The Story of Us…

We’re dog owners! 

We found 2-year-old Lady at our local humane society yesterday and immediately fell in love with her quiet, reserved personality.  After “trying out” several dogs, none of them came close to Lady so we filled out the application and insisted on waiting in the lobby for the decision.  They had a few concerns about us not having a fenced yard but we did our best to assure them that Lady would be well-exercised.  They approved us and we left with Lady in tow. 

After a very expensive trip to PetCo (where the pets go!), we got Lady home and settled.  She immediately staked claim to my favorite corner of the couch and didn’t stray too far from it all night.  In fact I had to pick her up and carry her to bed with me, where she slept comfortably smack dab in between mine and Dick’s heads.

Before you ask what kind of dog Lady is, I’ll tell you:  We don’t know.  The humane society had her listed as a Beagle mix but aside from her coloring and her eyes, I don’t see much Beagle in her.  In fact, her coloring is more like a Doberman’s.  And her body and legs are long and lean like a Greyhound.  Her personality?  Unlike any dog I’ve ever met.  She is incredibly laid-back and I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that she’s scared and shy but I can tell she is not an uppity, high-energy dog.  Her previous owner was an 80-year-old man whom she lived with alone.  He died recently and the grandchildren decided they did not want Lady.

We’re ecstatic about our new addition and I promise to at least have some pictures up on Flickr this weekend.  Now if only I could get Kenny Rogers out of my head.

Whenever someone asks you if you want the good news or the bad news first - what do you say?  I always ask for the bad news first.  Get it out and over with so we can move on to the good.  That’s my philosophy.  And even though I opened this entry with the question, unfortunately my techno skills aren’t good enough to actually give you a choice.

The bad news - we sold DeeJay.  It’s been becoming more and more apparent lately that we just did not have the time to devote to DeeJay.  The time he needed to feel special and loved and therefore not scream his little birdie head off every time we left the room.  Most of the reason we don’t have time for him is that he became increasingly more petrified of Tater.  When Tater was awake and we got DeeJay out of his cage, the bird was a hot tranny mess.  He kept close watch on Tater and with every sudden movement (you know every two seconds or so), DeeJay would burrow behind Dick’s neck and start flapping.  Then he would get scared and want to nip at us and we wouldn’t have any of that so back in the cage he went where he would squeak apologies and demand to be freed.

So we put an ad in the paper last week and a lady called me yesterday, came to see him, and took all of two minutes to decide she wanted this bird for her son - her 12-year-old son.  She was awesome and I don’t think we could have found a better owner for him.  She asked all the right questions and even seemed to be timid in owning up to having two dogs at home for fear we would not let her have the bird.  But we did and we packed up all his stuff and loaded him into her car last night.  Of course the whole time we were packing and loading, Tater kept repeating “She can’t take our bird, she can’t take our bird” and then when she left Dick got all teary-eyed and I was left standing there with a crisp $100 bill in one hand and two very sad boys in the other.

On to the good news - WE CAN HAVE A DOG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Our duplex was sold recently and as it turns out the new owner must be an animal lover.  Dick called him a few days ago to ask important questions like where do we send the rent check and oh yeah, can we have a somebitchin’ dog already?  The owner said we could as long as it was a small(ish) dog and we protected the integrity of the house, inside and out.  Dick explained to him that we aren’t the sort of folks who would let a dog run rampant and destroy the house, not because the landlord forbids it but because we don’t want to live in filth.

So it seems that after YEARS of hoping and searching for a place that would allow us to have a dog, our dream might finally be coming true - in a small(ish) sort of way.  Since I grew up with a toy poodle and a Great Dane, I can say with utmost certainty that I prefer bigger dogs.  But I know that our place, and our yard, would not offer a bigger dog the kind of home it needs so I will settle for a small(ish) one.  We have already filled out an application for a red MinPin that we are visiting on Sunday.  This afternoon, we are going to the local animal shelter to peruse more pups.  And if you’re thinking how can she sit there so excited about getting a dog when she just sold a bird because she didn’t have time for it.  Well, here’s hoping that the dog won’t poo in my hair every time he hears Tater’s voice.

