I know, I know; I completely missed Love Thursday this week. In my defense, I spent most of yesterday trying to figure out how the heck I sprained my ankle doing nothing. (What can I say? I'm unbelievably klutzy fragile talented.) You can read about that and my general hatred of everything fitness related this week over in my weekly post at Five Full Plates, but here is the summary: WAH WAH WAH THIS SUCKS. You're welcome. One spot of good news, though, is that Dr. Fancypants came through and supposedly a contact lens prescription has been faxed to our local place for Chickadee. Is it true? I...
Me: So now that I'm putting this stuff in her water, have you noticed a difference in the Death Breath? I mean, do you think it's working? I think maybe it is. Him: Well, I think now it's more like Terminally Ill Breath than Death Breath. That's an improvement, right?
Otto and I have now been married for coming up on three years; I've been divorced for almost seven. My point is that there has been plenty of time for my "new life" to become the new status quo, and no matter how I look at it, there is no angle from which anything about the existence I now enjoy should be surprising or new-feeling. Except. There were bad years before the divorce, bad time DURING the divorce, bad years after the divorce---basically plenty of time in which my life marched along to misery and broken dreams and just the tiniest sliver of hope for better days ahead. I always said...
For the first time in my life, I have made a sizable, life-changing resolution for the new year. This will be the year I take my health more seriously. Otherwise known as: The year I learn to love or at least tolerate exercise, or die in the attempt. Otherwise known as: The year I refuse to get my ass kicked in a friendly little competition just because I have all the willpower of a jar of mayonnaise. Mmmmm... mayonnaise.... Wait. Where was I? Oh! Right. The competition starts tomorrow. So today, Otto and I went out to lunch for my favorite food on the planet and I ate myself silly. And then...
I promised you a tale of Licorice's ears. It's JUST as exciting as it sounds. It comes as a huge shock, I'm sure, that I am something of a nervous dog-mommy. I am, after all, a nervous mom in general. I worry. I fret. If there was a giant LED chaser display in my head it would constantly stream MAH PRESHUS BAYBEEEEEES!!! (In red, natch.) The safety and comfort of my children is a constant preoccupation for me. So back when we brought Licorice home, she had a pretty severe double ear infection, among other things. I quickly unloaded the month's earnings at my local vet's office as we went in...
I'm a sucker for Christmas. Oh, I could tell you it's because I didn't come to Christianity until later in life or that it's because of faith and hope and such---and both of those things happen to be true---but the truest explanation is simply that it's shiny and pretty and the closest I come to GOODWILL TOWARDS (HU)MAN all year. It's festive. And twinkly. And shut up. So this weekend I was giddy, pulling out the Christmas decorations, setting lights just so, and even placing our faux mistletoe ball in the doorway by the bottom of the stairs. (Why no, I never do tire of a solid month of...
Me, just now, to the dog: Would you like a yummy fresh breath stick? Because if you don't stop licking my face, I'm pretty sure I'm going to puke on your head. Your breath is PUTRID. Suggestions on your favorite doggie-breath-freshening products are welcome. Because GOOD GOD.
The parentals are here for Thanksgiving, and I know that many people find visitors---and in particular, family---stressful, what with the extra bodies and noise and dishes and foibles, but I am generally delighted to have other warm bodies in the house. Especially ones who are happy to entertain my children and buy me dinner. (Sometimes it doesn't take much to make me happy.) These sorts of visits are always All About The Eating, and the fact that the Most Eatingest Holiday falls this week is just a bonus. The new twist, this visit, is that of course last time they were here, we didn't have...
It turns out that I'm not exactly a paragon of Doggie Mama Perfection. I mean, I try---lord knows, I try---but, well, sometimes my optimism vastly outweighs reality. (For those who are new or who have spotty memories, I present supporting exhibits A and B as evidence of my dumbassitude when it comes to believing that dogs should just love me and want to be with me always. Ahem.) And the problem with Licorice is that the longer we have her, the more I become deluded into thinking I Know Things when, really, I should just consult the Dog Emailer before I do anything other than, oh, I don't...
