Confessions

My confession of the day:

I LOVE JANE EYRE! OK, that's not really a surprise. After all, it's the first book listed in my "favorite books" in my profile. I just checked to make sure it was on there, and sure enough, it's there.

I say this because last night I stayed up til 1 am watching the Masterpiece Theatre version of Jane Eyre. Or, the first part, at least. Now I have to wait until Sunday to watch the exciting conclusion. Can I wait that long? I already know how it ends, having read the book several times, but it's still so fun to see it in action.

I watched J.E. while knitting. Prior to J.E., I watched Grey's Anatomy. And American Idol. Now if that's not a good chick evening, I don't know what it is.

Oh yes, and Toby Stephens, who played Rochester in J.E., is pretty darn good looking, too. Though of course, Jane doesn't find him handsome. You'll remember that from the book, right? I was staring at Toby, trying to figure out where I knew him from. I looked him up online, and found out where I knew him from -- he starred in a play I saw the summer after my junior year in college, when I went to London for a theatre class. Yep, I remembered watching him and having a crush on him after seeing him in "Coriolanus." This was also the summer I saw Jude Law in the nude in "Les Parents Terribles" and Jeremy Northam in "Love's Labour's Lost." Ahh, good times. I had moved past my crushes on Law and Northam long ago, before Jude screwed the nanny, and Northam stopped showing up in random parts here and there (I last spotted him in Emma.) And, sad to say, I'd forgotten all about you, Toby Stephens. See, I don't have a framed print of the play you were in hanging in the TV room. I just bought you in post card size, from the Royal Shakespeare Company store. You were in my college room right next to the shrine to Kenneth Branagh, if it makes you feel better. Oh, and since you don't know I exist, I guess hearing that I forgot about you for 13 years, before rediscovering you in Jane Eyre, probably doesn't hurt too badly.
I won't even bring up Daniel Craig. Yummy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
Update: I saw the exciting conclusion last night. Sigh. What is it about British guys with mutton chop sideburns? I tried to convince Hubby, who hasn't had time to get a haircut in a while, to either let me give him a buzzcut with the clippers or to just grow out his hair and let his hair and sideburns get really bushy. He didn't take me up on the clippers. Maybe if he sees this hot picture he'll change his mind about needing a haircut.



Oh, and for my British reader (That would be you, Lisa!), why in the world is the name St. John, which as an American, I read in my head as Saint John, pronounced Sinjen? I was highly confused for a few moments until I realized this was the weird British pronunciation. Oh well, I guess since a British woman wrote the book, I'll have to accept that Sinjen is the "correct" way to say St. John.

Closing the Barn Door After the...

...[Insert chosen farm animal that lives in a barn here] is already out.

That's the theme that came to mind, as well as, "Huh?" when I read the following on the back of a...cough...feminine-related item I purchased today. OK, it was a box of spermicidal contraceptives. How's that for TMI? You know now that I'm either using birth control, or buying it, "just in case."

Anyway, here's the information:

Do not use if you are pregnant or think you may be pregnant.

OK. Let's see, if you're pregnant, you probably don't need to use spermicide as birth control. A bit late for that. See the above phrase.

The "think you may be pregnant" part is a little more understandable, but still, are you going to take a pregnancy test before using this, just in case? Spermicide, like all birth control other than abstinence, isn't completely reliable, so there's always a chance you could be pregnant if you're using spermicide, unless, say, a certain aunt is visiting or you just gave birth to a baby moments before. You can be pretty sure then you're not pregnant, but, other than that, you can never be completely sure you're not pregnant. You could be at that stage where you're pregnant, but can't confirm it with a test yet. Anyway, if some really neurotic person is reading the package, this could cause her lots of angst. "Oh no! I think I may be pregnant, but Honey-Cakes wants to have sex. We've been using spermicide, but it's not 100% effective, and I'm not supposed to use it if I think I might be pregnant. I don't have any pregnancy tests, and even if I did, I won't show as a positive even if I am pregnant for another few weeks." You see the dilemma really neurotic people could go through, don't you? No, I'm not a really neurotic person, just able to think like one to write a blog post that asks the tough questions. Cough. Yeah. Tough questions.

Continuing to quote the package:

If pregnant or breast-feeding, ask a health professional before use.

