Every morning at about 9AM Chuck wanders upstairs having spent his morning doing WHO KNOWS WHAT in the dark corner of our bedroom. Something to do with candles and a tattered copy of Twilight probably, but he instinctively knows that it's precisely that time of the day that I like to take pictures. And maybe he's going to be in one of them. Hopefully today I will be in a forgiving mood and snap a shot of him lounging on the couch, doesn't matter, he gets a treat anyway if he balances that cage of live lobsters between his ears.

Which begs the question: why have I not tried that one yet? Anyone have access to some lobsters? Preferably some persnickety ones with anger management issues.

He knows it's time to work, always has, and if I don't make him pose for a picture he becomes listless, begins to stare nervously at walls and inevitably will stand next to one of us awkwardly like he's about to fall over. Even Leta notices this behavior, and last night when Jon and I got back from a quick business trip and she asked where the dogs were, her response to the fact that they were at a kennel was, "Can they please stay there?"

"You don't want the dogs to come home?" I asked.

"I don't!" she yelled. And when I asked her why she explained, "Because Coco is crazy, and Chuck creeps me out!"

I know! THAT'S WHAT GOTHS DO.

We recently started a chart where Leta can earn rewards if she gets herself dressed in the morning, goes to bed without a fight, and tries new things. That last part is pretty open, and she's earned points for trying new food, wearing a a pair of pants that had a displeasing texture (one that caused her head to fall off), and a few days ago we got her to touch Chuck. VOLUNTARILY. She was reluctant at first, but that reward chart just loomed in her brain, and out went her hand, two of her fingers hovering over Chuck's back. And then she did it, she dropped her arm and for several hundredths of a second her skin touched Chuck's fur, and the resulting shiver that went down her spine shook the bed wildly causing Jon to wince as his vasectomy had yet to heal.

Last week when it was time to get dressed up for Halloween, Chuck was ready to work, ready for the challenge, although there wasn't much of one to conquer. This year his costume involved nothing humiliating (relatively speaking) nor did it require him to pose in possibly illegal positions. Our goal this year was to help bridge the wide divide between the dogs and our wonderfully peculiar oldest child. Leta, the dogs can play castle, too!

Just to give you an idea of what we were working with, here's Katey in Chuck's full costume:

Why yes, of course, within the first week of the community site being live the questions have devolved into farts. If ever there were a marker for success! Here's one from Mama M.

I answered this question over there, but wanted to expound here because I realize I haven't ever told you guys the actual story. I dated a few uptight men when I lived in LA, and one of them once told me that his philosophy is that women do not use the bathroom. Period. We do not possess bodily functions, we do not have snot nor do we poo. In fact, he couldn't even say the word POO. He didn't even use a euphemism, he just waved his hand and made a face that looked like he had just been punched in the nuts. I mean, think about all that physical work to remain proper! EXHAUSTING.

Needless to say, it didn't work out.

Reminds me of my recently deceased Granny Boone, a woman so devout to the Mormon religion that she could not utter the word SEX. Instead, she would say SEC. As in, can you believe those two gentiles are engaging in premarital sec! Which is just about as dumb (sorry, Granny) as kids at BYU saying FRIGGIN and FETCHIN when you know, YOU JUST KNOW, they are itching to use the other word. Well, you know they are just itching to engage in the other word, but that would be against the honor code. That's why all BYU graduates are very, very good at foreplay.

You ever dated a BYU graduate? We are all abnormally good at kissing.

(I wonder how many BYU students are reading this, getting a bit red in the face, and wondering if they should go talk to their bishop.)

Anyway, I remember the day that Jon came to my apartment in LA for the first time, for our first date, and it was a most memorable date for many reasons, one being that we didn't leave the house for, oh, maybe 48 hours. Because of all the talking. And sitting very far apart from each other! (Remember, my dad reads this, so I have to maintain certain illusions.)

But within the first fifteen minutes of being in my apartment he let a fart rip so loudly that I went deaf for several minutes and then spent an hour picking up the dishes that had fallen from the cupboards due to the resulting jolt. I mean, he just let it go, he let it out there, did absolutely nothing to hide it. HERE'S MY FART, WORLD. BASK. EMBRACE!

Now, he and I had been talking for a few weeks on the phone and had spent many late nights instant messaging about who we were and wanted in life, and about a week before our first date I called my father in Tennessee and said, Dad, write down this name: JON ARMSTRONG. JON. WITHOUT THE H. Because he is the man I'm going to marry. And my dad did just that, scribbled a message on his calendar, and the day that Jon and I eloped he called Jon, broke out that calendar and read what he'd written. It was a beautiful moment, followed by my dad saying that he owned a shotgun and was prepared to use it.

So I already knew that I loved Jon and was going to spend the rest of my life with him, even before that first date. But when he set free that fart into the world, I looked at him, and he looked at me, and instantly we knew we were soul mates.

Halloween was a total blur, mainly because we spent the week leading up to it trying to iron out the bugs of the community website, and as usual I waited until the last minute to buy candy and the only thing left at the grocery store was really expensive dark chocolate that makes little kids throw up.

Great.

So now not only are we the reclusive Internet people who run some sort of online website, have you heard? That house where that little shit of a dog escaped the house one time and chased that woman who was jogging along, minding her own business, and caught up with her and grabbed the bottom of her pants with her fangs? HELLO HEART ATTACK. AND LAW SUIT WAITING TO HAPPEN.

Some people have heard it's porn we do. Some people think we're Satanists and drink the blood of aborted hummingbirds. HA! IF THEY ONLY KNEW! They'd be so thoroughly disappointed and would probably remove my name from the prayer list.

Now we're the house that gives out crap candy. Except one kid dressed up as a hippie saw the bowl and was all DUDE! I LOVE DARK CHOCOLATE! That's a boy beyond his years. I bet he's a good listener and routinely hugs his mother.

Leta went over to her cousins' house and trick-or-treated with all of my sister's kids, and they say that she got fatigued after about an hour and started dragging her feet going I'M SO TIRED. SO TIIIIIIIRED. So my niece said, fine, let's go home, and then Leta realized that going home meant an end to the waterfall of candy, so she'd say, okay, JUST MORE HOUSE. ONE. MORE. And that exact dialogue continued for twenty more houses. And I was all, really? That happened? How surprising.

And then this morning when she refused to get dressed and I threatened to take away all that Halloween candy? Apparently I was treating her "like she was zero years old." I didn't see that one coming.

We stayed home with Marlo to hand out candy and troubleshoot the website. Meaning I made it all the way to 8:30 PM, and while I slept Jon sat beside me in bed with his laptop straightening out code. 8:30, y'all! Can I get a very awkward high-five and a HOLLA! That was the latest I had stayed up in MONTHS. SOMEONE STOP ME! Next thing you know I'm going to be spiking my Metamucil with blackberry schnapps!

Next week, the dogs in costumes! Coco is still exhausted from all the brain power it took to remain still for a photograph.