The Search for Scout

As a "writer" I pride myself in my ability to articulate my feelings accurately into words, but I've never had to convey before such a deep sense of loss. I can't seem to find words intense enough to describe the immense pain I feel. Sad, heart broken, torn, depressed...none seem fitting for the way my heart feels right now. It has been a week since my dog of three years went missing. At midnight or a little before I took the trash out, which by the way, is something I never do, and I think this is a lesson to my husband that even the slightest change in roles can lead to disastrous results. As I went down through the basement lugging the garbage, and out through the garage, apparently my dog followed me, and took off into the night. She is so small, and it was so late, I hardly noticed anything but how cold my bare feet were and how annoyed I was that my husband wasn't the one doing it...By the time I noticed she wasn't in the house, thirty or more minutes had already gone by. In an absolute panic, I threw some boots on and an oversized hoody and drove around the neighborhood screaming for her. 
   "SCOUT!!!!!!!" I furiously chain smoked cigarettes, texted my husband some mean, vile threats and accusations (we don't handle strife in what you would call a "healthy" way), while rolling my eyes at the ones I received back, and hollered for her for an hour, effectively irritating and infuriating everyone within a five mile radius of us. I had to go in for the night. My two year old was awake and crying, wondering where his puppy had gone, it was very late, and my 11 month old daughter would greet me at the rise of the sun. I had to get some sleep. I said a desperate prayer for Scout and fitfully fell to sleep.
   The next morning I posted Scout's sappy, smiling mug all over social media. If you live in our county, you knew my dog had gone missing. The whole township was on a code red alert. I had one thought and that was to find Scout. The image of her wet and cold, shivering from cold, hunger and terror gripped my heart in fear. I did nothing but search all day whether on foot or in the car, dragging my two babies along for the miserable ride. My phone became an appendage (ok, it already was...whatever) and I checked incessantly for leads and tips strangers left me on the endless lost and found pages I had found on Facebook. My husband made flyers and I bought a staple gun specifically for hanging them. I have to include here that if you've ever been in pain or have been frustrated, there is something extremely soothing about slamming a staple gun into a telephone pole 57 times per flyer. It's rather decent therapy for 11.99 at Drug Mart. 
   I visited the pound and called them over and over. What a bleak place that is. For the most part, the workers seemed nice, but the smell and those tiny canine jail cells will haunt me forever. I tend to be overly descriptive when telling a story, tricks of the trade, but in this instance, I really felt that as I walked down the cold cement strip between rows of cells, holding my children's hands tightly in a maternal grip, passing every scared, sad and possibly mad with fear dog, I couldn't help but envision a scene similar in the movie, The Green Mile.  I prayed so hard, some of it came out of my mouth in an audible whisper. 
   "Please be here Scout, please...please..." 
   We left dejected. No Scout. The search continued day after day. The Humane Society had heard so often of Scout's disappearance when I called them about a missing dog, they asked for me by name.  The woman on the phone told me she checked her Facebook page 50 times a day for updates on my little pooch. As the days went on, and still no Scout, the only thing that kept me from scream-weeping alone in my garage all day ( which I allowed myself to do a few times), was the massive outpouring of support and encouragement. Hundreds and hundreds of people shared Scout's story, strangers, people I had never met before spent their afternoons in the freezing cold rain to look for her. A man left her food and treats in the park where she had been spotted, several women had seen her and even while they were on their way to work, stopped and tried to catch her. The second woman who did so, even sent her poor husband out to circle the block.
   Friends and family, and strangers alike rallied behind me. Some made flyers, some went door to door, some called vet's offices and shelters for me. Not to mention the hundreds online who helped me just by sharing her story. Several people called me with no information but simply to pray with me over the phone. I was sent on a wild goose chase one night, very late, and the neighborhood I was in was sleepy and dark and cold, and a couple who heard me yelling, came out and helped me look. I had a wrong number for a lead I found in the paper and even the wrong number wished me luck. 
   People from all walks of life have come together in the search for Scout. Smoking teenagers hiding out in the back of the high school parking lot, men and women, older people, younger people, friends and family. They have all expressed feeling my pain. The community weeps with me. They have done everything they can to assist us. I mentioned at one point I didn't know how I could possibly ever repay everyone for what they meant to me. I am not sure some even grasp what their small act of kindness has done to me. It has touched me in a way I can never describe. The community as a whole working together for one little pup...it's truly something I will carry with me for life, with or without Scout. Most have said they won't even take the reward money we are offering! 
   I started this blog post to vent my intense pain, and ended it, floored once again as I remind myself of the wonderful thing we call humanity. There are so many amazing humans out there. Our hearts beat as one as we go through this crazy thing called life. The compassion displayed towards me this week has been overwhelming at times and eye opening. If nothing else comes of this I will never doubt that this world as a whole is not such a bad place. The few evil people there are, are far outnumbered by the kind hearted ones. Thank you so much to the countless people helping me look, the ones sending me kind words, handing out flyers, going door to door, spending time walking in the woods, the police stations who have expressed sympathy, and to everyone who, like me, waits on baited breath for a happy ending. Even if, God forbid, we don't get the story we all want, I would say a little dog who has brought a community together, like Scout has, leaves behind an amazing legacy. Her goofy grin and ridiculous bat ears have shown me that people are good, and the community in which I live is a wonderful one. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. We won't give up hope. 