Oh, gimme a freaking break!

Flippin' and Trickin'

Sunday night as I was flipping through the channels to see what was on, (and this was less than the normal amount, since our satellite dish is only getting half of what it should - Hubby, get on that, please!) I saw a show listed on the guide on the DIY channel called Tricked Out. Sounded interesting, for some reason, so I flipped over to DIY, and found it was a show about tricking out your car. Hmm.

Now my 2003 VW Jetta station wagon is slammin' already, so I don't really need to trick it out. I mean, it already has a new transmission from last month. Oh wait, that's not what tricking out your car is about. No, it's about adding all sorts of neat accessories to your car -- lighted wheel wells, wiper lights, and lights that shine messages on the rims when your car is moving were some of the oh-so-exciting things I saw on Sunday.

I just thought the show was kind of funny. I mean, the things I'm interested in for tricking out a car are mostly for comfort or making driving easier (see, a working transmission is kinda important there): heated seats and a GPS would be my tricks of choice. For the aesthetics, I'd go for not having road grime all over my car 99% of the time, and as little visible rust, dents and scratches as possible. So, in my view of trickery, my car is only very slightly tricked out, with the heated seats part. Oh, yeah, I used to have an Autism Awareness puzzle ribbon magnet trickin' out the rear end, but Hubby took my car through a carwash a few months ago and it disappeared in the wash. So, not much trickin' on my car, thanks.

I had already forgotten about the show when I was driving around town with Harrison yesterday. I ended up behind a small black car at a traffic light. The first thing I noticed was the "shocker" hand symbol on the bumper. It was very tastefully done in white on black, so blended in with the black bumper. Yeah, tasteful, that's it. Next, I noticed that the car was a Ford Focus. The Ford part was on the emblem. The Focus part I got from the custom brake light. Yes, someone tricked out his car so I could know it was a - WOW! - Focus. Well, it could have been an Aspire. That's one of the funniest names for an entry-level car, as in, "Aspire to drive a better car." I guess you can "Focus on driving a better car" with the Focus.*

The traffic light soon turned green, and the Focus took off like a shot, making lots of loud revving noises. Then it braked like a shot, with the "Focus" on the brake light lighting up again. (We were in three o'clock traffic, which is always stop and go in the downtown areas. Yes, it starts at 3 around here, aren't we lucky?) As I was stopped behind the car the second time, I noticed the dark tinted windows. I could barely tell anything about the driver, other than I assumed he was a super cheezeball (no offense, Gouda! This is cheeze with a "z"!) from the car he drove. I also noticed the enormous tailpipe, which I assumed was the cause of the loud revving noises. I could make a comment about how his large tailpipe was to make up for failings in other areas, but I try not to get all Freudian on my reader. If I hadn't had errands to run, and turned into the Home Depot, I'm sure I could have stopped and started behind Focus Guy a lot more and enjoyed his tailpipe music.

*Now, you may think I'm a car snob, but I'm not. I've driven my share of entry-levels cars: the 10 year old Honda Civic was my first car, then I moved on to a brand-spanking new Ford Escort for the 500 mile drive to college. I just think there's something silly in tricking out an entry-level car. I mean, you're investing all this money in cheezy lights so people know you're driving a Focus, when you could invest the money instead and buy yourself a nicer car in another year.

If anyone who has a tricked out car cares to comment, please do. Tell me about all the hot chicks you're getting, and how they like the shocker.

Dolphins? I LOVE Dolphins!

Um, it's OK to love dolphins, but it's not OK to love dolphins.

I think this chick is a little too much into the ride. The dolphin seems to be enjoying it too, though. Is that its "O" face?


I guess I can't judge them, since I have yet to discover my "dolphin nature." I think this is what sailors really saw when they thought they saw mermaids. That makes a lot more sense to me than thinking a flipping manatee is part woman/part fish.

The Snow Turns to Slush

And on the sixth day, the snow clouds departed and the weather warmed a tiny bit, and the snow started to melt. And the bus came, and it was good.

Yep, I'm back to having only one rugrat to wrestle for 3 hours in the afternoon. Hallelujah! My morning still started out badly though. Today Fergus, the favorite son (dog) no more, puked all over the kitchen floor. Thanks, Ferg. After mopping that up, I called upstairs to Hutton to come get dressed. Hubby told me, "I don't think he feels well! He threw up on the carpet up here!" Uh, no. That would be more Fergus vomit.

