Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Is the Boy the Next Phil Mickelson?

Even though the Boy is only 2-and-a-half years old, it has become very apparent to us that he is in fact left handed. This fact brings me nothing but joy. Left handers have a built-in upper hand when it comes to sports, so I am envisioning the Boy being one of the star players on whatever sports team he chooses to play on. I have often heard that if you're a left hander with a pulse, you can make it in the Big Leagues, so I think it's safe to assume he will be pitching at Target Field in about 20 years. Better buy your season tickets now.

Although I am primarily right handed, I can do some things left handed as well. One of the things I can do left handed is throw a baseball, which meant that, while I was growing up, I often had dreams of becoming baseball's first switch-pitcher. I figured I could develop a glove that fit on either hand, so no matter which side of the plate the batter stood on, I would have the upper hand. The fact that my left handed fastball usually only travels about 55 feet, and the distance from the pitcher's mound to home plate is 60 feet 6 inches, was the deciding factor in my not making it to the Big Leagues. Oh well.

I have already started to look for a tiny baseball glove for my left-handed tot. Right now, he puts the Girl's pink Dora the Explorer-themed glove on his left hand, and then tries to throw the ball straight from his glove. This does not work too well, so we're gonna have to get him a glove that goes on the correct hand. And soon. I don't want to jeopardize his future career.

In other sports news, the kids have a cheap set of plastic golf clubs that we got when the Girl was just an infant. These are so cheap that the plastic grips and plastic clubheads regularly fly off of the plastic shafts, and Daddy has to slide them back together. Thankfully the plastic clubheads only fly off and hit Daddy square in the head about half the time. Otherwise Daddy might leave them in pieces.
Is that the Boy, or some other awesome left handed golfer? Photo courtesy of www.callawaygolf.com.
The Boy is really starting to love these golf clubs. But, being left handed, they aren't built the right way for him. That hasn't deterred him though. He spins the club in his hand and hits the ball with the toe of the blade, like you might if your ball is up against a tree or some other immovable object. He did this all on his own, which tells me he might be smarter than what is usually evidenced by his peanut-sized brain.

I am already starting to look for the components so I can make both the Boy and the Girl their own real golf clubs for this summer. I can't wait to go out in the backyard and let them hack away at some practice golf balls. I guess winning the Masters would be a good alternative to pitching in the Big Leagues. Or maybe he'll surprise us all and do both. Sounds like a plan to me.

Monday, February 25, 2013

Action Figure Utopia

You may recall that I have already written about all the cool Thomas trains we have in our house. The Boy loves to play with them, and I have conceded that I do, as well. Those aren't the only toys our kids play with, though. Oh no. Somehow we have accumulated what seems to be acres and acres of toys in our basement. Some of them, primarily the toys aimed at newborns and infants, don't get played with very much any more. But most of them get fairly regular use, so I guess we'll keep them around for a while longer.

Aside from the trains, some of the favorites in our house are what I would call action figures. They aren't action figures in the "Star Wars" sense of things, since they don't have removable guns or photon torpedoes. But most of them have movable arms and/or legs. Some of them might more accurately be called dolls, since they came with the dollhouse we inherited from the kids' Aunt C. and Uncle J. But when I think of dolls I think of bigger things made out of fabric and filled with stuffing, and the dolls I am writing about are small and made out of plastic.

The action figures our kids like to play with come from all different facets of kids' life. Along with the aforementioned "dolls", which include a dad, a teenage daughter, a baby, and two(!) moms, we also have several Sesame Street action figures, a bunch of characters from Jake & the Neverland Pirates (a show on the Disney Channel that our two oldest kids absolutely love), a Smurf, Strawberry Shortcake, a huge assortment of Little People, a bunch of animals from the Littlest Pet Shop, and various assorted action figures that I played with when I was a kid.

This very fuzzy photo depicts how the action figures that live in our basement get along so well together. Notice Jake, Strawberry Shortcake and Cookie Monster all doing their part to keep the pirate ship on course. I think maybe I'm spending too much time with small children...
These action figures play out scenes throughout our basement, sometimes on Jake's pirate ship, sometimes in the dollhouse, sometimes in various vehicles we have. Whatever the case, they all get along wonderfully in the confines of our basement. It's pretty much a utopian environment where everyone gets along, whether they have a unibrow, crazy pink hair, blue skin, two(!) wives, or even a terrible cookies-only diet. Maybe we could all learn something from the lowly action figures...or not.