Genius Parenting Hacks

I am not a child rearing expert, nor do I have a PHd, although I DO have a cosmetology license and I was an STNA for 3 months, so I would say I know a thing or two....In my experience this advice is golden and has proven time and again to show exceptional results. Feel free to take these words to heart for an easier time raising your precious little ones.

1. Do you have issues getting your toddler to eat nutritious meals, three times a day? I have a simple hack that will surely fill their bellies. Make an intricate and complicated meal, spending hours or even all day on it, offer it to your baby 17 times, lose your cool a few times, arrange it so that is perfectly resembles Thomas the Tank Engine, and after they have had one or more major melt downs, give up and pack it away, and clean up the mess they made when they threw half of it at you and the kitchen floor. After you have your kitchen spotless again and the food is cold in the refrigerator, THEN they will want to eat it. EASY!
2. Sleeping problems? Does your toddler not want to go to bed at an appropriate bedtime? Does he or she leave their room five minutes after you spent an hour rubbing their back, gazing into their eyes lovingly while singing You are My Sunshine and reading Go Dog Go ad nauseum? Here's a tip! Make sure their perfectly safe and comfortable bedroom is absolutely terrifying. Allow monsters to inhabit their closets and spend hours trying to figure out what in their bed could be causing even the slightest of discomforts, only to come up short so that they never want to enter their sleeping quarters again. Now you must let them fall asleep to the Polar Express, but ensure that the volume is too loud, then too quiet, then too loud, then too quiet, then too loud...then too quiet for good measure. The last, and simplest step is to learn to sleep comfortably with fists and feet assaulting your face and kidneys all night long on a thin one inch by seven inch strip of your own bed with no blankets or pillows. You're on your way to a peacefully sleeping tot!
3. Many a mother has complained about her house being disheveled and messy. This one is by far the easiest fix. As soon as you have one room in order, proceed to the next. Then go back to the previously cleaned room and do it all over again. Repeat this process to the point of madness and give up just in time for company! 
4. Are you worried your toddler's vocabulary isn't on par with his or her peers? Get angry ONE time, mutter a vile curse word, barely audible under your breath and two weeks later be amazed your two year old uses the "F" word in it's correct context at Sunday School!
5. This one is for my progressive parents. Are you concerned your little boy is being forced into societal gender stereotypes? Accidentally leave your make-up bag out and watch in awe as your boy experiments with lipstick and eyeliner. The first through one hundredth time he may decide to flush your products down the toilet and paint the walls, but eventually he will get it, and will be a man ahead of his time! 
6. Sometimes as parents we worry we aren't stimulating our children enough. My advice is to plan countless child-friendly trips and events, and then make them as agonizing and as miserable as you possibly can. The obvious ways to do this is by inviting their little friends, letting them have soda and candy, and buying them 500 dollar souvenirs that cost ten cents to make in China that they can smash to pieces on the car ride home. It's not a complete adventure till you've spent your entire savings and put all your energy into making it memorable while your sweetheart convulses on the floor, screeching like he's been burned with a white-hot branding iron.
7. Little kids, especially boys, sometimes in their toddler stage refuse to wear clothes. My advice is to dress them 800 times a day and then enjoy the unsolicited advice and snarky comments from parents not yet to that phase of childhood or who happen to be lucky enough to have a child who tolerates clothing. I am a huge advocate for offering opinions to struggling parents, and the more righteous and snobby the opinion, the more likely it is to be helpful. 
8. My last gem will help you in deciding which toys to get rid of when your toy room, toy box, the kid's rooms and the rest of your house is cluttered with toys, pieces of toys, blocks, happy meal trinkets and infant toys. The answer? None. Toys that haven't been touched in months, or years will suddenly become top priority and their favorite of all time, when they catch a younger sibling even glancing at them. Also, their memories (and sometimes imaginations) can be tenacious, and you could spend an entire day searching for that "blue/yellow/red/purple ball that looks like a car that makes noise and doesn't make noise." You may as well hoard every piece of plastic that has ever dwelled within your home. 