Please, can I call a vomitorium moratorium on bodily fluids on my rugs and floors for a while?

Last night Hubby came upstairs before bed and said Sally was whimpering but it was because of the washing machine. "What are you washing?" I asked, as Hubby doesn't do laundry. "Sally peed on the rug," he said. "You mean the last rug that hadn't been peed on?" See, we have three rugs in the same pattern in the hall and kitchen downstairs. The first one was peed on a while back. Hubby washed it in the washing machine, and the underside shrunk up, but the top wool part stayed the same, so the rug wouldn't lie flat anymore. I cut up the under lining, and now it lies flat, but is really lumpy. Sally peed on the second of these rugs this weekend. Wash rug in machine, have it lumpy and bumpy. And repeat with the last of the rugs. For some reason, hearing about the last of the rugs getting ruined made me sad. I said, "Oh well, at least the rugs have lasted 8 years. That's a lot in a house of kids and pets." For some reason, Hubby took this as some kind of affront to him, and said, "Well, you can either have rugs or dogs. Which is it?" I just shrugged.

Don't worry, I'll have my rugs and the dogs that ruin them, too. I'll remind Hubby that if we can't afford to replace peed-out worn out rugs, we shouldn't be able to afford the nice office chair and handheld Dyson vacuum he just bought for his office, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today FedEx came by while I was outside with Sally. She barked, but I left her lying in the snow and told the FedEx guy she was incapacitated, so not to worry about her. (He had the "Oh yeah, it's that scary black dog who always barks at me" look.) He handed me a package addressed to Sally, of all things. Inside was a dog sling that my ever-so-thoughtful mother-in-law sent. Seriously, this woman is great. My mom pretends to care that Sally had surgery, but my MIL actually does care, as she has pets. The sling is so much easier to use than a towel to help support a 60-pound dog! I strapped it on Sally immediately, and could help her walk with just one hand holding her up. If I had known a sling was that helpful, I would have bought one before Sally even came home. The highlight of my day so far!

Cabin Fever...and Poop

School was canceled again today. It snowed a bit. Just enough to add to the snow we already have and mess up the roads.

Hutton hasn't been in school since last Tuesday. He hasn't been in speech therapy since last Tuesday. He's had his AIT and ABA, but the rest of the time has been spent playing Cars on Xbox or watching Cars on DVD. Well, that and making sure there is a new train track layout in the playroom.

I'm feeling a bit stir crazy, but don't really want to go out if there's ice on the road. I'm a bad inexperienced ice/snow driver. As are most of the rest of the residents of the Puget Sound area, according to the wrecked cars on the sides of the roads we saw this weekend.

I really need to go to the grocery store, too. That's always so much more fun with both boys. Heavy sarcasm there. Hey, we still have dry pasta in the house, and frozen chicken. I'm sure Hubby would love to have yet another dinner of pasta, or some chicken with rice dish.

On the plus side, Sally has been peeing AND pooping outside! Yippee! We're still using a towel to help carry her, but she's supporting more of her weight now. This brings me to a "fun" story from this weekend, when Sally didn't pee or poop outside, but waited until coming back in out of the snow to do her business. Nothing too bad though. I was in the shower, so Hubby dealt with cleanup. Great. But then later Sunday I had a screaming tantrum little talk with Hubby about not putting dog poop in the Diaper Champ. [For the non-initiated, a Diaper Champ is a receptacle for dirty diapers that helps keep them from smelling up the house. We still keep ours in the garage, though because diaper pails smell once your child starts eating food. It involves placing a diaper in the top and flipping the handle, which causes the diaper to plummet into the trash bag below, without any further touching of the dirty diaper. Hey, I got it when Hutton was a baby, before I realized diaper pails are a waste of money and that it would be easier and less smelly to just put the diapers in a grocery bag then dump them in the outside trash can.]

