Some Thoughts on Another Exciting Morning...

...In the Life of Laura

This morning started out relatively well. If you take morning at its literal sense, I started it in a tub of cold water (which had been quite hot at 11 pm, but strangely enough, not so hot at 1 am) with a book. It's a library book that is due at the end of the month, when we won't be in town, and I don't know if I should wound my former reader pride by renewing it at the library. (I won the flippin' "Who Read the Most Books This Year" contest in sixth grade! It was a blow out. Come on, Laura! You can't even read one stinkin' book in a month?) But, the book is long, and I'm finally at the middle and the action is picking up. It's one of those books that spends far too many pages dealing with lots of navel gazing characters, and you don't really know if you like any of them, or care enough to read about them for over 400 pages. But, now, since I'm over 200 pages in, I have to finish. I really hate not finishing books after I've invested at least a chapter, let alone 200 pages. Now, Moby Dick is another case all together. Try as I might, I can't get into that bad boy. I've picked it up three times, and managed to make it about 100 pages last time. Maybe some day. I think the only reason I really want to read it is because it's mentioned in the awesome movie Heathers and it's where my home away from home, Starbucks, got its name.

Anyway, this morning, Hutton came in at 8:30 to wake me the first time, asking for "breastfast" (that's how he pronounces it, which is funny, because I used to call it that when the boys were breastfeeding) then about every ten minutes after until I finally got up. Before my final waking, I had a dream that I moved into an apartment that had an amazing view of the downtown Seattle skyline, yet also a great view of the Statue of Liberty, which for some reason, was in a little black cove of water in Lake Washington. I was sharing this apartment with two roommates I don't know in real life, but was thinking, wow, this will really make it faster getting to Hutton's ABA appointments at the UW. The roommates morphed into two of my college roommates at one point. The apartment (or was it a condo?) had cathedral ceilings, and one of my roommates had hung piles of books from the ceiling. I asked her how she did it in the dream, but she never told me. Did she rent scaffolding to get up there? I remember looking up and seeing a book with an artist rendering of some wild animal on the cover, and really wanting to read it, and wondering how Eva got it all the way up on those beams, and how they stayed without falling, as some were not even resting on beams. In the last part of the dream, I was going back to my car to get something. I had realized I hadn't locked the door, and, jeez, I'd even left the window open, and when I got there, sure enough, a man was leaning into the front seat, and his friend, or accomplice waiting by the car. In my dream, I became a crazy woman protecting her things, and I ran up and grabbed the man by the throat, even though I was thinking, "This is stupid. This guy or his friend could have a gun." But, as dreams often do, it worked, and I was able to get the guy out of my car, without his stealing my things. Strangely enough, I don't think I'll ever attempt that in real life if two big men are ever really stealing things from my car. I do have impressive "guns" but I don't think I could really grab a man by the throat. My dream self is quite the bad ass!

I finally got up and went downstairs. The pleasant surprise of the morning: Fergus had not peed on the rug at the bottom of the stairs. Well, he couldn't pee there unless he'd jumped the baby gate, which is now keeping him in the laundry room at night. He is not quite as skilled at jumping as he was as a younger dog -- just a few years ago, he'd have cleared a baby gate with no problems. He also hadn't soiled his doggy diaper or dog bed. Yippee! I was feeling better about leaving the dogs here with a petsitter for our trip. If Fergus can go overnight without having an accident, things are looking up! Of course, my love and pride in Fergus, due to his old dog bladder pulling through, were short-lived. Fergus came back into the house a few minutes later with some sort of animal poop on his muzzle, and as I scrubbed off his face with a baby wipe, I realized it was all over his feet as well. He'd been doing some snacking in the cat litter pile outside. After giving him a bath and cursing him out (don't worry - he's deaf now and could only guess that I was pissed at him by the way I sprayed him down with the bathtub sprayer in such an angry manner) I felt a little less angry, and still glad that he hadn't peed in the house last night. Plus, I felt guilty for having let the thought pass through my mind that I wouldn't have to do this much longer.

Then, finally, breakfast. And now, as I type this, still in my pajamas, I realize I have to shower and go to the grocery store, and Hutton's ABA home therapist arrives in an hour and a half. Hmm, I can probably wait on the grocery store. I only need hot dogs (still!) and snacks for our trip. I have a huge zit forming between my eyebrows I have to tackle with the arsenal of products I keep on hand for such occasions, and that will probably take all the time before the therapist arrives. I love going home for the holidays with zits. It makes me feel like I'm in college again!

Great Gift for the Dog in Your Life!

I'm going to have to get one of these:


Sally and Fergus don't really destroy toys like they used to, though. Maybe if I rub ole Vicky in peanut butter, they'd rip him apart.

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

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.

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.