Friday, February 22, 2013

Sequences, Hanson-Style

Who would have ever thought that the late-December death of the the Wife's grandma, Grandma Millie, who has been memorialized on this blog many times already, would lead directly to my finally starting to get in shape, whether I wanted to or not? On the surface, these two things couldn't seem any less related. But, in fact, there is a definite correlation. Let me explain.

As you may already know, Grandma Millie passed away on December 30th at the spry old age of 98-and-a-half. She was a wonderful woman, and hundreds of friends and family members gathered at her visitation and funeral service to celebrate her life. It was an amazing time. But, like always, life moved on, decisions had to be made, and changes started happening. Grandma Millie was actually our kids' great-grandma, so her son and daughter-in-law, who we will call Grandpa D. and Grandma R., decided they were going to move into Grandma Millie's house. They wanted to make a few changes to the house, though, including painting everything, putting a new floor in the kitchen, etc. Because of this, I took my big toolbox and all my tools over to Grandma Millie's house, and left them there. That way anyone who happened to be working could have them at their disposal.

This seemed like a good idea that was working just fine, until yesterday. Yesterday, after I dropped the Girl off at preschool, I noticed one of the tires on the van was looking a little low. No problem, I thought to myself, I will just stop at the gas station by our house and fill it up, free of charge. Wrong! The air hose at the gas station was not working properly. Maybe it was frozen? Who knows.

OK, not a problem. I will just plug in my air compressor at home and fill it up, lickety split. Wrong! I got home and realized the air-filler-upper fitting (that's the technical name for it) for my air compressor was in my toolbox, 20 miles away at Grandma Millie's house.

OK, no problem. Our friend Mike was planning on coming over any way. We could just ask him to bring his air-filler-upper fitting from his air compressor, which he did. But did it work? No, because my air compressor wasn't working. Must have been frozen like the one at the gas station. Ugh.

OK, no problem. Mike just happened to have his air compressor in the trunk of his car. We could take that out and fill up the tire, lickety-split. Right? Wrong! His compressor wasn't working, either. What was going on here? Mike thought it, too, might be frozen, so we brought it inside to warm up for a while. That did the trick, so, finally, we got the tire pumped up.
So, Grandma Millie must be watching my tummy grow from up in heaven. Why else would we get a flat tire right now?
All was good with the world. Until this morning, when I went out to brush the fresh snow off our vehicles and noticed (NOOOOO!!!) that the tire was not only low, but pretty much as flat as a pancake. This was not good news because I still didn't have my air-filler-upper fitting, and Mike had gone home last night, taking his air-filler-upper fitting and air compressor with him.

I couldn't drive on the tire the way it was; that might ruin the rim, and definitely render the tire unfixable. I didn't necessarily want to lay in the snow to get the spare out. I didn't want to call AAA out to fix it. If we were stranded somewhere, that might be another story, but having AAA come out to fix a tire while the van is sitting in my own driveway seems a little too weeny of a thing to do, even for me.

So, I did what I had to do. I got out the old bike pump, and pumped up the tire by hand. This was not the first time in my life I have had to do this, but I do hope it's the last. If you've never pumped up a car tire by hand, you don't know that it takes a LOT of pumps to fill it up. And pumping that many times is a lot of hard work. I was working muscles that hadn't been used in decades. My core (whatever that is) now hurts like a mimmy-jimmy. It hurts when I blink, and my belly button has been involuntarily puckering and unpuckering all morning. I'm a mess. But, at least I got the tire pumped up, and I got a good start on my next exercise regimen. If we lose another tire in the near future, I'll soon be ready for an Ironman competition. I sure hope and pray that we don't.


Monday, February 18, 2013

It's a Baby Explosion!!!

There has been a baby explosion at our church over the past few years. And I don't mean that a newborn just blew up from having too much gas. I mean our relatively small church has a lot of small children attending it. Instead of an explosion, let's call it a bonanza.

I would like to say that we were the ones who kicked off the bonanza with the birth of the Girl almost 4 years ago now, but that wouldn't be entirely true. Another set of parents had a baby a couple of years before us, so I should probably admit to myself and the world that they were the ones to start the baby bonanza. Let's just say that before the Girl was born it was more like a baby trickle, and then when we started pumping out our babies the real bonanza started. Saying it that way makes me feel better about things, and let's face it, this is my blog so my feelings are the only ones that matter.