Hubby and I don't see eye to eye on poop/Diaper Champ issues as it is. I always dump a poopy diaper in the toilet before putting it in the Champ. He always just shoves it in. And none-too-carefully I might add. I like to make sure NO POOP is anywhere on the outside of the Champ. Why? Not because I'm anal, but because having poop anywhere where I might come into contact with it on my clothes or bare hands is nasty, that's why!

~~~~~~~~~~TMI Time~~~~~~~~~
So, Sunday afternoon, Harrison had a particularly fun diaper, and after dumping it in the toilet, I wrapped it up carefully and took it out to the garage. I placed it in the top of the Champ, pressed down (if you don't press down, sometimes the previous diaper hasn't gone into the bag yet, so when you turn the handle, you're greeted by an old diaper), and turned the handle. Hmm. It was stuck. I decided to open the Champ to make sure it wasn't full.

Holy shit! What is that horrific smell? Why is there poop smeared all over the...Wait, is that a paper towel with...dog poop? Yep, Hubby had placed a paper-towel wrapped, big dog turd in the top of the Champ. Needless to say, when he flipped it, the paper towel got caught, and the doo did not stay wrapped in the paper towel, but smeared everything in it's vicinity. As I gagged and attempted to clean up most of the mess, my fury grew. After scrubbing my hands, I went upstairs to throw my hissy fit talk to Hubby. It seemed to work. Hubby "cleaned and refurbished" the Champ. It involved taking things apart and 20 minutes of cleaning.

Did I mention Sally's on antibiotics? Those do wonders for a dog's poop.

Pets Are Almost as Much Trouble as Kids

Almost. Today we picked Sally up from the pet hospital. She still can't walk on her own, but we figured she'd be happier at home and it wouldn't be that much trouble getting her outside to pee. Plus, getting her out today meant only about $4500 total for her surgery and stay, instead of adding more money for every day of vet checks, physical therapy, etc.

We got her bed set up downstairs with some pads for her to pee on. She pretty much crawled off the bed as soon as possible, and dragged herself across the floor to Hutton's room to be with us when we went in there to do Hutton's AIT session this afternoon. I thought that was cute until I noticed she'd peed on the carpet. Grr. I then set up the pet kennel with the top off, so she wouldn't feel closed off, but can't crawl around after us, peeing wherever she wants.

And the idea that it wouldn't be trouble to get her outside to pee -- that would be completely wrong. After the dogs ate dinner, I attempted to lift Sally out of her crate, and realized that she's pretty darn heavy. Bitch weighs 60 pounds. No, that's not nearly as much as what I weigh, but if I needed someone to carry me to a toilet, I could at least help support my weight by grabbing their neck or something. Strangely enough, Sally isn't much help. I tried a sling approach - putting a towel under her and pulling up on both ends. Once I got her out of her crate, she was able to help a little, lifting her feet so they wouldn't drag on the ground as I tugged her outside. We made it 5 feet from the front door onto the front walk, and I pretty much dropped her butt in the snow, while supporting her front half. Strangely enough, this wasn't Sally's idea of a relaxing good time, and she didn't relieve herself. So, after a few minutes of holding her up while she didn't pee or poop, I dragged her back inside, then yelled for Hubby to put her back in her crate. I got her out a second time about an hour later, and that was equally hard, and yet again, she didn't pee or poop.

Seriously, she is like a 60 pound sand bag, but not in one piece. Imagine a 30 pound sand bag with three other ten pound sandbags sewn on at random spots, and you get the idea. I never realized how much of a wimp I was until now. I mean, I've got pretty good mom arms from lifting the boys, but it doesn't compare to dog-lifting. So, to all the vet techs out there, I commend you on the skill you show at the surprisingly difficult task of dog-lifting.

As the boys were getting ready for bed, Tully the cat jumped on the bathroom counter. I decided it would be a good time to clean her chin. She has some crusty junk on there that the vet said to scrub with a washcloth. I'd done it before without too much trouble, but tonight Tully attempted to get away, I grabbed her by the neck to keep her from falling into the trash can, and she bit me in the process. She chomped down on my index finger, underneath the nail, and YOWZA that hurt. I have it wrapped as tight as I can in a bandaid, to make the throbbing less intense. I really don't want my fingernail to get all purple, but I'm not very hopeful at this point.

Hmm. Aren't pets supposed to be such a great calming influence in our lives? Still waiting for that. Just kidding, furry children, I love you all, even when you cause me intense pain.
