Teeth, Bottoms, and T.M.I.

If you are the squeamish type, now is the time to stop reading.

 I warned you.

I only posted once in January, and it was to proclaim my new improved attitude about being less overwhelmed.  Less overwhelmed with the bad and more overwhelmed with the good. 

Well.  There's a saying that goes... "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans."
I think He spent the last few weeks chuckling to Himself over me.

First of all, Dan/Daddy had some dental surgery.  It was a scheduled procedure, but that didn't make it any easier. He was given some medicine to help him relax beforehand, so sitting with him in the waiting area was very entertaining.  He flipped through a decorating magazine and declared to me his future home would not have any lower cabinets in the kitchen.  When I tried to explain how his plan wouldn't be practical, he dozed off.  When the nurse came to put him in a wheelchair, he told her he didn't need it... then he promptly fell over.  The surgery involved a gum tissue graft, and - for the record - it is not pretty to look at. This surgery was also the first of 3 more to come, so the good times will continue.

Four days after Dan/Daddy's procedure, our cat had emergency surgery.  In case you are squeamish and STILL reading, I'll just say the surgery was in a very "private" area.  Because of the nature of the "injury" and the bacteria, the vet had to leave the wound open to heal.  Yep.  OPEN. Not only was the wound open, but it needed to be cleaned out twice a day. Not only cleaned, but scrubbed.  Dan/Daddy held her down, and I did the scrubbing.  It is as unpleasant as you are imagining.
It was also as expensive as you are imagining.

On the day after the cat's emergency surgery, I left our new puppy home alone... in her crate.  She's been doing fine with her potty training, and she loves her crate.  When I got home, she was not in her crate anymore.  She had unzipped the door and was hiding under a chair.  In the short time I was gone, she had gone "potty" in the house 6 times.  She left little presents in the den, in the dining room, and under the beds.  I spent all afternoon cleaning up tinkle and poopies.  We now refer to January 29th as Poop-A-Palooza around here.

That night, while the boy was playing with Miss Poops-a-Lot, she nipped him on the ear with those razor puppy teeth.  His ear bled like a faucet... all over the den floor.

I think it was while scrubbing the blood from the carpet that I considered jumping off the roof.  Or maybe it was while scrubbing the puppy poopies?  Or was it the cat's hind end?

Now we are 6 days into February, and Dan/Daddy is recovering well.  He loves showing off his gross graft.
The cat is much better also, and we have been released from scrubbing duty by the vet.
The puppy hasn't broken out of her kennel since Poop-a-Palooza, and the boy's ear healed just fine.
I am, however, sporting a gash over my right eyebrow from those same puppy teeth.

I was glad to see January go, but I have high hopes for the rest of this month. 
Even if things around here don't improve,  my Girl Scout cookies are on the way.  I can do anything with a Thin Mint by my side.  Except maybe scrubbing the cat's behind.

Reign In The Elves, I'm Trying To Be Thankful

Ready or not, the holiday season is upon us.
I was in a store last week, and the Christmas carols were blaring. I am a lover of all things Christmas, and I never feel like it gets here too fast. But OHMYWORD. Can we just put the brakes on a little?
One of my neighbors has a tree up and lights on her house. Meanwhile, at our porch, there's a drippy pumpkin.

I've been enjoying reading all the Facebook posts and blogs about what people are thankful for.
We have a chalkboard wall in the kitchen, and every November, we list our 30 Day of Thankful.

We all take turns writing, and it's fun to look down the wall and see who's thankful for what.
So far, we are thankful for:
1. food

2. grace

3. churchy answers... This is the boy's.  He wrote it in response to me telling him to stop giving me "churchy answers" when I ask him what he studied in Sunday School or Youth Group.  I say,
"What did y'all talk about?" 
He says,
"God, Jesus, and The Holy Spirit."
He's a bit of a smarty pants, and I have no idea where he gets it from.

