Pterodactyls & Retainers & Hair Straighteners, Oh my!

I got my chickens 6 weeks ago and they are growing faster than my coop building skills are developing.  I can now use a skill saw, a power drill, a chop saw, a hammer and lots of weird little things I don’t know the names for and in the meantime my cute little fluffy chicks have turned into awkward medium-sized pterodactyls and I have no where to put them.  To be honest, this whole thing kind of feels like 8th grade picture day all over again.  I have big ideas (I always have), and then things just sort of……turn out.  At least I’m hoping they will.

Let me tell you a little something about my 13 year old self.  I was shy and awkward and having a hard time.  I know, I know, you’re all like, “Oh Laura, everyone’s awkward when they’re 13,” and you’re mostly right.  But I see middle school girls these days with eyelash extensions.  Eyelash extensions!  I work with high schoolers who have better hair/eyebrows/nails than I do, and I’m in my 30’s.  Let me just tell you, things were not like this in 1998.

Going into my 8th grade year, I remember my mom and sister plucking my eyebrows for the first time as I sat on the toilet seat lid in the bathroom, wondering if this would ever hurt less.  I had long black hair that was naturally curly/frizzy, but straighteners had just come out and changed the world so I spent 90 minutes every few days trying to change my hair.  I was going through a multi-year long phase where I used Main and Tail Shampoo (it was a shampoo you could use on yourself AND your horse) and because I thought that was awesome and even though I didn’t have a horse, I did have a dream, so I used it.

As I entered 8th grade, I was just beginning to see that not everyone only cared about riding horses and spending time with their family.  There was a big social structure out there in the world, and I was walking straight into it with my slightly less poofy hair, slightly thinner eyebrows and most importantly, without my braces.

This was a big deal.  I had braces for what felt like EVER.  Probably about 3 years.  But it wasn’t just braces.  I had a Herbtz for the 1st year, which no one even knows what that is anymore.  Its some sort of huge metal contraption that connects your upper and lower teeth with metal bars and somehow manages to pull your lower jaw forward.  It was basically headgear for the inside of my mouth.  Sometime in-between 7th and 8th grade, I finally got my braces off and moved on to a retainer.  Just a plain, old retainer.  It felt like Heaven.  And, just like I would, I got silver glitter and a small horse decal printed on it.  I was like a whole new girl, but what I was most excited about was finally having a school photo taken without my braces.

I straightened (sort of) my hair, picked out my favorite outfit and off to school I went.  I specifically remember walking up onto the stage in the cafeteria where pictures were being taken, sitting down, brushing my fingers through my hair trying to flatten it down and smiling for the camera.  FLASH!  It was over.  As I left the room it hit me like a ton of bricks, literally, I think I lost my breath.  The disappointment was big to a 13 year old girl who realized she forgot to take out her retainer.

I got my pictures back a few weeks later.  They were fine.  I had a big metal bar across my teeth but I was too scared to take retakes.  What if I blinked?!  At least my eyes were open, I thought.

And that’s just sort of how it goes.  You have to get through that weird awkward stage.  Unfortunately for all those young ones (and my chickens) out there, it comes all too fast. One moment, you’re this adorable little fluffy chick and the next you’re almost unrecognizable.  But thankfully, that time goes fast too, and then you’re a 32 year old mom, who’s thankful she can just wear jeans and a t-shirt to work and throw her hair up in a bun, because I’ve got bigger things to worry about and larger fish to fry.  Like raising a child and trying to build a chicken coop (which leaves me exactly zero minutes to think about things like eyelash extensions).  And every once in awhile, I look back at old photos and laugh when I see that girl with her retainer.  It makes me smile because it reminds me of who I was and who I still am and to be honest, I wouldn’t want any other story.


Love is blind, or at least can’t see chickens

I usually lay out my outfits at night.  That way, at 5:00 in the morning when I’m trying to get dressed in the dark I can throw on whatever I set on the floor and hope that its all on straight (the same can’t be said for my daughter, it’s 5:47pm and I just realized she’s been wearing her pants backwards all day, eeke!)  Last night I had a tough time and by tough time I mean I stood in my closet, in my jammies, and stared at my clothes for 20 minutes.  This is what it amounts to:  I have 3 denim shirts, 28 yoga pants, and a bunch of stuff.  It’s bad.