Sally, the good side
The Franken-dog side
Evil Tully lurking around after maiming me
The Favorite Son sleeping

Feeling Happier and Here's Why

Well, it's really because of the fine cup of coffee I'm drinking (really a double shot latte), but this brightened my day as well.

It ended up in my junk email somehow. The from field and subject of the email were:
vibrators snatching
agility dog


Already I'm feeling good. It would have been funny as "vibrator-snatching agility dog" as well, but I'll take what the random word generator gives me.

Of course with that to start with, I HAD to read the email attached.

Here are the best parts:

Bible astrology shop franchise. Elton racist overtime overseen cuffed ticket? Bono fucking brilliant globes janet jacksons globe. Spider superman villain collector achieve, look, work, upcoming birth. Stacy yaz large crafters choice saddle. Package parenting self coupon rainbow. Failed fees gnutella creators similar products, kazaas!

Yeah, it's pretty sad when this cheers me up more than the beautiful sight out my window:

Funk Day

I've had a blah day. Been in a funk pretty much since dawn, and it's not the funky kind of funk, either. I should put on some Parliament and turn the funk upside down. But that would ruin this perfect "depression lite" I've got going.

I know my hormones and lady bidness have something to do with it, but it's also cold, and snowy. The snow looks very nice, and cheered me up briefly when I crunched through it to get the mail, but when I got back inside to crazy boys 1 and 2, that went away. Plus, Hubby called at 4:30, and said he'd be staying late at work because the snow had fouled up the roads. Great. Another day AND night of solo parenting.

I kept Hutton home from school today, because he was throwing a hissy fit, rubbing his eyes and whining after ABA therapy this morning. I stopped the hissy fit by adjusting his eyelid for him -- all the rubbing had flipped a quarter of his eyelid inside out and he was screaming until I convinced him to let me look at it. Fun. Since we're doing the AIT this week, I've been driving Hutton to and from school, but today was not going well, already, and the AIT therapist didn't want to have to come back at 3 and risk getting stuck on the snowy roads, so I said I'd just keep Hutton home and he could come back earlier. Great. Crisis averted. A mellow day at home. Perfect.

Except when I emailed Hutton's teacher to tell her he was being very whiny and probably wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be at school, she emailed me back to say that he was whiny all the time at school and she didn't think his feeling bad really affected that. Then she went on to reiterate that Hutton doesn't need to be in her class, she'd had his previous preschool teachers out to observe and they were all "disappointed" in his behavior, she was going to have the director of special education out to observe him, and did I have any thoughts on this?

Great. So, after I burst into tears reading the email, I thought for a moment and emailed her back telling her I was fine with any placement for Hutton as long as it's not the contained class at our neighborhood school, because that class is all non-verbal kids and will not be good for Hutton at all. We'll see. With any luck, the special education director will find a better placement for Hutton, but since the transition class he's currently in was "the best place" for him before, and there's not another transition class, I'm not that positive. I just know I'm not going to lie down and take whatever crappy situation they throw at me because his teacher suggests it. Nope, his teacher is not on my "favorite person" list, probably because she's written off Hutton from day one as being too immature for her class. Hey, lady, it's KINDERGARTEN. You want maturity from a class of kindergarten kids? Well, I'm sure without Hutton it will be like an intro psych class. All the kids will explore their feelings and grow as spiritual beings once that immature brat is gone! She always tries to make me feel better about Hutton by pointing out that he's only five. Yeah, I know. Five is the age the school district assigns to KINDERGARTEN. Just because all of the other parents held their kids back, doesn't make my child too immature for kindergarten. They kick you out of the special ed preschool after two years. That's why we moved on to kindergarten. Oh well.

Back to my funk. I've been eating like a pig all day. I really need those doggy diet pills now.

