Between the day we applied, the day we met her and the day that we actually got to take her home, fourteen days passed. Not knowing if you get to bring home a fur child that you are convinced is meant to be your third wheel makes time go by painstakingly slow and the fear of not...
Honestly, it's hair. I really don't care. (See: permanent red streaks in Liv's hair last winter, thanks to Tom's haircoloring awesomeness.) A tattoo? No. Hair dye? Sure. That afternoon she came home smelling like grape Kool-Aid, but with the same dark brown hair she'd had in t...