I can remember the night I met my husband, I was wearing red Seychelle high heels, black jeans, a black sweater and a long gold necklace.  I had a lot of money (because I was 21 and had hardly any bills) and actually liked to shop, so I had a lot of clothes.  I actually woke up in the morning and turned on a light when I got dressed.  Things were different. 

The big dilemma in the closet last night stemmed from the fact that I was going into the city today.  My boss and I were attending a workshop in Pioneer Square with some other businesswomen and I felt the need to wear something that wasn’t bought for the sole purpose that I could spill coffee all over it and get the stains out (I’m a barista).

After lots of minutes and lots of sighs I decided on the only new shirt I have (that someone else bought for me because I don’t shop) and a pair of jeans.  The outfit turned out fine, even though I didn’t have a minute to finish my makeup or straighten my hair this morning, and the workshop was great.  The only problem was that I spent the whole morning wishing I had worn my yoga pants, which reminded me of what my new “friend”, Tan, taught me.

You see, I recently watched the whole new season of Queer Eye on Netflix.  Seriously, I watched the whole thing in 2 days.  And though I’m not a straight man in dire need of a makeover, I did learn a few things.  Tan, they guy in charge of fashion, kept having to have talks with their “project” guy about how important it is to take care of yourself for your spouse.  He’d say things like, “You should be dressing nice and taking care of yourself for your partner.”  Or, “It’s a way to say you value yourself and take pride in yourself.”

I’m not kidding you, I was watching Tan go on and on about the importance of looking good for your partner, while I sat in my jammies under the heat blanket Danny got me for Christmas, no makeup, hair about as poufy as it was in 8th grade and holding chickens in my lap when Danny got home.  I sort of had an epiphany moment, one of those times where you see your life like its a sitcom and your cute husband walks in the door and there’s his wife watching Netflix under a heat blanket with chickens all around her.

And you know what, here’s the coolest part, I married someone that liked the girl in the red high heels and black sweater but loves the girl that wants to be a farmer and is raising chickens in the front bedroom.  And, trust me, you can value yourself in coffee stained shirts too.  Just sayin’.

So here’s my review, I loved Queer Eye, I hated Tan’s advice, and I learned that love really is blind.  It can’t even see chickens.


Messy Hair Don’t Care

The grass is greener over here, folks…because it’s AstroTurf

A few years ago, while we were house hunting, our realtor sent Danny and I an email in the middle of the day with a few houses she thought we might want to check out.  I texted her back that I like the third one.  “I really think you guys should see the second one too,” she said, “It needs a lot of work but it has the nicest lot, the backyard has been totally landscaped.”

I looked at the picture again, “I think the yard looks kind of weird.  It’s too green.”

We ended up going anyways, our realtor expertly talked me into checking it out, and Danny liked the way it looked.  She was completely right too, it did need a lot of work (think pink and blue kitchen with loads of laminate wood paneling on every wall) BUT the yard was amazing.  The lawn was big and green and perfectly manicured and…… was made of AstroTurf.

Danny and I were moving out of a tiny house on a large lot with a backyard that was really just a field of dandelions we couldn’t cut fast enough.  I actually have a real memory of being pregnant, trying to mow the overgrown lawn and then breaking down crying and laying on top of the hot tub cover.  Not to fill a stereotype or anything but I do think that I then ate some chocolate, cried some more, and continued on.  The point is that at this point in life, an AstroTurf lawn seemed like a dream come true.

Flash forward and here we are today, 3 years later, and I’m building a chicken coop for my growing flock at the bottom of our very green, fake lawn.  My sister, Nicole, and I spent probably 4 hours today working on the coop.  We laid down the laminate floor, put in quarter round, built the nesting box platform, made roost bars and started on the “poop tray” (that’s a real thing that will be real handy in just a few months).  I am tired, I am sore, and really, the worst part is that I can’t even really show you guys a picture because all it really looks like is an empty shed with a few sticks in the corner and a box with some other boxes on top of it.  I looked in it tonight and thought, “How could this possibly have taken us 4 hours?”

And then I sort of laughed/snorted to myself and thought about why I am building a chicken coop in the first place which led me back to why I bought chickens which led me back to thinking about my really, really green yard and then to writing this blog post.  Here it is, it all boils down to this.  I’ve decided……to be happy, right where I’m at, right now.  And to do that, to appreciate where I am right now, I have to stop wanting to be somewhere else.