I hope this helps fellow mommies! Happy Parenting! 

Six HAPPY months of marriage!

   Can you think of the worst person you know? The meanest, nastiest person you've had the misfortune of having to come into contact with. Now multiply that person's attitude by ten and you will have a fairly accurate picture of me when I'm hungry. And no, I'm not pregnant. I'm just impatient and want what I want, when I want it. The other day we took a family trip to the zoo, and my husband planned on eating there, and I was having none of it. 
   "We have to go past the penguins, bats and jaguars before we even come close to the cafeteria. You are the dumbest person I've ever met. I want a sandwich right now. I want fast food. Go to Chic-Fil-A."
   I proceeded to carry on about how stupid and selfish he was, how he never plans for anything, and how I was on the verge of emaciation....140 pounds and shrinking by the minute. I may have dropped several "F bombs", punched the window, and rolled my eyes till I strained an ocular muscle. I can't be sure though, I blacked out. My blood sugar was low obviously. After having put on a Grammy-worthy production he finally conceded and pulled into some "dump, hole in the wall" to buy me a cheeseburger. It wasn't what I wanted but I supposed I could make a cheeseburger with everything, no pickles, add lettuce and tomato work. When he ordered it for me, the muffled voice of a teenaged drive-through attendant announced they can't add tomatoes to burgers....Aaaaaand that's when I really lost it. I trashed the restaurant, the town we were in, and my husband. All the while stuffing my face with the burger, and as painful as this is to admit, it was delicious. 
   The most disturbing thing about this entire debacle was that my kids were in the backseat and witnessed the entire escapade. They heard and saw mommy and daddy fighting and calling each other names. I am ashamed of my actions, and I am ashamed that my children now probably think it's alright to pitch a fit the second they don't get what they want. What I'm not ashamed of though, is my kids seeing us fight. We may need to brush up on our fighting skills, but I will never hide from them the fact that mom and dad don't agree on every single thing, I won't hide from them that couples fight, and I won't hide from them my imperfections. 
   If they go through their lives thinking marriage is a perfect, happy love cocoon, it is dooming their future relationships. I am sure one hundred doctors will give me a thousand reasons why us fighting in front of them the other day has permanently scarred them for life, but I saw my own parents have knock-down, drag out fights, I saw my parents not being perfect, and I also saw them make-up, and stick it out through 30 years now of ups and downs. I learned from them that husbands and wives don't get married and instantly agree on everything, and that while marriage unites two into becoming one, there are still two very different people working to mesh their personalities together and sometimes it can result in wild fire.
   The reason why I am not scarred and the reason I believe my children won't be is because no matter how bad the fighting gets, no matter how loud the yelling gets, they know nothing will tear the family apart. The might've been first hand witnesses to a serious boxing match (figuratively of course) but they also are always present when we make up, apologize and move on. I can't think of a better lesson to learn by example actually. Forgiveness is the ultimate key to any long lasting relationship. Every fight is not the end, and sometimes it's the beginning. In fact, this fight made me acutely aware of my vicious sailor's mouth, and my severe lack of impatience, and it's something I'm working on.
   If you expose you children to your flaws, while similarly showing them that you are working on changing them daily, that is a better teaching experience than letting them think you are perfect and watching them fail to keep up. I have been married now for exactly six months today, been a parent for two years and have been with my husband for four, and we learn something new everyday, but I will continue to argue in front of my kids, and I will continue to apologize in front of them as well. We are rookies, and I know that, but I stand firm in this particular area. Teaching my kids that people aren't perfect, marriage isn't perfect and mommy surely isn't perfect is something I want ingrained in their little minds. Only hard work and dedication make for a happy family, and I believe that's what we are showing them. Mommy and daddy might throw things at each other and pinch each other and call each other "dumb a**", but we will never leave each other and we are always on the same team. Happy 6 Months of marriage babe, and here's to many more fights, and even more make-ups! XOXO

Top 10 Reasons to hold onto your last 10 Pounds of Baby Weight

Fat girls make lists like this to make themselves feel better, and in the spirit of self love, I too, have made one. 