So, now at our church we have babies and toddlers all over the place, and more on the way. Every week the 2 & 3 Year Old Sunday School class is more like a zoo, with toddlers running amok like crazy animals. I know this because two of the crazy animals are mine, so I see what it's like when I go to pick them up after class; and the Wife is one of their teachers, so every other month, when it's her turn to teach, I hear all the horror stories in gory detail.

The nursery, although not quite as loud and frenetic as the toddler class, always has at least a handful of babies doing the normal baby stuff, like crawling, pooping, and wailing and gnashing their gums.

Actually, this past Sunday, every baby in the nursery was able to wail and gnash their teeth, or at least their tooth, except for the Baby. She was the oldest baby in there, yet she was the only one who didn't have any teeth. She, like her older sister and brother, is a late bloomer when it comes to getting teeth. Both the Girl and the Boy were around 13 months old when they got their first tooth. 13 Months is really late to get teeth. The Baby will soon be 11 months, and there are no signs of teeth anywhere in that tiny mouth of hers. I have often said that I enjoy having babies that get their teeth later than most, because toothless grins are so cute. But I have to admit I felt a tiny pinch of jealousy knowing that all these other younger babies already have at least one tooth. I guess I always thought my kids were going to be the best, smartest and fastest at everything in life. But, I guess I need to admit that they can't always be just like Daddy. Oh well.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

I Miss My Mommy-In-Law

This may seem foreign to a lot of people, but I really love my mother-in-law. She's the best. Except for when she goes out of town. That upsets me. When she leaves, I miss her very much. Especially if she is gone on a Wednesday, because that means I have to watch all of our kids, instead of just the Baby. Yes, Wednesdays are the day the two older kids, the Girl and the Boy, usually head over and spend the day with my mother-in-law.

I am writing about this because my mother-in-law recently went out of town and will be gone, not for one Wednesday, not for two Wednesdays, but for three whole Wednesdays in a row. This is bad. I mean real bad. OK, it's not that bad. But it's not good, either.

This past Wednesday was the first of the three consecutive Wednesdays that the mother-in-law will be gone. Overall, the day went pretty well, except for two instances. Both of these instances revolved around the Baby. You would think that since she is the least mobile of the three hooligans, she would be the least likely to get into trouble. That, at least this past Wednesday, was not the case.

It all happened while we were playing downstairs. The Boy and I were really getting into our, I mean his, trains. The Girl was playing with her dollhouse, and the Baby was crawling from one end of the basement to the other, checking out everything we were all doing. She had settled on playing with the plastic kitchen we have, having fun opening up all the doors and drawers and playing with the toy foods. That's when the first moment of badness happened. I had my back turned to her, but I heard the commotion; she had pulled the entire kitchen over on herself and was laying helplessly underneath it. It looked bad. Thankfully she was only frightened, and didn't have a scratch on her. In reality, the worst part was having to pick up all the toy food that was strewn about the place. Especially since the Baby was too "shaken up" to help me. Babies...(shaking my head.)
This is a recreation of the first crime scene, with Scout playing the role of the Baby. 
The second predicament occurred a few minutes later, and was surprisingly similar to the first, only this time the Baby pulled the baby gate over onto herself. Again she laid helplessly underneath it, but this time it didn't look nearly as bad. She still cried, though, as though something like that had never happened to her before. You'd think she'd be used to having heavy things fall on top of her by now.

This is a recreation of the second crime scene. Again, Scout is playing the role of the Baby.
After the hectic Wednesday we had this week, I am really looking forward to the day my mother-in-law gets back in town. Only two more Wednesdays without her. I wonder what the Baby will find to have fall on her next Wednesday?

Friday, February 15, 2013

The Wife Has Been Through a Lot

I haven't really been on the internet at all over the past two days. This was not by my choice. First, the hard drive on our laptop became toast. This happened while I was in a Finance Committee meeting at church on Wednesday night. I got a fretful text from the Wife informing me that it wasn't working. At the time, I thought "Eh, I'm sure it will be fine. We can just take the laptop battery out, put it back in, and Poof! it will be working again." This premonition did not come true, which is exactly why I am not employed as an I.T. guy.