Wish us luck - well, wish ME luck anyways.  I just know I am going to spend the next few weeks corralling Dick into not adopting the first dog that licks his face and not getting his hopes up about every dog we apply for.  We learned the other day just how tough the competition is out there when I spent 45 minutes on the phone with the MinPin’s foster mother doing an interview.  She basically told me “Don’t get your hopes up because you could be Mother Theresa but if the dog doesn’t ”fit” with you YOU WON’T GET HIM!”

I didn’t do a Mother’s Day post partly because I am ticked off at Wordpress after I installed the update and I still can’t put pictures in my post but mostly because I’ve been brainstorming this post all weekend.

After reading Heather’s and Cecily’s posts (yes, we’re on a first name basis whether they know it or not!), I’ve been trying to make sense of them and formulate an entire post where I completely agree with two of the most insightful and articulate women on the planet while avoiding all out plagiarism.

The part I keep coming back to is the references to the people out there who take issue with mommy-bloggers who occasionally write about their children in a less-than-favorable light on their blogs.  How they called it hateful and exploitative and accused mommy-bloggers of simply “using” their children to generate ad revenue.  I haven’t personally heard from any of these folks and I’m sure that’s because my immediate family (my three loyal readers) don’t feel that way.  But I take issue with it anyway and here’s why.

Leading with the cliched but oh so very true statement that being a parent good parent is the most difficult job in the entire world, I tend to think that nay-sayers are either not yet parents or they are one of those parents who believe that their children are goodness and light, kittens and rainbows, butterflies and lillies, no matter what.  This is completely asinine.  I don’t care what type of parent you are, your child can and will be “difficult” at times.  And by difficult I mean a complete asshole.  Whether or not you choose to share with the world what an asshole your child can be is your business, but don’t sit there with your sanctimony and pretend that bloggers who blog about dealing with certain behavior issues are exaggerating or embellishing their stories to generate revenue.  When you know, deep deep deep down, that your child or children can consistently drive you to the brink of sanity.

There are times when I re-read some of the posts I’ve written about Tater and think wow he really pissed me off that time.  And you know what?  That’s ALL IT WAS.  When he grows up and reads this site (one of the reasons I started it by the way), I hope that he won’t take too much of it to heart and if he does I am well-equipped to explain why I called him an asshole.  BECAUSE HE WAS.  In that moment.  There will no doubt be many other moments like it in the future that I blog about right along side the posts where I agonize for hours trying to find the right words to express the consuming, unfaltering love I feel for him without qualification or exception.

In fact, I am of the camp that loving someone in spite of how crazy they make you shows (and builds) character and reveals the depths of your soul.  The ability to be out of your mind with frustration but still look at someone and see all the reasons you love them is a dance that parents perfect over years of screaming and backtalking and curfew breaking and lying and sneaking out and testing boundaries.  And we’re better for it.  We’re better for being able to love someone so fiercely regardless of their actions.  We’re also better for being able to put our frustrations out there for all to see (and judge) and find comfort in those who have similar experiences and similar ways of dealing with them.

Even though I don’t know many mommy-bloggers personally, I will say that my own intent in blogging has less to do with exploiting my child and more to do with exploiting the opportunity to use the internet as my own personal therapist.

I made it through my company’s three-day retreat.  It was a lot of work, a lot of drinking to forget about the work, and much tomfoolery.  By tomfoolery though, I don’t mean the interesting kind that will make for dozens of fun blog entries where I make incessant fun of my colleagues.  Most of these folks wouldn’t know how to party if their 21st birthday fell on SuperBowl Sunday.  However the digs were fantastic - the Hotel Bellwether is a gorgeous, cozy, luxurious place with the backdrop of the bay and the San Juan Islands.  Every room has a jacuzzi tub, balcony and fireplace.  My room overlooked the expansive marina and sitting out on my balcony I could almost make believe I was in Sitka.  Almost.

I left home on Tuesday afternoon and did not return until Friday afternoon and it was like a kick in the face how much I missed my boys.  Especially since lately Dick and I have been fantasizing about having some Tater-free time and I thought for sure that lounging in that tub or by the fireplace was just what I needed.  Truthfully, I got just what I needed on Friday when I got home and they both threw their arms around me.  Of course on Saturday, Dick had to go to work and Tater pitched a fit for over an hour when I told him he was not going to daycare.  Le sigh.

