Today is Mystery Lane book 3’s release date. It’s now available on both kindle, and in paperback. It’s a little mind-boggling to realize this is my first book of 2018. How did that happen! I’m so far behind, but life has been anything but uneventful this year.

Emily had her tilt-table test last Friday, and it’s official–she has moderate disautonomia. It could be worse, and we’re all glad it isn’t. We’re glad of the official diagnosis too, and a plan of action. We’re still waiting on the prescriptions to be sent to the pharmacy… not sure what that hold-up is, so I’ll be calling in the morning. We’re further along than we were last week, anyway.

Between all of her appointments, homeschool, and the responsibilities of running the household, I’ve been feeling rather ragged. We made the mistake of taking Em to a cat cafe after her Friday appointment, having no idea what we were getting into. It turns out that cat cafes are filled with adoptable cats. And, one crawled right onto Emily’s lap and fell asleep. Of course she wanted it. And no, we are not bringing home another cat! I’ve got a list of very good reasons, which is why I never brought one home when we volunteered at the cat place a year or two ago, or whenever that was. We didn’t enjoy telling her no, and I haven’t enjoyed the daily lamenting over it, either. Although she didn’t say anything about the cat today, which is progress. But… she’s been talking for a couple of months or so about wanting a dog to train as a type of service dog. I don’t know exactly what disability it would be trained to mitigate. The kid qualifies as disabled for a number of reasons, but in what way would a dog enable her to live a more normal life? I’m sure she’ll come up with a list. She’s not usually all that motivated, probably because she feels so rotten all the time, but Brad and I told her (out of desperation, and as a consolation, and because at the time it seemed like a good idea, and in the far off distant future…) that if she could save the money for both puppy and supplies, and if our landlord approves of it, then she can get one and try her hand at training.

Well… if I never hear “Mom, can I talk to you for a minute?” again, it’ll be just fine! Unless it’s about something other than a puppy listed on a shelter page. The kid is motivated, and determined to get one as soon as possible, so spending as little as possible is her solution. And here I am, remembering the two times I experienced adopting from a humane society. Distemper, both times. Those are not good odds, and I will be tarred and feathered before I open the door to that kind of heartache again. She thinks it’s cheap, well when you end up with a four-figure bill from the vet that results in losing the pup anyway… the thought of taking that risk ever again leaves me in fight mode. No flight for me, these people can’t even feed themselves. But for goodness’ sake, our life is chaotic enough already! So I’m all for spending the money upfront with a reputable breeder (after she takes months and months and months to prove she’s responsible enough to care for a dog on her own), and then have a reason to expect a positive outcome. No going the Russian roulette route! Mother has spoken!

Sadly, it would appear my Mom Voice has lost it’s effectiveness, since multiple times throughout the day I continue to hear “Mom… can I talk to you about something?” I’m praying she’s asleep like she’s supposed to be, and not pouring over craigslist and petfinder. If she is, I’ll be sure to hear all about it and the perfect puppy of the moment. About an hour ago she came to extol the praises of this awesome 8 week old German Shepherd, at which I stared at her askance. What happened to wanting a Papillon? Then Brad, who wasn’t asleep yet after all, piped up “Big dogs are awesome! That’s way better than a small one!” I said, “Et tu, Brute?” and of course then they both looked at me askance. They had no idea what I was talking about. If they thought I was having a stroke, they wouldn’t be far wrong.

So I sent the kid back to bed with a spirit that wasn’t entirely crushed. Her dad, after all, did express enthusiasm at her plan to wreak havoc in the lives of the household. Brad was fully awake by that time, and feeling quite chatty. He’s a lot like Jack Ryland, and I’m a lot like Anika, and just imagine the fights those two would have. It would be a miracle if they survived, much less with an intact marriage. And yes, miracles to exist. We’re proof. I finally told him (Brad) to just please be quiet, I was in desperate need of downtime. He has no idea what that is, in spite of repeated explanations. I was feeling decidedly agitated, when I spied my immersive headphones on the nightstand. In self-defense and to protect him from a severe rebuke that would’ve left him wondering if I ever loved him at all, I put them on. Hawk Nelson started playing, and all the tension melted almost instantly. The kid can come talk all she wants, I’ll just smile and nod. No, strike that. I’ll smile and look somewhat serious. Who knows what I’d be agreeing to, otherwise! Yikes!

The longer the music plays, the better I feel, so I’m ready to get back to Neil and Penny, and Uncertainly Yours.

Happy reading!