1. While I sometimes fantasize about the waif I once was, so small, in fact, that I very nearly by law, was required to sit in a car seat, my extra ten pounds provide a very comfortable heated insulation during the winter months.
2. Losing it would mean being forced into being on a diet. That would mean no more snacks at midnight, and by snacks I mean full meals, because midnight is the only time I, as a mother can eat in peace without someone throwing ketchup covered fries at my face or being spit-up on.
3. My children's favorite toys are my bingo arms and my jiggly belly. What kind of a mother would I be, nay, what kind of PERSON would I be to take that away from them?? 
4. Do you plan on ever having more kids? I don't, but since I am not a fortune teller, I don't see why I would lose weight only to gain it back and more. Why would I want to torture myself like that?
5. In the event of the apocalypse, when there is a shortage of food, and rations are fought over like gold, technically speaking those ten extra pounds could carry you over weeks longer than your skinny counterparts. Do you want to survive the end times or not?
6. Chubby girls are smarter. That is a fact. That I made up. 
7. If you're like me, you gain weight in your face, and if you're ten pounds over weight that's just a nifty excuse to buy more make-up. One can of spray paint wouldn't cover an entire wall. Think of your face like a giant, round wall.
8. Since having that handful of extra weight on you everything ends up being a work-out anyways, therefor making actual working out a non-necessity. Clomping up the staircase, breathing laboriously, heaving a 600 pound basket of laundry just cost you major calories. 
9. My cannonballs trump your swan dives any day. 
10. BOOBS.

If you are addicted to stamps, fabric paint and yarn, this blog is for you.

   I think I may have come across an unpleasant truth about both myself and a handful of other mother's I know. I recently found out that Pat Catan's, a magical world of crafting supplies, home decor, candles, ribbons, baking and cooking accoutrements, and scrap booking, was having an INTENSE sale. It was advertised only through word-of-mouth and went against their corporate office's wishes. I was told to enter through the store's recent addition that houses painting and art supplies, walk straight to the back of the store and to the left I would find a spare room. No flashing signs, no flyers... just one employee manning the entrance like a bouncer manning a speak easy from the prohibition era. Upon entering I saw boxes and boxes lining the walls of everything from yarn, to holiday decorations to shopping carts full of rainbow colored spray paint. 
   The woman guarding the doorway didn't explain what to do, or the purpose of this room, but in the middle was a table covered in gigantic trash bag sized bags. I knew from my friend that the intent was to rid the store of as much clearance and over-stock as possible, so you grabbed a bag and just started cramming as much SH*T as was earthly possible into the plastic bag. Whatever your sticky fingers could stuff into the bag was yours at the register for FIVE dollars! The moment I heard about it, my palms started to sweat and my breathing became labored. I started unrealistically planning in my head countless holiday parties, crocheted hats, (I've never crocheted, but for five dollars I could learn) homemade floral arrangements, rainy day crafts with my children... I was feigning and it would seem the only place to get my fix was Pat's. 
   As I frantically grabbed as much as my arms could handle, flying from one box to the next, rifling through Christmas ornaments and Valentine's day heart shaped candy molds, I quickly realized I wasn't alone. A girl who announced she had heard about it via Facebook snatched up a giant box of while chocolate doves clearly meant to be used as wedding favors, and said if she couldn't use them for her wedding, she would, at the very least put them on her cereal in the morning with milk. We were a pathetic group of degenerate addicts, our choice of drug being the crack-cocaine of stay-at-home moms and crafty women alike; cheap foam letters and felt. 
   Even worse, were the mom's like myself, who had dragged their children along to witness the frenzy of a sale never seen by the likes of even the most advanced extreme coupon-er. I witnessed an apathetic teenage boy being forced to guard the cart while his mother fought tooth and nail to find the perfect Christmas wrapping paper, and my own children, caught up in the hysteria, left the store with faux snow embedded in their hair from when their own mother found a gigantic bag of it and tossed it into the bag, not realizing it had been previously opened, and as it soared over the car seat and my two year old, they experienced life as a snow globe figurine.
   I was instructed by the crafting bouncer not to divulge any of the details I had seen that day, specifically referring to Facebook. It was so cloak and dagger I wondered if I had just partaken in the sale of the century or some kind of deviant drug deal. She told me to pay at customer service, so as I walked through the expanse of the store towards the service desk located at the other end, I kept furtively glancing at other customers, desperate to broadcast my secret...DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW WHAT YOU'RE MISSING?!?! 
   As promised my heaping bag of goodies was a mere five dollars and after I had paid I was so thrilled I didn't know whether I should get my heart palpitations examined or run to the bathroom with diarrhea. I practically skipped out of the store and immediately began texting my mom friends, who responded with much of the same crazed feigning I had displayed an hour before. "God bless your soul, I am on my way now!" "We are going to be in the area, I am going to talk my husband into going!!" "YAY!" We were hooked to cheap crafts, and nothing could help us. I reached this conclusion as I was also starting to experience the "come-down". 
   I became depressed I hadn't been able to fit more into my bag, and I angrily instructed my husband to go back and get more. I clearly understood the shame that would befall me to be seen in the back room twice in one day. This is when I decided we as mothers need to stand strong together and fight this addictive battle as one. With the guidance of crafting greats, David Tuttera and Martha Stewart, I say we start a support group. We can meet, and discuss openly in a safe environment how we don't sleep at night picturing the perfect mason jar, and how we can't seem to throw out a single wine cork.
   Ladies, the unpleasant truth is, we are obsessed with colored pipe cleaners and delicate pastel shades of tissue paper. And Pat Catan's the other day enabled us. We behaved like monkey's in the zoo, throwing our feces at each other in the sheer excitement of discounted buttons. The first step is admitting you have a problem, and in this blog, I have done just that. Who is with me? Who will be the next to admit you drove 85 miles per hour, your children's faces still covered in that morning's breakfast to get there before the rest of the goofs took everything? Know that I am here for you and also know that if anyone needs Hanuka themed window clings, that I have four packs.... 