I look up homes for sale in the country all the time.  I find a house that would be perfect, send the listing to my husband, and even sometimes drive for miles and miles just to see the place.  Because I think it’s my dream to live out there.  But the thing is, I know its not.  It wouldn’t really be a dream come true because my sisters wouldn’t be a mile from me on either side.  I mentioned this in my last post, but just like I made my family promise to never let me get a tattoo, I also made Danny promise to never let me move more than 5 minutes from my family.  Its one of those things you just know about yourself.  Just like how I know that in my dreams I live in the Snohomish valley with mountain views and horses and gardens and fresh air and quiet.  And that quiet, fresh air would be oh so nice, for about 15 minutes, and then I would start to wonder what my mom was making for dinner or if my sisters wanted to go for a walk and I would be sad because I was out in the quiet country with my horses and mountain views and not here, where I live right now.

So here is what I’ve decided, I’m going to stop looking for houses somewhere else that I’ll never buy.  I’m going to bring my dreams home, to this home, and have a little farm here.  I’m going to plant flowers and grow things with my girl.  I’m going to appreciate what I have and know that it isn’t perfect, but it’s real.  I’m going to know that the grass is not always greener elsewhere, sometimes what we see as someone else’s really green grass is just astroturf.  So don’t ever look at my yard and think it’s perfect.  We’ve all got our problems, I’m sitting her with a sick girl laying on me and a Christmas tree on the side of my hosue that I can’t seem to put 4 minutes together to cut into pieces and put in the yard waste.

Instead of yearn for more, I’m going to sit on my half finished back deck and look at my AstroTurf yard, which now has loads of moss growing up through it and think about what my mom told me today.  As I was walking her down through the grass to show her the coop progress, she commented on how the moss and weeds actually made my turf yard look “more real”.  I then thanked her for finding the silver lining to absolutely every situation in life.  I’m going to keep her words in mind as I work on bringing my homesteading dreams to this little house on the shoreline.

Signing off,

The Chicken Lady




New girl(s)

I don’t make decisions rashly. I just don’t. It’s a learned behavior. Once, back in 2010 I went on a trip with a friend to Savannah. The first day we were there we decided to get our noses pierced. Everything was fine for three weeks until I discovered a little bump forming on my nose. I called up my husband in a panic, “Danny, I can’t have a bump on my nooooooooosssssee!” “Calm down,” he told me. This coming from a man with two arms full of tattoos and a list of past piercings that beat out my three. “Whatever you do, don’t take it out,” he said, “it could get more infected. Just leave it.”

I yanked it out as fast as I could.

And then, I made everyone in my life promise me to never let me get a tattoo, because you can’t yank them off and I can’t do permanent.

This is just one of many experiences that have led me to realize that whenever I make quick decisions, I usually regret them. I used to make a lot of quick decisions, and then I learned to wait, and to really think things out. I think that is maybe part of adulthood, and maybe, just maybe, I’ve taken it too far.

I’ve wanted chickens for about the last 8 years. Since about 2010 (the year of the nose piercing incident) and have thought about it every spring since. Actually, I’ve wanted chickens a lot longer than that, but I have seriously thought about it every year for the last several years. I go to the Bothell Feed Store, look at the chickens, price out what I would need to get and then…..think about it. (I realize it’s weird that I hang out at the feed store which is several towns away because I live in a Seattle suburb buuuuuut I’m pretty sure that I should have been a pioneer/farmer so I’m really just living out my “authentic life”, I just know Oprah would approve)

Well, about 4 weeks ago on a Friday, my daughter and I went out to Evergreen Speedway to watch my husband drive his race car in a drift school (think The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift) and as we entered the fairgrounds we passed the Monroe Feed Co-op. Isla and I drove by a sign that read “We have baby chicks in!” It was 30 degrees out and Isla and I were out in Monroe all day so we spent some of the time walking in the freezing wind to the Co-op and looking at the baby chicks. And then, I spent the rest of the weekend talking myself out of getting them.

On Tuesday, I went to work and decided I couldn’t do it any longer. I had a whole moment of self talk where I hashed out how I can’t live on a farm because I can’t move more than 3 miles from my family because I love them so freakin’ much and so I have to make my little backyard a farm. Some way or another. And chickens were a good place to start.