4. Elijah... That's mine.  I had to remind myself to be thankful for the smarty pants.

5. soccer

6. Democracy

7. technology

8. Jack Bauer... We're still deep in the throes of "24," and the world needs a Jack Bauer.  Or two.

9. lacrosse

10. family

11. Baba & Papa

12. Nana & Pops

13. Alabama football... Despite that sad sad loss to Texas A&M.

14. Krispy Kreme... Amen.

15.

I don't even know where to start on this.  On my turn - the next day - I added

16.

I'm going to need lots of it, apparently.

3 Weeks And 1 Day And Sad Hearts

If I had a nickel for every time I started a blog post in my head, I would have a lot of nickles.
Sometimes it feels like nothing is happening and sometimes everything happens at once.

It also feels like Summer will never die.
If Labor Day is the unofficial end of Summer, then old man Heat didn't get the memo.  Neither did his friend, Humidity.  It's so hot I can't even complain about the heat.  The weather chic promises a "weekend cooldown."  Unless it snows, I will not cool off.

In the last 3 weeks and 1 day since a blog posting, here's some of what has happened:

1.  I've noticed a man that lives in our neighborhood is always on his porch.  In a creepy way.  Every time I drive down the street, I see him... staring.  Any time of day or night,  he's there.  Now I tell myself, "Don't look, don't look."  But, I do.  And he's looking back.  It's starting to give me the heebie jeebies.

2. We went to my parents' over the holiday weekend so the men folk could hunt doves. The women folk hunted bargains.  It was boiling hot, so Dan/Daddy whacked off the boy's long pants into the shortest pair of camo short shorts I have ever seen.  The boy said the doves flew away because they were blinded by the whiteness of his legs.  Remind me to never let Dan/Daddy alter my clothes.

3.  I started a new walking regimen.  I walked for "health" before, but I have a new partner.  She's a retired Marine.  Yeah... I don't know what I was thinking.  She said she wanted to walk for her health, but I suspect she's taken me on as a project.
On Day 3 of our walking, she suggested we add crunches.  I suggested she was smoking something.
I gave her permission to ditch me, but she hasn't.  I may not live till Halloween.

4.  My email was hacked.  More than once.  A few of my friends were receiving links to something that I obviously did not send.  The name was mine, but the email belonged to Benito Somebody.  Really, Benito?  You have nothing better to do?

5. The boy developed (another) mystery rash.  (Way before the hunting trip.)  This one started on his hands and arms and spread to his feet. 
I took him to the doctor, sent pics of his arm to an ER Nurse friend, chased down a PA and another nurse at church, and made Dan/Daddy ask a surgeon friend of ours.  I have no shame.
The diagnosis?  No one knows what it is.  Something he touched or brushed against caused a reaction.  The doc prescribed steroid cream, and now everyone we know in the medical field is avoiding me.

6.  College football has returned and all feels right with the world again.  Turn up the TV, and bring out the food.  Something containing cheese, please?

7.  On a very very very very sad note... Our puppy was killed.  I have been avoiding blogging about it partly because my heart is still breaking.  I can't go into details without crying into the keyboard, but it was a traumatic accident.  Dan/Daddy and the boy were there, but she didn't make it to the vet.
We have muddled through the last week, and we try to remember the sweet times with her.
If you don't mind, say a prayer for my little man... he's taking it in great stride, but I know it was hard to see and even harder to get over.
So sorry to end on a sad note.
I hope and pray wherever you are... you have a blessed weekend.
If it's cooler wherever you are... get ready.  I am moving in.

In A Bubble

I may have mentioned we are glued to the TV.  The Games of the XXX Olympiad (I love saying that) have sucked us in. 
We all sit on the sofa and scream and cheer for the runners and the swimmers and the gymnasts, even though we saw the headline on MSN 4 hours earlier that told us who won. 
We are easy to please.
Our dog got in on the Olympic action a few days ago, too.  She ran 6 laps through the dining room, kitchen, and living room.  She even hurdled the magazine rack.  I think she was hoping someone would get up and play with her, but then she was pooped out from her blast of energy. 