I still haven’t figured out how to put pictures in my posts and I’ve pretty much resolved myself to the fact that I’ll never be able to again.  Particularly since my tech support doesn’t answer her phone (now that I’ve called her out publicly, I may have started a blog-war!  Love you, J!).  Well, you’ll just have to believe me when I tell you that the pictures of Tater wearing the sombrero and shaking the maracas I brought him from my retreat is too freaking adorable for words.

I returned home with a bladder/kidney infection that I was praying would kill me on Saturday just so I wouldn’t have to suffer through the awfulness of it all.  I went to the Urgent Care clinic because even at the ripe old age of 28, I don’t have a regular doctor.  That was a mistake.  Through luck of the draw, I got the same doctor who a couple of years ago diagnosed Tater as dehydrated when what he really had was a viral infection in his throat as well as an ear infection and some pretty severe constipation.  I won’t go into all the details because some of them are rather “girly” but let’s just say I left there with nothing but a prescription for the cheapest antibiotic on the market (which I told her I’ve tried in the past and didn’t work!).  Nothing for the pain, and nothing for the inevitable condition I will suffer a few days into the antibiotics.  GRRRRRR!

So far, knock on wood, the antibiotics seem to be helping and thanks to an awesome father-in-law I was able to obtain some pain medication (shhhh…).  I no longer feel like I want to chop the lower half of my body off so that’s a plus.  Evidently I should listen to that screaming from my bladder a little more often.

As Renfro so lovingly pointed out to me via text message this morning, tomorrow I will be officially old.  The big 2-8.  Late twenties.  Pushing thirty.  O.L.D.  I’m pretty sure her teasing me about my age is in the first paragraph of the BFF contract even though she is less than two months younger than me.

I’m not having a party (maybe a pity party!) or even celebrating at all really.  Unless your idea of celebrating is spending three days away from my boys working my butt off.  I’ve been musing lately about what age it is that you start dreading rather than looking forward to your birthday?  For me it was 25.  All downhill from 25.  And isn’t that sad?  Hopefully at 25, I had barely lived a quarter of my life and yet it was all downhill from there?  Why is there such a stigma around getting old?  If wine, cheese, vintage clothes and cars, and a multitude of other things only get betterwith age - why are people so apprehensive about birthdays?

Anyone want to join my pity party?

So I still can’t figure out how to put pictures on my site with the latest version of Wordpress.  Anyone who uses it PLEASE HELP!  I click on the “Add an Image” icon, the dialog box opens up and I upload an image from my computer.  Then the dialogue box goes to a screen showing the picture name (which is a number) and a clickable link that says “Show” - and nothing else.  When I click show, nothing happens.  When I click “Save all Changes” nothing happens.  Nothing is happening.  I am thisclose to chucking the whole damn thing.

In other news, Dick has a mild case of diverticulosis which means (don’t read on if you’re squemish) that pockets have formed outside his colon and are collecting waste.  It’s not a huge deal because it’s pretty common but if the pockets become infected it is extremely dangerous.  Dick doesn’t have an infection and the doctor thinks that his pain, nausea and vomiting was from a stomach bug - not diverticulitis.  Still, Dick has kinda sorta committed to increasing his fiber intake and bought ingredients for tuna fish sandwiches instead of frozen pizzas to take to work for lunch.  He also got some fiber supplements and I agreed to cook more beans.  Hey, it’s a start.

Anyways I probably won’t update again until next weekend because I will be up to my eyeballs in work but I’ll be thinking of all of you!  Happy trails!

For the past week or so Dick has been experiencing some weird symptoms including stomach-flu-like vomiting and he’s been visiting the town a little south of throw-up too.  He’s also had some pretty severe cramping and pain in his lower left abdomen.  After he woke up puking at about 1:00 this morning I finally convinced him to see a doctor.  He is at the doctor right now drinking something vile to prepare for at CT scan.

