just make thank you cards. Then again, I know someone who is really good at that.

HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT ROSCO? I don’t think I have. Ok time to recap. Ollie’s full brother is Rosco, who owns my mom – I mean, wait yea that’s about right.

We had the two brothers meet for the first time last Sunday, and it’s funny to see the differences in character and appearance. Where Ollie is long, Rosco is little, Ollie’s nose is black with brown eyes, Rosco’s nose is pink with eyes the same color as his fur. After a year apart, we wondered if they’d remember each other (that’s a lot to hope for, considering dogs have the memory span of a goldfish). At first we wondered if it’d get tense:

We shouldn’t have worried. Video taken just five seconds later: