I pick the weirdest times to be girly...

Despite random crossovers to the dark side, I'm not usually a girly girl. I mean, sure, I have issues with egregious assaults on footwear, and I may have some issues with bugs (and other creepy-crawlies,) but it's not like I really need to be taken care of. Or go out in makeup every day. Or even fix my hair regularly. (Unless a ponytail counts as "fixing?")

But sometimes, usually completely random times, that girly side of me pops up and can not be denied. Like when bike-riding. Like when bike-riding with someone who won't shut up about how I need a helmet. But I don't want to wear a helmet...even though I know it's probably smart. So I grudgingly look over the helmets at the bike store and find....nothing. They were all blue or black or silver or red and since I was already not wanting to purchase one, I wasn't inclined to like something that didn't make me happy.

And thus began my search for a pink bicycle helmet.

I know, I know. What on earth? To be fair, I don't mean completely pink. I mean, enough so that I like it. Enough so that I think it's cute, even though I'll look like an idiot while wearing it.

(This biking thing? It's taken over my life. I blame Candy.)

And so my google searching led me to this on ebay. I already have a long-standing hate relationship with ebay, but luckily there were only about 4 hours left on this auction when I found it, and I was the only bidder.
Still, I checked on it about 500 times in four hours.

In the end I am now the proud owner of a helmet with pink on it. I think I won because of the enormous size of my head. No other woman needs a helmet this big. Trust. We're talking freakishly large.

And so now I must wait until it arrives. And then I will post pictures. Of the three muskateers that keep going on crazy bike rides, all three of us in our goofy helmets.

Pictures from the Past

Any of my college friends who read this need not worry. I am not about to pull out pictures from college days. No thanks. Those are for the password protected safety of Facebook.

What I will pull out is one of the greatest finds thus far in my 31 year life.*

Now that my parents are retired, they're starting to take on little odd jobs around the house. You know, the things that need to be done, but they're low priority so they never actually seem to GET done? Things like sorting through old photos.

My mother has been having a ball lately going through old pictures. She says that there are pictures of people she doesn't even remember, trips that she had forgotten about, and part of the fun for her is trying to remember when the pictures were taken so that she can put them in rough chronological order. In doing this, she found and sent a picture of me on Halloween in 1980.

I can't tell you how thrilled I am with this picture. It's awesome on SO many levels. First, my mother actually made this costume for me. She said she picked it because it was relatively easy and LOOK HOW CUTE I WAS!!! Second, I'm a pink bunny. Can you see a costume that is further from my personality than a pink bunny?! And finally, of course, I am a HUGE fan of A Christmas Story,** and Ralphie gets a pink bunny suit JUST LIKE THIS for Christmas. Right down to the bunnies on his feet. (Although I have to give my mom some credit as the costume was probably more appropriate on a two-year-old girl. It's not like she made this for me when I was thirteen.***) Keep in mind that the movie was released in 1983. This means that my mother actually dressed me like this BEFORE it was hilarious.

Although it's still pretty hilarious.

*For today anyway. Who knows what tomorrow holds?
**The whole family is, actually. My father actually has a leg lamp on the porch. Cross my heart and hope to die.
***No, she saved a whole HOST of other embarrassing things for the teenage years. Like the leg lamp on the porch. Which is awesome now, but when you're a teenager? Notsomuch.

Spontaneity

Confession: I didn't know how to spell the title of this blog. I had to look it up.

There's a beverage at one of my favorite bagel places that I love to order. I love iced tea, it's lightly sweetened, and it's got enough caffeine to wake me up in the mornings. Plus, the name is fun to say (Spontanei-tea.)

Unfortunately (or fortunately if you're me, I guess) that's about the extent of the spontaneity in my life. I know this will come as a shock to some of you (unless you're regular readers. Then you know me. But if you're new it's a shock. If you're new, hi there!!) but I'm a bit of a planner. A little Type-A. A smidge of a control freak. I sort of like routine. Change is not my friend. In fact, change in my life usually takes a congressional mandate if not an act of God. And even those aren't always successful.

Which is interesting because in a social situation, I am usually the planner. I love to have a group of friends together and it doesn't really matter WHAT we're doing. I'll get friends together whenever and wherever I can.* But, if left to my own devices, I'm finding that the older I get the more I like my weeks to have some routine. I like to go to work, go home and walk my dog, and then spend an quiet evening reading or knitting or basically trying to see if I really can get my couch to have a permanent indentation that is the exact size of my butt. And once I have an idea of how my evening is going to go, it's not that easy to change on a moment's notice. In short, I'm getting boring. But I secretly sort of like it that way.

The boy? The boy is all about spontaneity. The boy has no idea what he's doing most evenings. The boy probably doesn't know what he's doing in the next hour. And even MORE incredibly to me, he can have plans for this evening, and then change them at the last minute. OMG - I cringe just thinking about the uncertainty.

Despite what you may be thinking, this has never been a bone of contention in our relationship.**

But for two nights this week, I've found myself in completely unplanned situations. And I didn't die. The first was when I got to go bicycle shopping. After repeated badgering by Candy and I, zlionsfan opted not to fix the bike that he had languishing in his garage, but instead chose to purchase a pretty shiny new bike. From a bike shop. So I got to go shopping, I didn't spend any money, and I got to help spend a good amount of money that wasn't mine. What's not to like about that? As soon as that was over, I assumed we would each go our separate ways home.

But apparently there was dinner involved. This dinner was assumed to be part of the plans by two out of the three participants.