And speaking of dogs, Sally is still not moving well. The vet called today and said she's a slow healer, and since so much muscle tissue was affected by the surgery, it was taking longer than they'd thought it would for her to be able to get around on her own. So Sally is still at the hospital, which is charging us daily about the price of a night at a nice hotel to feed our dog and take her out in the special doggy wheelchair cart. I can't really visit her either, because the area she's in is crowded with recovering pets and medical equipment. Imagine bringing in your two-year-old. Or better yet, your two-year-old AND your five-year-old. Yeah, they're very patient and never want to touch the expensive equipment. Since the hospital is 25 minutes away, it's not an easy little trip to do when Hubby comes home either. Sally, I love you, but the last thing I want to do after putting the boys to bed is get in the car and drive nearly half an hour.

Sigh. Time to get the boys in bed and start drinking heavily. Just kidding. Sort of.

Snake Oil Treatment and "I Love You"s

Hutton started Auditory Integration Therapy last week, or as Hubby refers to it, Snake Oil Treatment. AIT involves listening to music through headphones for 30 minutes, twice a day for ten days. The music is all blended together in some weird way I don't understand. Yeah, Hubby doesn't really think it does anything, but I'm willing to try most anything if it's covered by insurance and can't hurt. It's not like I'm taking Hutton into a viper pit and telling him to trust God to pull him through.

Mike, the guy who comes out to do the therapy (watch Hutton wear his headphones for 30 minutes) is very interesting, though. He trained under Guy Berard in France, and has told me lots of good stories. Apparently Dr. Berard is able to drink most of a bottle of red wine at lunch and still hike up a mountain afterward. Mike wants to retire someplace other than the rainy, dreary Pacific NW soon. He's lived in Australia, but apparently Australia and New Zealand don't want any more old people, as they don't give visas to retirees. Who knew?

Mike was telling me Monday about talking to Temple Grandin after a speech she had given. They discussed the idea of humor, as Temple had several jokes in her presentation. Temple said she never knew what other people would find funny, as she never really gets jokes that others do. So Mike asked her how she knew what to say. Temple said she would just keep the things that got a laugh. If there was no response from the audience, she'd take the joke out the next time. Seems like a pretty good plan, even for the non-autistic giving speeches.

Mike has been very good for my "Hutton's Autism Level Ego" -- meaning, he's always commenting on Hutton's verbal skills being very good, or saying that Hutton seems like he's more Aspergerish than autistic. Before I had a child with Autism, I don't think I would have taken having someone tell me my son acts like he has Asperger's Syndrome as a compliment, but now I sure do!

Speaking of (writing of) Asperger's Syndrome, I read this weekend that Burt Bacharach and Angie Dickenson's daughter, Nicky, "quietly and peacefully committed suicide to escape the ravages to her brain" last Thursday. Nicky had Asperger's Syndrome, as well as poor vision, which had kept her from following her dream of being a geologist. Very sad. I don't think I'd ever consider committing suicide "quiet and peaceful" though. Seems more anguished and desperate to me. Again, very sad.

Enough sadness. Back to the idea of humor. That is hard for me, to think that Hutton, like Temple Grandin, may not be able to understand what others find funny. I have a great sense of humor. (Yes, I'm biased.) Seriously. I love to laugh, and tend to go for sarcasm and black humor. I think it's going to be hard to have a child who will never "get" the same things I do. Well, I'm kind of jumping ahead of myself, I know. At least Hutton laughs at "normal" humor. Today we were watching Cars. The scene in which Lightning McQueen wrecks the main street of Radiator Springs causes Hutton to laugh hysterically, and then he wants to rewind it several times. It is a funny scene, I'll grant him that!

To end this random post, I will add an AWESOME verbal exchange I had with Hutton today as we were watching Cars:

ME: This is a funny movie isn't it? [And because Hutton looked so happy and cute] I love you, Hutton! [Harrison had fallen asleep by this point, so didn't get an, "I love you."]
HUTTON: I love you, too, Mommy!
ME: OMFG! I can't believe you said that!

OK, I didn't say the last part. I was just thinking it. I praised Hutton for the great sentence. Because, really, it was a very good sentence, even without the meaning. I would have been excited by him repeating, "I love you," as he normally gets by with short sentences, but to add the "too" and "Mommy" put me over the moon!

When Diet and Exercise Fail...

...Or aren't tried at all.

I give you.......drum roll.......... drugs for obese dogs!

That's right, now your fat dog can skip the diet and exercise that are just so hard. For you, that is. I mean, if you're going to put your dog on a diet, that means no more treats! But Schmoopsie is just soo cute! I can't resist! And taking my dog for a walk? That means I have to walk, too! And hey, if I'm going to...gulp...exercise, I'd rather do it at the gym once a month, not everyday walking with puppy.