The doctor is pretty sure Dick has a case of diverticulitis.  As I read through the symptoms, I became convinced.  Then I got to the cure and prevention part.  Along with antibiotics for any infections and pain medication, the recommendation is a high-fiber diet.  HA!  I say.  I have been trying to tell Dick for years that he needs more fiber in his diet.  I even went and bought some of those fancy fiber supplements for him, which he took for about two days.  When I spoke to him on the phone a few moments ago we talked about changes he could make to his diet if he does indeed have diverticulitis.  When I suggested that replacing his nightly handfuls (like 7) of candy, he could eat an apple, he asked, “A caramel covered apple?”

Tell me internet…what is it about men that makes them unable or unwilling to listen to advice - even good advice?  And do I baby him and coddle him and feel oh so bad for his plight, or do I wistfully exclaim, “I told you so!” and gloat?

I can’t believe it’s been a week since I’ve posted!  I had a great post written out yesterday wherein I bitched about the snow (IN APRIL!), accused Al Gore of being a liar and a fatmouth (because MY corner of the globe certainly isn’t warming!), and detailed some of our weekend activities which included babysitting my adorable new puppy-in-law, Gizmo.  I had great photos to illustrate and a video but then Wordpress decided not to accept any of my images so I got really frustrated and didn’t post at all.  Hmph.

Dick got his tattoo all fixed up so it’s shiny and new and I have a great picture of that too (you won’t be seeing it today).  He also gave me all of my birthday presents (more than a week early!) this weekend.  I received a gift certificate for my own tattoo that I’ve been wanting for quite some time.  You’ll have to stay tuned to see what it is!  He also gave me a beautiful new bedding set which I can’t even use until his tattoo heals lest he ruins it with nasty, inky scabs.  I also got the third and fourth season of Sex and the City on DVD which came with free passes to see the highly anticipated (at least in my mind!) SATC: The Movie but wouldn’t you know it - printed on the passes in big bold lettering was an exclusion of my local theater type. 

What else, what else?  Did I mention we woke up to FIVE INCHES of snow on Sunday??  It’s all gone now but boy was that an unwelcome surprise!  The only silver lining was that I am hopeful it convinced the hordes of people who drove to Skagit Valley to see the tulips to NEVER come again.  PEOPLE????  THEY’RE JUST FLOWERS!!!!!!

April is the month from hell at work because we have our annual retreat next week and believe me when I tell you that it not so much like retreating as it is dying a slow, painful death underneath a mountain of paperwork and loose ends and details and everyone else’s satisfaction.  So if you don’t hear from me for days at a time, don’t worry.  I’m not dead, I’m retreating.

On Friday I got to have lunch with Auntie Renfro, Aidan and Grammy Lori.  It was oh so much fun to hang with them though I wish the circumstances were better.  By the way, those triple combo lunch things at Applebee’s are way too much food for any normal person.

One night last week we were playing the Wii and Tater was sitting on the couch with Uncle Nate.  All of the sudden he (Tater, not Nate) thrust his hand down the front of his pants and exclaimed “My peanuts hurt!”  I can’t remember ever laughing so hard in my life.

I can’t believe America kept Kristy Lee Cook over Michael Johns.  What is wrong with you people?  (That sound you hear is my glass house shattering from that stone I just threw because I don’t vote either!)

We’re still looking (and looking and looking) for a new place to live.  We got the official notice from our landlord that our duplex has been sold.  We looked at a four-bedroom place last week that would have been perfect if not for the fact that it was about a million years old and there was already and fairly pesky tenant (THE MOLD!).

I’m seriously considering finding a doctor (for the first time ever) and inquiring about some anti-depressants.  A couple of weeks ago, I started crying during a game of Wii Bowling - a game that I was winning no less!  I just can’t seem to shake this fog and it feels like it gets a bit denser every day and if it doesn’t lift soon it’s going to smother me to death in a sea of anxiety.  I would welcome the relief.

Tater teaches me all sorts of things - some of which I’m so glad I learned and others, not so much.  I’m not really sure where to file the little gem I learned this morning on our way to daycare:

“You know what, Mom?  If you eat pineapple - there will be a party in your tummy.”

Really?  That usually happens when I eat dairy and it’s a party that nobody (including me!) wants an invitation to.