After our friend, Mike the computer genius, looked at it, he informed us that the hard drive looked bad. He wasn't able to fix it, which boggled my mind, because Mike the computer genius has always been able to fix all of our computer problems. He even took the hard drive in to a paid computer professional, who also was unable to fix it. It was confirmed: our hard drive was toast.

This was bad news, especially for me. Most of the files that were on the hard drive were mine. And, as I am prone to do, I hadn't backed it up in over a year. I would very much like to blame someone else for this. If you are willing to take the blame, please contact me as soon as possible. Thank you.

What really makes me upset is that I had just emptied all the photos off my SD card, onto the hard drive, a few weeks ago. So, a bunch of pics of our kids are now gone forever. It kind of makes me sick just to think about it. Thankfully, the Wife, who is much more forward-thinking than I am, had uploaded a majority of our kid pics to snapfish.com, so those can be salvaged.

I got to the office yesterday, thinking I could spend some time online getting caught up on things in the afternoon, but shortly after lunch, the power went out in the area, and stayed out until after 5, so I got to spend a total of about 3 minutes in front of a working computer yesterday. This did not satisfy my craving.

This is an artist's portrayal of the Wife yesterday. The artist has captured her perfectly.
Today, the power is back on here at work, and Mike the computer genius is installing a new hard drive in our laptop, so we won't have too many more withdrawal symptoms. I felt the worst for the Wife, and you should too, because without my blogging and facebook outlets, I just spewed all of my thoughts to the Wife over the past couple of days. She definitely needs a break. I think I may make her more frazzled than our three chaotic kids do, and that's saying something. The poor woman.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Doubting Daddy, or, Always Look In Your Shoes

I was home with the Boy and the Baby this morning. It was a pretty uneventful morning, for the most part. The Baby was being her normal self at breakfast, eating a few bites of whatever I gave her, and then throwing the rest of it over the side of her high chair to the waiting jaws of our two dogs. The Boy was also acting normally, which means he was eating as slowly as is humanly possible. Both he and the Girl have gone through phases where they took half a day to eat their breakfast. Thankfully the Girl has outgrown that phase for the most part, and hopefully the Boy will soon, as well.

The three of us eventually finished eating our breakfast and moved onto the next part of the morning. For the Boy, that meant it was time to find his shoes and socks and put them on. Usually that gets done before breakfast, but for some reason he came to the breakfast table shoeless this morning.

After a brief search for his shoes and socks, we found them downstairs in the bedroom that the two older kids share, right next to their brand new bunk beds that they slept in for the first time last night. I sat down on the floor, "criss-cross applesauce" style, as my kids call it, and the Boy sat down on my lap. We proceeded to get his socks and shoes on, and I sent him on his way to go play with his trains.

After a couple minutes, he came up to me, complaining that his shoe hurt. The shoes he was wearing are pretty much brand new, and they are plenty big, so I knew that they couldn't be too tight. I loosened the Velcro and refastened it, and sent him back on his way.

He came back a couple of minutes later, again complaining about his shoe. In my mind I was thinking that he was making it all up. He's been known to have some major difficulties giving up his old shoes for new ones, no matter how tattered, torn, and too small they might be, so I figured he was trying to dupe me into letting him have his old shoes back. I was going to have none of that.
The Boy found quite a surprise in his shoe this morning...
After rolling my eyes, I took his shoe off and worked it in my hands a little while, to show him that I was loosening it up, and then put it back on his foot. Immediately, he began to complain again. Full-blown agitation was welling up inside me, but I calmed myself down and had him take his shoe off again.

He did that, but this time he decided to look inside the shoe. He reached in to pull something out; I figured it would be a tiny wad of shoe lint or some other inconsequential piece of fluff. Instead he pulled out a nice sharp screw. I recognized it as being an extra one from the new bunk beds. Needless to say, that was what was causing the discomfort. And, also needless to say, I felt a little sheepish about not believing him the first time. Thankfully the screw didn't cause any real damage. If his new shoes had been punctured I would have felt terrible!

The Girl's Dolls Are Growing Up

As you may have heard, we got a second set of bunk beds for our house. Some ridiculous people have accused us of doing this because we are getting ready to have yet another baby, and we will need somewhere to put all of our hooligans. This could not be farther from the truth. We are definitely not having another baby.

