And Now, September. Whoa September. Simmer Down.

Well, September came in like a lion yesterday.

It started out mostly normal. Nice, even. I went to church. I had a lovely easy coffee and lunch with a Montreat friend. I snuggled with Marky all afternoon. I caught up on blog stuff at Starbucks (America's Office™).

Wait I need to interject here: why don't I take my computer and type in coffee shops more? It is awesome! Another Nathan talked me into it (it was not a hard sell) and we walked through youth choir plans for the year, and he did some conference and worship planning (mostly it's just easier to work when he has the motivation of a new computer) (like anyone) (the computer's name is My Precious, if you're looking for a way to get him to roll his eyes at you #psa), and I returned emails and wrote a little and I felt so mom urban trendy! Typing in a Starbucks (America's Office™) is way better than typing at home. Not because I need to. Just because I can.

"Are we in New York right now?" -Another Nathan

(I'm doing it again today, writing this. Because I am coffeehouse-typey indulgent like that.)

Okay so anyway that's not the lion part.

So after our business/church meeting at Starbucks (America's Office™) we all decided we wanted to go to dinner and a movie. No work today! That means DO something last night! Mark has had a hankering for Chili's, which is not normally the Grownup Dinner Out we would use babysitting hours for, but whatevs, we all like it, so we went.

And. It was a rainy stormy floody windy disaster all over Raleigh, so we had to drive around our ass to get to our elbow, to avoid roads blocked by cars stuck in standing water, and avoid getting stuck ourselves, and then were drenched by the time we walked the six feet to the restaurant entrance, and then the power went out right after we ordered.

Being IN A BLACKOUT AT CHILI'S is what I'm guessing the beginning end of the world might feel like.

Well after devouring a bowl of (free) chips and salsa and downing two (not free!) (even in a blackout!) (they will hand write you a tab, yo!) beers, we decided to give up on the movie, to turn down our server's offer to "grab some food that's already made in the kitchen, not sure what it is and we can't guarantee it'll be warm, but..." (YUM), to ignore the melodramatic proclamations of a fellow diner insisting we were flooded on all sides and couldn't get out of the parking lot if we tried (shut up, we're on a hill), and headed back out into the mess towards...

Another Chili's.

Oh yes we did.

So we made it there, all in one car (we abandoned Another Nathan's at the first Chili's, as one does when one is foraging for food in an armageddon) and we drank more (not free) beer and finally finally (after the world's slowest service, which our server seemed to be proudly smug about somehow anyway) ate our Chili's dinner and I HOPE YOU LOVED EVERY BITE MARKY and I also hope that you love this story, which, let's face it, will now be re-told anytime we eat there. Be ready. (Not that we'll eat there again soon. Not for a while. I mean.)

And that should be enough for this blog post BUT OUR CLOWN-CRAY EVENING KEPT GOING.

So we got home and paid our (new) sitter and brought her home, AND THEN we couldn't find Bowden. Like, anywhere. We searched the whole house and we woke up all the kids and we went out back in the wet mess with a flashlight under the decks and we drove around the neighborhood. Which was sort of pointless because she could have been anywhere -- we didn't know how long she had been gone or when she could have even gotten out, or how spooked she might be from the storm (very) and, just... OH MAH GAH it felt awful. We looked for hours.

Eventually, through my tears, I filled out lost pet forms with the county SPCA, and put a note on craigslist, and some website helped me make a printable flyer, the sight of which almost made me throw up. (I was planning to post it here right now, but suddenly... no.) I was sobbing and felt sick.

We went to bed feeling so worried and upset and not knowing what to do, yet feeling like we needed to do something, but resigned to waiting til the light of day. We kept reminding ourselves of her tag, her microchip, her size, all optimistic factors in someone finding her and approaching her and getting in touch with us. But in the meantime, bedtime not knowing where our pup girl is? Barf.

A little after 2am when I still couldn't sleep, I drove around again, crying and yelling her name out of my window (stay classy, dog moms of Anderson Heights) which was of course fruitless. It ended with me sending panicked texts from our church parking lot, through tears, to people who could do nothing and weren't even awake (xoxo Mom Ashley Brad Dad Another Nathan). And then finally crawled back into bed and slept the kind of sleep that only comes after crying yourself to sleep. We have all been there, right? And yes it was that bad.

But in the wee hours in the morning, I heard Charlotte in her room (up much earlier than normal) saying  Bowden's name. Over and over. Like, with a purpose. So I went up there and listened and looked and finally found that sweet pup trapped in the back of a closet, stuck behind a dresser. (We recently filled Charlotte's closets to the brim with all her drawer-accessible furniture because HOLY TODDLER BED FREEDOM MESS, BATMAN.) I guess it's where she went to hide from the thunder, and somehow got shut in by our (new) sitter who wouldn't have known to watch for anything like that, because who would?

And suddenly Bowden was out and down the stairs and the big kids were wide awake and Mark was stumbling out of our room and Charlotte was clapping her hands gleefully.

I was so freaking relieved and so freaking exhausted.

Someday this will be funny, right? The night I went into a panic spiral about our missing dog, who was missing in our own house?

She is back* and we are glad.
(*always here. whatever. still glad.)

So, happy September?

On a less-lion note, yesterday also already brought an opportunity for a nap-creeping selfie, since it's Mark's everyone's favorite thing. I thought I got him good this time; he didn't know I did it til hours later. But then when I showed him he didn't mind it at all, because all he saw was how great his arms look and it made him feel hotter than he thinks he really is (pssssshhht).

The moral of the story is if you want to make your husband feel hott, take secret pictures while he is sleeping. And this advice comes from a sound well-rested person who has had the most normal weekend ever, so it's definitely probably advice worth taking. (Everyone! Send me your husband nap creeper pictures!)