The War on Terror

   I have become the unwilling focal point in a vicious vendetta against both my sanity and my physical well-being by a filthy hoard of arachnid thugs. They've infiltrated my home, and have been seen scuttling around the dark corners and closets of the one place a person should feel safe. I've taken a stand against the terrorism and made small steps in eliminating the source of the criminal activity, but for every three I dispose of, six more crop up in their stead. Most recently I was attacked in my sleep, the epitome of dastardly, plotting against a foe in their time of utmost vulnerability. I woke this morning to a near gangrenous wound, caused by dirty fangs. The carnage was unimaginable. My husband told me it rather resembled a mosquito bite, but he has never fallen prey to such an evil enemy, what does he know? I took photos of the crime scene with my iPhone from all angles and sent them to various family members, none of which responded in the shock and horror I expected of them; alas! I am alone in this world. 
   The pain was excruciating. The pain young Bella endured as Edward turned her I assume is similar to what I felt, and I am still checking the mirror periodically for changes in complexion and hair radiance as well as any signs of glistening, sparkly skin. Still nothing as of yet. I made several frantic calls to health care facilities in the hopes that someone could help me. When my regular doctor wouldn't clear his entire schedule for me, I desperately decided to go to stat care. 
   When I arrived the receptionist was yelling at everyone to sign in on the computer mounted on the wall, and I was forced to limp behind a slow moving, possibly diabetic man using a walker. I wondered to myself why this place hadn't employed a triage nurse to separate the non-emergency patients (this man) from the immediate care patients (me). After having signed in using technology that was cutting edge in 1997, I was then asked to wait for what seemed like five hours for a foreign, impatient resident who would see me for five minutes. No wonder this countries health care system is spiraling out of control.
   The nurse briskly called me back after I had apathetically perused seventeen issues of Seventeen Magazine, and I was asked a copious amount of questions regarding my menstrual cycle. Why is it, that because both my children were accidents they automatically assume every time I come in, it's regarding a pregnancy scare? Again with the disaster we call American health care.... I answered obligingly however, and soon we got to the point. I have always been one to smile even in the face of great calamity and tried making several (hilarious, if you ask me) jokes about my situation, none of which Nurse Ratchet even smirked at. Was she working for the arachnid gang? She inspected my wound with bored eyes, and told me the doctor would be right in. 
   As the minutes passed in silence whilst waiting for the doctor I contemplated what had led me down this road...Was it my mother's fear of all things spider, passed down to me? Was it truly a conspiracy to terrify me into fleeing my own home? What had made me their mark? My thoughts were interrupted by a young, attractive doctor who entered the room.  For a fleeting second his bulging biceps made me forget my predicament as I mentally tried to remember the last time I had received a pedicure. I was poked and prodded under the glaring lights of the surgery lamps, the horrifying diagnoses was revealed! I would need a week long prescription for antibiotics to quell the poison coursing through my veins. Relieved to hear that there was an anti-venom available but I still had a problem on my hands. 
   The monsters who induced all this agony were still on the loose in my home. As I sit here writing this, my foot soaking in a very rare, very healing solution of salt and water, I can't help but feeling that thousands of tiny eyes are watching my every move. I've made the decision to be strong and courageous in the face of possible annihilation. I refuse to give up the good fight. I refuse to be yet another casualty in this little spoken of war. I will rise to the occasion, spider and centipede spray in hand and I will destroy anything that attempts to harm my family or myself. If you are reading this and you have more than two legs, know this, I am coming for you with a vengeance. This isn't over.