I particularly liked this part of the story: "If you're going to spend 15 minutes, spend it walking your dog instead of cleaning up diarrhoea." Hmm. Yeah, that would be my choice, I think.

Of course, I rarely walk my own dogs. We have an invisible fence, so the dogs just go out to run several times a day. Well, Fergus does. Sally's still in the hospital, and won't be running for a while, since she still can't walk. She's using two of her four legs now, so that's something! I'm not sure when she's coming home, but I think it's going to involve some exercise for me, as well - helping support a 60 pound dog with a sling while she walks. Hey, I can use the exercise. And I've never been a good dieter. You know what, those dog drugs sound pretty nice, actually.

Can I Retire from Stay At Home Momming?

Really, it's OK. I like being a Stay At Home Mom. Well, some of the time. It's not like there's another job I'd rather do that someone would hire me for. There are weeks like this one that just exhaust me, though. I guess being on vacation for two weeks was enough that I fell out of Stay At Home Shape. Who knew sitting around eating bonbons took energy? Ha.

Yesterday was OK - the end of the school week for Hutton, but he hit his speech therapist in the morning, then was "extra curious" when he came home from school -- a nice way of saying he was causing me to curse and pull my hair out. One moment he was playing nicely with blocks, so I left the room to decalcify my espresso machine (yeah, it's been a rough week!) and I heard the toilet flush. I went in to check on Hutton and make sure he was washing his hands, when I found him gazing into the freshly flushed toilet holding an empty plastic container that once held 26+ little foam letters. He looked at me with a face that says, "Yeah, I know I'm going to get in trouble, but that was sooo worth it!" After a long time out, while I finished the decalcifying, Hutton moved on other destructive activities I've blocked out. See, I'm perfect as a Stay At Home Mom - I can't even remember all the horrible things I have to put up with. I asked Hutton what he got in trouble for yesterday, to refresh my memory and perhaps reinforce things he's not supposed to do, and he told me some things he did at school -- ripping Tom and McKenzie's papers and eating playdough. Yeah, that's not what I wanted to know, but, uh, interesting.

Anyway, today was the big driving day - or Drive Away From Home Mom day. We drove to the UW for ABA therapy, then drove home for AIT therapy, then back to Seattle for craniosacral therapy, then home again for our second session of AIT therapy. None of this therapy is for me, but I'm feeling the need for therapy. The AIT is new for us -- auditory integration therapy that involves Hutton listening to stuff through headphones for a half hour, twice daily for the next 14 days. We'll see if it adds anything new to my exciting world.

Hubby is taking us out to dinner tonight, probably to make up for the fact that he's come home late every night this week. Yeah, I'm loving that he's back in an office job instead of working from home. That was total sarcasm for those who can't read my sarcastic type.

In Answer to Allie's Post from Today

Yes, another one of these. Good way to not have to write anything, though I may post something else later.

Allie's post.

My answer:

Doggy Hospital Visit

Harrison and I went to visit Sally at the hospital today. She had surgery yesterday to remove a ruptured disk in her lower neck/shoulder area. She looked tired and sad, but that may be from the drugs. (I usually look tired and sad, too, but that's normal for me -- no drugs involved!) She'll probably be able to come home next week, but will need physical therapy to keep her legs in tone, and we'll probably have to help her walk with slings for a while.

She whimpered a little when we got up to leave, but Harrison's ability to sit and not act like a 2 1/2 year old was reaching its limit. I'll have to go back without kids this weekend.

I'm so thankful she doesn't have cancer, though, as I sat patting her, I realized how much older she looks now -- white fur on her muzzle that used to be black or brown, that I hadn't really noticed before. I hope she'll live a long, healthy life!

Updates on Boy and Dog

I realized I forgot another lowlight from our trip -- the Florida portion. Nana's kitchen is crammed full of stuff, and there are spices in very easy-to-reach places. Hutton discovered a jar of red pepper one day, spilled some, and of course ended up getting some on his hands, then rubbed his eyes. We figured out what had happened from the spilled spices and screams. Nana quickly flushed his eyes with water from the sink, and we constantly reminded Hutton after that that spices aren't good to play with, nor to rub in one's eyes.