I have noticed, however, that life on the outside is rolling on.  While we eat Chex Mix and dream of swimming 200 meters without lifeguard assistance.

Things that have happened since the Olympics started:

1.  The price of gas tripled.  Again.  OK, I noticed this when it happened because I am "one of those people" who will drive to the other side of town to spend .19 less.  Yes, I know I spent $3.23 getting there, but it's a mind game with me.

2.  The start of school is less than 3 days away.  Boo and hiss.

3.  Our grass started growing again after 873 days of 100+ degree weather.  Now that grass needs to be cut.  Boo and hiss.

4.  It is still entirely too hot outside.  I prefer to not go out there.  Where is Fall?  I've resorted to looking at pumpkin crafts and soup recipes on Pinterest just to keep hope alive.

5.  The boy grew another 5 inches.  Actually, I noticed this one, too.  He passed me in height about a month ago.
His back-to-school physical confirmed it.  Even the doctor looked at his chart and said,
"Has he really grown that much in one year?"
If the people that measure him for a living are surprised, then what is this world coming to?

So on this hot Monday morning, we are watching more Olympics, and I am making a grocery list.
The living creatures in this house keep eating, and we keep running out of food.

Dan/Daddy left the empty dog food bag on the kitchen counter this morning.  I'm not sure if it was a hint.
He couldn't muster the strength to write "dog food" on the grocery list so he put the empty bag on the island. 
He's apparently weak from lack of nourishment, bless him.
He also doesn't know the dog will eat Chex Mix, too.

Does The Cone Come In My Size?

School has been out for almost 3 weeks, and we have turned into complete bums.
I am ashamed the poor old blog has been so neglected.
We've been catching up with Dan/Daddy - who was gone for work.
We have been spending lots of time with some old friends who came into town for a few weeks.
We have made S'mores and homemade ice cream.
We have slept past 5:55 am every single morning.
We have seen The Avengers twice.  I am not ashamed to say Thor and Iron Man are easy on the eyes.

But I would be a bad blogger if I failed to tell you all the story of the cone.

It all started innocently enough... it always does.  Rosie the Dog went to the vet to be spayed. 
I brought her home with:

1. an antibiotic for a skin rash,

2. a pain medication she would later have a reaction to,

3. a very large vet bill,

4. and a cone.

Somebody remind me again why I have a dog?

She should have "bounced back" to her normal self within a day or two, but she didn't.  We ended up taking her back to the vet... who determined she was not tolerating the pain medicine.  The vet stopped the pain medicine, and Rosie perked right up.
For the rash, I had to shove 2 huge pills down her throat twice a day.
The vet also recommended Benadryl. 

After 2 weeks of taking care of the cone-headed dog, I considered asking the vet if I could finish off the pain meds.  And wash it all down with Benadryl.

The cone was to keep her from scratching her rash or picking at her stitches.  It turned into a weapon.  I have scars and scabs on my shins that may never heal.

On the day she had her stitches removed, the vet tech asked if we wanted to keep the cone.  It was shredded in 2 places, and the hooks that attach it to the collar were gone.

I politely told the vet tech she could throw it away.

Since the cone came off, we've been back at the vet for another rash and a problem with her incision scar.
Somebody remind me again why I have a dog?


One of my friends sent me a great picture... I've seen it on Pinterest, but I wish I could take credit for it myself. 

I am praying we can all remain cone-free for the rest of the summer.

To Cheer My Soul

Phew.  It has been one of those weeks.  Everything that's happened will make a great blog story, so I am only posting a picture today.
It's a picture that cheers my heart, and I hope it will cheer yours.

I think I mentioned the cat has been getting piggyback rides.
I think I may have even posted a picture last week.
Well that ol' picture just didn't make the experience come alive like I needed it to.
So I took another one, and oh my word...
I cannot stop laughing.