We simply got the second set of bunk beds because our two oldest kids, the Girl and the Boy, have been wanting to sleep downstairs, away from their 10-month-old baby sister, the Baby, who sometimes has a tendency of doing baby-like things, such as crying at all hours of the night. Up until now, when the Girl and the Boy have gone downstairs to get away from their sister, they have been sleeping on our queen-sized blowup mattress that we use when we go camping. We thought having a set of bunk beds down there would be better, and take up less floor space, so we got some.

The Wife and I were working hard at getting the new bunks set up the other night, a job which included cleaning up the room so that we could have some space to work. In the midst of cleaning up, we made a startling discovery: the Girl's dolls are growing up and becoming young women. The first, and now that I think of it, only, clue to this fact is that somehow, somewhere, all of her dolls started to wear makeup.

Two of the Girl's dolls, with what appears to be lipstick all over their faces. Silly dolls, don't they know that lipstick only goes on their lips? Dolls can be so silly sometimes.

We're not sure where they got it, but one thing is obvious: they aren't very good at putting it on. Maybe because they didn't have a good mirror to work with. Or because they don't have opposable thumbs. Whatever the case is, next time they should ask for help. I'm sure I know a 3-year-old girl who would be happy to assist them!

Thursday, February 7, 2013

The Bane(s) of my Existence

Bane [beyn]: noun 1. A person or thing that ruins or spoils. Example: Gambling and spicy lasses were the bane of his existence.

I have had a lot of banes in my time. It seems like every time I turn around, there's another bane popping up. When I was a small child, the banes of my existence were any food that wasn't a french fry or a hot dog bun. I was a VERY picky eater as a small child. As I grew older and went off to school, I became slightly less picky, and now I would say I am one of the least picky eaters I know. The only food-related banes of mine that I can think of are egg salad sandwiches and liver. And, really, who could blame me on either of those?

Throughout my school years I had a lot of other banes: the craziness that was the boys' locker room; any math that dealt with letters instead of numbers; and all girls in 7th grade are prominent banes in my memory. I'm sure there were other banes, as well.

Nowadays, my banes have a tendency to change from day to day. One day it might be the dogs, like when one of them decides he'd rather do his business in our bedroom instead of out in the yard where he's supposed to. The next day it might be one of our vehicles, like when one or both of them decide to start leaking oil for no discernible reason. After that it might be my computer at work, which has decided to randomly reboot itself at inopportune times of the day. Next week it might be my ear hairs, which seem to be longer, thicker, and more numerous from one day to the next. Some of them are so long they seem to have taken root in my brain.

Yeah, now that I think about it, today it's the hairs in my ear that are the bane of my existence. They're so annoying. Tomorrow, who knows?

You might think that this is a photo of me during one of my ultra-handsome bearded phases, but in reality all that extra facial fur is just my ear hair that hasn't been trimmed for a week or so. Scary, huh? No wonder it's the bane of my existence. For today, at least...


Wednesday, February 6, 2013

A Very Public Apology


If you haven't already noticed, the name of this blog is Chaotic Kids & Clutter. I write a lot about our three chaotic kids, but not as much about the clutter. Maybe it's because I take more pride in my kids, no matter how chaotic they make life, than I do the clutter. Maybe I am, in fact, a little embarrassed about the clutter, despite the fact that I hype it incessantly when mentioning my blog to whoever will stand still long enough for me to do so. I don't know what the real reason is, but the clutter usually takes a back seat when it comes down to it. I am going to do my part to fix that right now.

Our garage is a mess. Not kind of a mess. Not just a little messy. It is a huge monstrosity of a mess. And, for the most part, I am to blame. Even though I have tried to organize it several times, when new things show up at our house, they just get thrown in there haphazardly. I would like to say that happens because, all of a sudden, I have to run in and save my screaming children from my other screaming children, and then I forget to go back out in the garage to put things where they should be. But, really, our screaming children are usually pretty good to our other screaming children, and, if I was going to be totally honest, they really don't scream all that much, any way. So, the real reason that the garage is a monstrosity of a mess must be that I am lazy.
If the police ever came and inspected our garage, I'm afraid they would put some of this stuff up, just to make sure nobody wandered in and got lost in the mess. That would be bad.
I guess I could use my kids as an excuse for my being lazy, but I still find time to do the things I want to do, like write this blog, so I probably shouldn't use that excuse. I'm just plain lazy.