I picked up my girl and we drove the half hour out to Monroe to pick out our new little chicks. I couldn’t tell anyone because it had already taken me 8 years to talk myself into action and I couldn’t risk anyone talking me out of it. To my surprise, there weren’t that many chicks left (apparently people line up on Friday mornings to get their chicks first and so the majority of them were long gone). We chose 3, an Anacona, a Golden Comet and a Black Jersey Giant, and picked out all the fun stuff we needed to go with them. I think for the normal girl it would be like clothes shopping, but for this aspiring farmer, little chicken feeders and brood lights were the shopping highlight of my year.


Isla, right before we picked out our chickens. We were just a little bit excited.

On the way home I kept looking at my girl in the back seat. I have never seen a happier 5 year old. She held that cardboard box with her chicks and smiled from ear to ear. And it hasn’t changed since. Except we went back that Friday and picked out 3 more chicks (a Silkie, a Barred Rock and a Light Brown Brahma).

So, here we are, 3 1/2 weeks into this journey with 6 little chicks that are fastly approaching their awkward teenage years. We have Lily, Marigold, Bluebell, Rosie, Sunny and Brownie. I’ve started building their coop (which is another blog post all together) and watching my little farmer girl pick up those chickens with such confidence and let them climb all over her is the sweetest of sights. The best part is, I haven’t even had the urge to “yank” the chickens out of my house.

Wish us luck!

The Chicken Lady


Our first three girls (Lily, Marigold and Bluebell)

second batch

Our second batch of chicks (Rosie, Sunny and Brownie)

Letting it go….in a race car.

The other morning, Isla and I drove to Fred Meyer’s to get coffee and donuts. This is our family’s Sunday ritual, except usually it’s Danny and Isla. Danny was working on my Nissan that weekend so when I said I would drive, I knew I would have to take his car. Me and his car have a history, I’ll tell you about it in a minute.

I got Isla all buckled in, turned it on (it sounds a little like King Kong tearing through a city…but louder) and then started to back up when Isla shouted (over the sound of the exhaust) from the backseat, “Mom! Mom! When you get out on the road you have to really let it go! Let it go and drive fast, Mom!” She’s four. I’m scared.

But the thing is, I can’t let her think that only dads know how to drive fast, so we backed out, I put it in 1st gear and floored it. Danny asked me when we got back why I was tearing out of here so fast, he can hear the car from bed. I can also hear him coming home from work every night when he is two blocks away. That’s how I know to put dinner on the table.

So, now that my baby knows her mom can “really let it go,” I can safely go back to hauling around 16 kids in my truck, wishing it was a minivan, and still have some cred. The thing is though, every once in a while I end up driving Danny’s car. It’s a mustang. It’s red. It about ½ inch off the ground. Basically it’s a matchbox car.


One of the very first times I ever drove it was about 8 months ago. Danny must have been working on my truck because that’s usually the only time I drive it. I know it was a Saturday and I was going to work because I picked up my friend and co-worker Sarah on the way. By the time I had gotten to her house I had sort of forgotten I was in Barbie Ken’s car. I saw her across the street and she squinted at the red mustang that was roaring up to her, before she realized it was me and started cracking up. I pulled up, she hopped in and we.couldn’t.stop. I almost peed my pants laughing so hard at the two of us (one who doesn’t drive at all and the other that drives a 17 year old truck), at 6:30am, cruising through small town Edmonds in a red hot mustang.

We went to work, got busy, and I forgot again, until it was time to go home. We walked out to the car and did the weird sort-of-fall-into-the-seat thing you have to do in a car that is lowered to the floor. I had parked near the entrance of our work and our last two customers we had served were just leaving the shop. It was a guy about our age and his wife. We were still laughing when I put in the clutch and started the engine. The man, who was about 10 feet in front of us just stepping off the curb, jumped, squinted in the front window, saw it was us and yelled, “Holy Sh*t!”

I leaned out the window, “Sorry, it’s my husband’s car!”

I’m pretty sure they have a whole new idea of who Sarah and I are. And it’s totally inaccurate. But maybe, just maybe, they’ll think like my four-year-old and know that we can really “let it go”. Not a bad thing.