DHS Class of 2007

   My youngest cousin Kacy is nearing her own graduation from my Alma mater in just a few days time and it has made me nostalgic for my own graduating class and all those I grew up with. My hometown is very close-knit and we all basically went to Promise Preschool together all the way up to our last days as seniors in high school. It is such a close-knit community, in fact, that if you came to Dalton in fourth grade, you were still the new kid eight years later. As we approach our seven year mark from Mr. Kaserman directing a miserable version of Pomp and Circumstance, I thought I would catch everyone up! 
   Even though I was on the ballet every single year, but was still never voted to become Prom Queen or selected as a member of the homecoming court, I went on to become a famous super model. I am sweet like grapefruit on never being chosen because in the past seven years, I've traveled the world in my private jet....(That means I'm bitter people...BITTER!) But I digress...I truly appreciate Facebook for allowing us all to stay updated on who has become fat, which, as you all know, is the sole purpose in getting together for a reunion. I still plan on attending though, when the time comes, but sadly I won't be a part of the planning committee. I was kicked off by a majority vote from student council for never showing up to any of the meetings. Which is a real shame, if I was allowed to plan it, it would be a glorious occasion full of chevron mason jars and twine bows. Has anyone seen my Pinterest boards?? If anyone is interested however, I hear the Junior High is vacant now. We can use the gym as a dance floor and grind twelve inches apart from each other to Lil Jon's Get Low. Plus nothing brings back memories like the nostalgic smell of asbestos. Some may even still have lingering memories of it, like lung cancer.
   As far as discussing the achievements of my classmates, one in particular jumps out at me as a true accomplishment. No one that I know of became a drug dealer, and let's face it, if anyone would know, it would be me. I also see that many of us are now parents, and even if we didn't speak during our school years, nothing brings us together like being fat, tired and poor, the general result of having kids. No one has died yet, but we are all on the short slope towards being 30 now, so it's coming. No one became sports stars either...well maybe one or two, but being a division 27 school didn't give us much  of a chance. 
   I still talk to many of my old classmates, and the .1% of black people in our class are still basically the only black people I know. You will all be happy to hear also, that unlike my egg from Home Ec I was supposed to take care of, my children are not rotting in my locker. They do however smell sometimes.... In other news, after extensive stalking via all social media websites, I see some of us have moved out of state, some have become teachers and nurses, financial planners, journalists, health care professionals, military members, parents and unemployed bums... ( the last one was me).
 I am actually proud to say I'm a Dalton alumni, and I love bumping into old classmates. After seven years it's safe to say old grudges and cliques have seemed to melt away into the past. I've never seen anyone from my class that hasn't excelled in life and has become quite the adult...( is that a compliment coming from me?) And regardless of our differences then and now, we all seem to agree that someone who doesn't pronounce Dalton right needs to be immediately corrected, that Smithville sucks, and that our class was the best Dalton has yet to see. We paved the way for all other classes. We were always in trouble, and you know, I kinda like that. We had personality and character, and we were almost not allowed to go to Camp Wanakee... Here's to DHS class of '07, the past seven years, and to the next 43 where we will be asked to attend the graduation for the class of 2057. May there be as many chairs that day, as there were in 2007!