For months now I have been wishing we didn't have any pets. Our dogs are sweet, but I am just tired of doing all the work for them and I wish they could go live somewhere else where someone would appreciate them more. Steve, however, thinks I'm awful for thinking that and will not agree to getting rid of both dogs. Awhile ago my brother and SIL said they were interested in taking one of our dogs, and at first I said no because I didn't want to split them up and if I'm going to be stuck with one dog anyway, I might as well have two. After thinking about it awhile, I decided that having only one would be better and I convinced Steve to let us hand Paco over to my brother. I talked to my brother about it yesterday and throughout our conversation I started feeling more and more guilty. I think my brother is willing to take him, but now I'm not sure what to do. Would I be a terrible person for splitting up two dogs who are the very best of friends?
Tomorrow I'm going to a shower, and I was excited to have to opportunity to sew a few presents. The presents didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped, and now there's no time to make anything else. Hopefully the recipient won't notice the mistakes. I made these little baby shoes (from this tutorial) with embroidered giraffes, but after they were done I noticed I had made two right feet! Gah! I took one of them apart and resewed it, then realized I did the wrong one and now the giraffes are facing away from each other instead of towards each other. Darn. (In this pictures for some reason it looks like they are two different sizes, but they really are the same.)I also sewed this bib and turtle (both from Bend the Rules). The turtle's legs are horribly uneven. Darn again.Today I was sitting on the edge of the tub, washing Emma's hair. She wanted a dry washcloth to put over her eyes and as I stood up and turned around to get it, I kicked my foot behind me to shake off the water before I stepped on the floor. Somehow her head had made its way into the path of my foot and I ended up kicking the poor girl in the head. Pretty hard, too. I felt terrible. I scooped her up and when she had stopped crying, she whimpered, "Please don't ever kick me in the head again, okay?" Ouch.