Agony+Blisters+Gummy Bears=26.2 Miles

I limped/ran along and thought, “I just want this to be over. I just want this to be over. I just want this to be over.” When running, they talk about having a mantra. Something like, “You are a warrior.” Or, “She believed she could, so she did.” I spent the late hours of last night, the night before my first ever marathon, looking on Pinterest searching for what my mantra would be. I saw 84 different options but never really settled on one, thinking that I would use them all. Here’s the truth, the only mantra I repeated over and over and over was, “I just want this to be over.”

Somewhere in the second half of the race I remembered the conversation that I had with Danny and my mom last night and laughed, actually laughed out loud at myself. My mom was reminding me for the millionth time that 26.2 miles was far, really, really far and that she didn’t want me to hurt myself. She worries about my poor, blistered feet (that these days seem to always be blistered), she worries about my knees and she worries about why I would do something that causes intentional suffering. I looked at my sweet mom and told her that I had read a quote from a runner that I like, Tommy Rivs, and he talked about how when you run long distances there is undoubtedly going to be agony. That you need to accept it and roll around in it. “I’m going to roll around in the agony, mom.” I said to her.

She looked at Danny, Danny looked at her, and I knew they were thinking 2 things: Laura has totally lost it & it is SO TOTALLY Laura to say something like that.

For my part, I both love and hate that I am the person who would say things like that and totally believe it. Alas, it is who I am. So that was my plan for today, to run, be in agony, roll around in the agony and then hopefully come in under 4 hours.

Here’s how it really went. I woke up at 3:30am this morning, watched part of a Hallmark movie, then at 4:30 got dressed and left the house 15 minutes later. I arrived up at Hyak at 5:45 and checked in. It was freezing and I spent most of the next hour just walking around trying to stay warm. The race finally started at 7am and, although I haven’t run for the last 3 weeks due to injury, I felt good. I ran the first 5 miles just as planned, at about 9 minutes a mile. After 5 miles we were handed flashlights before entering the Snoqualmie tunnel. For 2.5 miles we ran in the pitch black, with only little mini flashlights to guide us. It was completely disorienting and I’m pretty sure I actually ran 3 miles because I was zigzagging all over the place, unable to run straight.

snoqualmie tunnel

The Snoqualmie Tunnel (p.c.:


The next 11 miles went fine, minus the tiny rocks that were constantly finding their way into my shoe (I just left them because there was no point in taking them out, I should have had gaiters on). Mile 18 came and went and I was starting to hurt but still holding my pace. Ok honestly, I had hurt for a while but I was in the “rolling in it” phase and just trying to keep going. This is the point where I was telling myself, “I just want it to be over. I’m ready for this to be over. Can this please be over?”

I waffled back and forth between caring if I finished under 4 hours and just wanting to finish. Then somewhere in the 20th mile my knee konked out. I walked for a little bit and then tried to run. The pain was bad but I was able to limp along at a slower pace for a while. Then I walked some more. I thought about how much this sucked and how ridiculous this whole thing was and then I remembered a customer telling me to “enjoy it and have fun.” She told me that I had a little girl at home that I needed energy for and she was totally right. So this is what I did. I walked for a few minutes in the sunshine and then dumped out the rest of the gummy bears I had, a huge handful, and ate them all. I thought about how much I loved gummy bears and for a glimmer of a moment this thought crossed my mind, “This is fun.”

I still had 6ish miles to go and had an hour to do it if I wanted to finish under 4 hours. I tried to run, my knee was killing me and there were moments when I actually couldn’t run, so I walked some too. Then I would run 100 yards, and then walk. I was disappointed, and so, so tired and honestly, can I say it again, I just wanted it to be over.

Finally, it was. I ran in at 4 hours and 12 minutes. I turned around and saw my dad, who had surprised me and come to watch and I limped over to him. He hugged me, I smelled horrible, I was soaked (it POURED the last 50 minutes of the race) and waddled in my soggy shoes full of mini pebbles to have my picture taken and then I ate a grilled cheese sandwich and potato chips.

My dad drove me back to my car and told me how proud he was of me, I texted my mom and husband and sisters a picture of my horribly disgusting feet and then drove home, where I have laid on the couch all day with my feet elevated and icy hot on my swollen knee.


I know, GROSS, right?  I have no shame if I’m showing you all this, but actually, this is probably what a lot of runner’s feet look like so it’s just par for the course.