So I made it my screen saver, and I laugh every time I look at it.
Her face just says it all.
Her face is saying how I feel today...

So, enjoy.

And yes, I am worried she may come to kill me in my sleep.

Things My Dog Has Eaten

I keep asking Dan/Daddy when "owning a dog"  is going to start being fun. 
I do love animals; I really do.  This animal, however, makes me tired.  My cat does not make me tired.  My dog makes me tired just watching her... not to mention taking care of her. 
I chase after her, I pick up after her, I feed her, I clean up her messes, and then I get happy when she takes a nap.  I didn't work this hard when the boy was a toddler.
I should also mention that the boy is the primary caretaker for this dog... I'm just on duty when he's at school.
My least favorite dog activity is taking stuff away from her.  I spend 99% of the day removing things from her mouth.  Non-food things.
These are the things my dog has eaten in the last few weeks:

1.  a Lincoln Log
2.  a snow globe Dan/Daddy brought me as a gift from Ireland
3.  2 cat toys
4.  another Lincoln Log
5.  2 lava rocks from the gas fireplace
6.  a wooden figurine of a wolf that the boy put together and painted
7.  a wooden figurine of an owl that the boy put together and painted
8.  a collectible sea turtle that I bought on vacation

We take her on looooong walks.  The boy plays (hard) with her... until they're both about to have heart attacks.  She gets plenty of exercise.
She has 284 doggie toys, chewing toys, and bones.  We swap them out and hide them and try to keep her mind busy.  She gets plenty of mental stimulation and chewing fun.
The house is - to the best of our ability - dog proofed.  We are not "knickknack" people.  We own 5 and she's eaten 4 of them.
If she weren't in her crate at night, she would have eaten us by now.

My dog, I'm convinced, exists only to drive me nuts. 
She doesn't have to drive far.

Rosie (Don't Let The Name or The Face Fool You)

Let me start by saying I am more of a cat person.
I never really knew why I liked cats better until we finally got the boy a dog.
Now it is all crystal clear.

Please don't misunderstand me, I love all animals. (Except snakes, and they are not animals. They are Satan's minions, but that's another story.)
I love doggies, and I had plenty of them growing up.

I was more than willing to let the boy have a dog. He'd been asking for a while, but military housing has a rule about the number of pets one can own.
When sweet old Shelby "went to meet Jesus," we really began to talk seriously about a dog.
But, we were moving.
Then... we were settling into a new place.
Then... it was the holidays.
Then... we were traveling like gypsies.

And then we decided there would never be a perfect time.

After a sad and unsuccessful trip to a shelter, we started looking online. Dan/Daddy eventually found a family who needed to find a new home for their puppy.
Anybody else see red flags? Hear bells and whistles?
The family had a 5 year-old who wasn't taking care of the puppy like she'd agreed to, and the puppy needed WAY MORE attention and yard space than they could give.

So. Rosie came to love with us.
She's Puggle (Pug and Beagle) and Lab.
She's the definition of a cute mess.



The fact that I have to take her picture through the glass door should tell you something.
She is so sweet and so loving, but for the first 3 months of her life, she had no rules or discipline.
She wasn't housebroken, she was allowed to jump on people, and she was allowed to chew and nip. Not toys, but hands and faces and feet and furniture and anything else she can get her razor-sharp teeth around.
She's like a monkey on crack.
We have become "Puppy Rehab."

I do love her, but the nipping is making me psychotic.
(We've tried everything. I hear patience and time may work.)

I am now waking up WAY before I'd like to so I can feed another mouth.
And then letting it outside to make sure the floors stay tinkle and poopie free.

My house has that faint doggie smell that I swore my house would never have.
That's what I get for swearing.

Pray for me blog friends. And, if you don't hear from me in a while, please check on me. I may have been eaten by my really cute dog.