The DOG: Hubby picked Sally up from the emergency vet this morning, and was told she needed an MRI. She'd had Xrays, but nothing abnormal showed up to mark a slipped disk. After a day of muscle relaxants and steroids, she was still the same -- not able to stand -- so Hubby had to take her to a special vet north of us that offered MRIs. The MRI revealed that Sally either has a herniated disk between her 5th and 6th vertebrae, or she has a cancerous mass in that location. You can guess which one we hope it is, as a herniated disk means almost certain recovery, and a cancerous mass on her spine means just the opposite. The vet will operate on her tomorrow, so please keep your fingers crossed (and have your pets keep their paws crossed!) for us!

Another pet story: Tully went into my closet some time this morning while I was getting ready, and I inadvertantly closed the door with her inside. I was thinking soon after dinner that I hadn't seen her all day, and was about to check around the house, when Hubby heard her meowing in the closet and opened the door to find a lot of shredded carpeting where she'd attempted to escape under the door. Hey, as long as she didn't pee on my clothes or shoes, I'm fine with shredded carpet.

Where Was I?

Oh yeah, I was talking about electricity. Well it went out Thursday the 14th, and stayed out for over a week. Fortunately, we got the hell out of dodge on Saturday, on our flight to visit family in Tennessee. We survived five days with my family, followed by a seven-hour drive to Florida to see Hubby's family. We survived still another five days there, and traveled another seven-hour drive back to Tennessee. Then we had our glorious five-hour flight home to Seatac yesterday. The angels sang as we drove up and the garage door opened with the simple push of a button. I happily went around turning on every light in the house.

The highlights and lowlights of our trip:

We saw lots of family. This is usually a highlight AND a lowlight at the same time. For instance, visiting Gran, my mom's mother, involves listening to lots of "woe is me" talk in a house that could double for a smokey bar. After hearing about Gran's miserable cold, then moving on to the thrilling travel photos, Hubby and I felt the need to change clothes and shower. We don't spend much time in smokey bars, either. Gran is 82, so her 60+ years of smoking seem to have done nothing to her health. Good genes, I guess. Hope I got those genes, too! We also visited my great-uncle in the rehab center where he's recovering from a fractured hip. I don't want to get old.

One night in Florida we visited some family friends/distant cousins of Hubby's in their as un-kid-friendly-as-possible home. Think fragile knicknacks on every surface. I ate my dinner in as few bites as possible, then circled through the house after the boys keeping them from touching anything. They did get some travel-size Etch-a-sketches, so that helped for about 30 seconds.

Hutton highlights: Every ceiling fan in every room that had one was turned on. The boy loves ceiling fans, and since we don't have any at home, he has to get his fill visiting relatives. He also found Nana's (Hubby's mom) microwave irresistible, as it was on a low countertop within easy reach. First he made do with just pressing the buttons as often as possible, followed by my hollow threats to "not touch the microwave...or else!" The best part was one day when I smelled something funny in the kitchen, hurried in, and found Hutton laughing maniacally about the "girl smiling!" I found the weird odor was coming from the microwave, which was cooking a box of Wheat Thins bearing Rachel Ray's image. Well, she was smiling, even after being microwaved. What a trooper!

Another highlight (in the sarcastic sense): one day I left my cell phone on the kitchen table at my mom's house, along with a glass of water. Figured this was OK since Hubby was sitting at the kitchen table. I was wrong. After I got out of the shower, Hutton was crying, Hubby was yelling, and my cellphone wasn't working. Fortunately, after dyring out, my cellphone works again.

This morning, after an oh-so-exciting New Year's Eve night spent going to bed around 10 pm (hey, we're still on Central Time!), we got a phone call from the kennel where the dogs and cat were staying. Something was wrong with our dog, Sally, and they wanted us to come pick her up. Pro: we got to spring the animals a day early, since the kennel wasn't technically open today. Con: Sally is unable to stand, and we took her to the emergency vet, who thinks she may have a slipped disk, but needs to do lots of tests and X-rays to be sure. They haven't called with the results yet, so please keep our sweet doggie in your thoughts.

Off to clean more, do more laundry, and put away more Christmas gifts. Oh yeah, I guess I need to write thank you notes, too. I really hate the day after coming home from a trip!