So yeah, I rolled around in that agony for a while and this is what I found out……that it is agony. Bottom line, I’m glad I did it, I love running and I wanted to check this off my list , but mark my words…NEVER AGAIN.

Until next time,

Blister Lady with a Handful of Gummy Bears

The magic of sun.

Breaking news: moms are tired. I mean really, really tired. I don’t care if you’re a stay-at-home mom, or a working mom, or a step-mom or a mom of a poodle. We’re all tired. The dads are too, I’m sure, but I’ve never been a dad, so I’m just going to speak for all the moms out there and say it, “Dangit (that’s the word I use when I’m really serious), I’m exhausted.”

But, something special happened this week. And to let you know just how truly special it is, I have to take you all the way back to the beginning of my mom life….4 ½ years ago. My girl does not take naps. She hardly ever has, and I mean even when she was an infant. I could pretty much say never and it wouldn’t be that far from the truth. I remember wondering why my little baby woudn’t sleep…why wouldn’t she sleep?! I talked to friends in my first year of motherhood and they would tell me how their babies would take regular, scheduled naps, every single day, not just when they got lucky. We would be hanging out and we would have to arrange it around their kid’s nap schedules, because they actually had them. It made me want to punch them (the moms, not the kids). Not really, but I was totally jealous.

And then, one day when Isla was probably about 6 months old, I went to get her from my sisters who were watching her while I worked. They told me when I got there that I should go lay down and take a nap. That they would keep watching her for me. I teared up with gratitude and then went to the bedroom to lay down. I remember laying on top of the covers with my head in the softest, most comfortable pillow and then……..hearing the faint sounds of my sisters’ voices. They were out in the living room, whispering so so that they wouldn’t bother me. I strained harder to hear what they were talking about. Ugh, if only they would talk a little bit louder. I laid there for probably 4 minutes, I tried closing my eyes, I tried counting sheep or horses, and then I finally got up and went into the living room.

“I totally get it,” I said, “I totally get what Isla feels like. Why she fights it so hard.”

“What are you doing?” they asked me.

“I feel like I’m missing out,” I whined and then jumped onto the couch in-between them.

Do you guys remember that episode of Growing Pains where Chrissy won’t go to bed because she’s pretty sure that her whole family is partying with cheeto’s and clowns and balloons in the living room while she’s supposed to be upstairs sleeping? It was just like that. I know Isla feels that way now too, and I’m pretty sure that’s how it’s always been for her. And I can’t really argue……or complain……because I get it.

Either way though, I’m still tired. But here’s where the special thing that has happened to me comes into play. You see, I live in the Seattle area, where most of the time it rains, or if not, it’s overcast and cloudy and cold. But for about 2 months out of the year, we’ll have days where it is be-A-U-tiful. Days when the sun is out, we are surrounded by mountain ranges that feel like they are looming over us in the most glorious of ways and our feet are literally freezing as we wade in the Puget Sound (but we go for the swim anyways). And, if we’re really lucky during those two months, we might even have a couple of nice days strung together. Like yesterday and today.

This is where the magic happens. Yesterday, after work, I watched Isla and her friend play at the park for a couple of hours. They ran into the library for a few minutes but were mostly out in the sun, running, skipping (because according to Isla, that’s what she does when she’s happy), swinging and climbing on things. Then, when we left to drive home, this happened…………………..


Then today, after work, Isla asked to go to the beach. “You know mom, the water beach?” she asked.

“Which water beach, honey?”

“The one where we had the carrots and hummus and an ice cream picnic?”

“Oh yeah,” I knew exactly what she meant because she was totally right in the details. We had gone down to the Edmonds beach and I had brought carrots and hummus and a root beer (because, you know, I’m all about balance) and then we had gotten ice cream cones (because I wanted to be extra balanced that day). So we hopped in the car, brought a bucket and a shovel and off we went to the beach for a couple of hours. And you know what? This is what happened on the car ride home…….



I swear, that is the sweeeeeetest face in the world for a tired mom. Because if her head is back and her mouth is open, I know she’ll even stay asleep when I carry her inside, which means, that I can take a nap too. Because the only other person in this house is sleeping, so I won’t miss out on a thing.

❤ A sand covered, sun loving girl

P.S. Danny says that Isla looks just exactly like me when she’s sleeping. She’s cute asleep like that, right? Totally, right? Sleeping with your mouth open is adorable, right? Please say yes.