This past fall, as the days were getting colder and colder, and the first hint of winter was getting closer and closer, I kept telling the Wife not to worry, I would definitely make time to go out and clean the garage, so we could get at least one car in there during the winter months. I was adamant. I was stubborn. And, I was wrong. I never did get out and clean the garage. It's still a huge mess. It's even worse than it was in the fall, since we have kept accumulating more stuff throughout the winter. Have you heard of Christmas? Christmas is the mortal enemy of a clean garage, at least in our house. No good.

So, since I did not get the garage cleaned in the fall, which has meant the poor Wife has had to drive around in a cold, snowy vehicle all winter, I would like to say a very heartfelt I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sweetie, that I didn't get it cleaned, and I'm sorry I was so stubborn about it. I promise I will get it cleaned real soon. Or at least by next winter...

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

He's Terrible. He's Two. He's Everything A Parent Dreads!

What's up with the Boy lately? I don't think I'm going too far in saying he's been kind of a turd. He's always been our happy-go-lucky, not-a-care-in-the-world, happy-as-a-lark, and whatever other random cliche you can think of, kind of boy. But, lately, he's been more of a moody, crabby, sullen, bridezilla kind of boy. And we don't like it.

He used to wake up with a smile on his face, eager to run out of his bedroom into his Mommy's waiting arms. Now he wakes up in hysterics, either angry or sad about some perceived atrocity that has occurred. The majority of the time there is no actual atrocity, but it's hard to convince that to a 2-year-old who is hysterical.

Every morning he stomps around, crying or pouting, for a half hour or so, making our morning rituals of getting dressed and having breakfast that much more chaotic. Doesn't he know that mornings at our house are already chaotic enough without his help? We have three kids aged 3 and under, for crying out loud!!!!

The good news is that we have less than 6 months to wait until he turns 3. I am sure that his moodiness will turn off like a switch when that happens. Then it will be clear sailing until he heads off to college. Right? Hello?

Monday, February 4, 2013

Is That a Dog, or a Furry Baby?

I don't often wonder what babies are thinking, probably because most of the time I assume they aren't thinking at all. They're babies. They have a brain the size of a raisin. If Mommy and Daddy weren't around they would live on dog food and sit around in their own poop all day. I mean, come on.

However, this morning I was wondering what our current baby, the Baby, might be thinking about all the dogs in her life. She is constantly being bombarded by dogs, no matter where we take her. We have two dogs at our house, my sister-in-law has two dogs at her house (which often travel with her to wherever else we may be hanging out), and my sister has a dog. But, all these dogs are different in many ways, so do you think the Baby even realizes they are all in the same species, or does she think they are all their own, sometimes annoying, animal? Let's look at the facts, shall we?

First of all, our two annoying, yippy dogs are very different from each other, despite both of them being annoying and yippy. Toby is friendly, loving, happy, and fluffy. He lets people, even the Baby, pet him, scratch him, cuddle with him, and even jump on him, at least once. He is about the most laid back and malleable dog there ever was. Gromit, on the other hand, shows his teeth and starts to growl at anyone who gets within 5 feet of him. The Baby doesn't seem to understand these signs of aggression, oftentimes mistaking them for signs of love, which she then tries to bestow upon Gromit with hugs. Thankfully Gromit as learned that the Baby really wants to give him hugs, which he hates, so he usually gets up and leaves before she can reach him.
This is a contemplative photo of the Baby, contemplating the differences between dogs. She can be very contemplative, for a baby. Also, I am not sure who took this photo, but it was on my camera, so I will take credit for it.
The sister-in-law's dogs are equally different. Max, the old, tired chihuahua, is happy leaving the Baby alone while he barks incessantly from his perch up on the sofa. Minnie, on the other hand, can't get enough of the Baby, jumping on her, licking her, and generally annoying her as she crawls around the house. Minnie would love to do that to everyone, but the Baby is the only one at her eye level, so she gets the brunt of it.

What do you think the Baby thinks of all these crazy dogs? Does she realize they are all of the same species? Does she know that they all evolved from the wolf? Or does she think they are just furry babies, crawling around like she does? The world may never know. And nobody but me may ever care. That's understandable.