Um, okay. This was unplanned, but not completely out of the question. Hmmm....Casey had been walked, I was already with friends, I was hungry - why not eat?

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Dinner was fun. (I had fun at an unplanned event.)

So now that a bike had been purchased, we made plans to ride together last night. At one of my favorite places. And ride we did. Another friend, Nicole, came along and we rode our bikes for about two hours (with Casey who ran along with us the entire time.) It was fabulous. The weather was perfect, the riding was both leisurely and heartbreakingly impossible***, and there was plenty of conversation to keep us all occupied the entire time.

When we ended the ride, Casey was worn out. I stopped to say goodbye, and she immediately laid down on the ground. I started thinking about what I was going to have for dinner, and how peaceful the night would be with Casey completely passed out, and how I couldn't wait to get back to the book I was reading. And then Nicole mentioned dinner plans to Candy. And my immediate internal dialogue was, (no joke) "They're going to dinner? I wonder if it's just the two of them. Will they invite me? OH MY GOD WHAT IF THEY INVITE ME? WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY?"

At that point Nicole said, "Does anyone else want to come?"

And my mouth said, "Sure! Where are we going?"

I'm sure it seemed normal to everyone else, but I honestly don't remember making the decision to go. And once it was made, I'm not sure that everyone in my head was entirely happy about it. But we all went out to eat, and surprisingly, I again didn't die. In fact, I had a good time.

When I went home and was cuddled on my couch with a very tired dog, I reflected on my two unplanned outings. Hmmm....unplanned, but still good. Maybe the boy was right? Spontaneous is still okay. Maybe this is the beginning of a change? But wait! Change is bad!! And the boy is never right! What to do, what to do?

In a fit of rebellion I made the immediate unplanned decision to paint my fingernails. See? I can be sponteneous! Look at me go!!****

*As long as I have at least 24 hours notice.
**That was a bold faced lie.
***See, there's this hill...
****Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Like I don't have enough to worry about?

So as not to appear a completely inept cyclist I didn't mention that last Friday, on Ride your Bike to Work Day, I totally fell over. On my bike. Like, tipped over and couldn't catch myself. Like, sprawled on the ground in the middle of the part of town where I work and where there are always a good number of pedestrians. Some of whom rushed over to help me. Which wasn't embarrassing at all. No. Not in the slightest.

And as a result of this incident, I had a pretty black and blue bruise on my shin, just above the ankle, that was about the size of an apple. Which of course made my entire calf and ankle swell up about three times their normal size. Fun times.

I showed the boy, and he was horrified. With good reason. Inexplicably, the boy is none too fond of that part of my body even when it's not grotesquely swollen.

Once upon a time when we were going through a book, the question came up, "What is your least favorite [body] part of your partner?"

Sometimes I wonder why the book isn't called "The breakup book."

The boy had to answer this question first. I braced myself and went through the list of every single insecurity that I have. (The List that is catalogued and cross referenced alphabetically in my mind...as it is in the minds of all women, gents. Don't let us fool you.) Let's see... My ass is huge, and I carry weight in my thighs, so they're none too pretty either. My arms are flabby, I have no neck... the list goes on and on. I was ready for anything the boy said.

Until he said, "Your ankles."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Well, it's just that....see.....my grandmother really doesn't have ankles either. I just don't like that."

"You're saying that I have CANKLES?!" This was said at a pitch that I'm pretty sure all the dogs in the neighborhood could hear.

"What are cankles?" The boy asked blankly.

"Um, when there is no ankle. So your calf goes right into your foot."

The boy began to giggle, "Oh. Yeah. That's what you have."

"WHAT?!" Again with the high pitch.

This was NOT on my List of Insecurities. In fact, I think it's the only body part that escaped even an honorable mention on The List. (Which is no small feat.) But one mention from the boy pointed out a whole new thing that I had never ever thought to worry about in my life. Which meant that I had to review every part of The List to see if there was anything ELSE that I had missed. Which is unacceptable because, seriously, who has time to review a list that they've been compiling since they were approximately 13 years old?

The thing is, in my unbiased opinion (which is deeply rooted real facts and actual observations,) I don't have cankles. My ankles are not the most slender ankles on the planet, but they are most definitely there and distinguishable from my calf. However, the boy is a bit more, um, dainty than I am [please see Bulldog/Cheetah comparison] and I guess he's used to seeing smaller joints. Whatev. I don't have cankles. And I pointed this out to him repeatedly until I'm pretty sure he just agreed with me to shut me the hell up. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's the entire reason why the boy hates the book with a passion. He thinks it's evil.

Which brings me back to today. And the fact that since I have one ankle swollen to about three times its normal size, I actually DO have one cankle and one pretty slender ankle by comparison. And so I'm all, "SEE?! This is what a REAL cankle would look like."

And in response I get a weary, "You're right, Emily."

Darn tootin' I am. Motion to add "cankles" to The List - DENIED.

The Calm After the Storm

Yesterday was insane. Mostly good insane, but in the aftermath of insane, it all feels the same - exhausting.

My parents were in town for the Broad Ripple Art Fair and, you know, to pick up their favorite grandchild. While we did get rained on at the art fair, I think everyone had a good time checking out the different items for sale. My father walked away with some very interesting art, and my mom walked away with some pretty suncatchers. After that and some lunch, we met up again to go duckpin bowling and play some board games. An undercurrent to that busy-ness was that my mother seemed to have her own agenda to learn everything about her cell phone that she could - including the art of text messaging. I know my friend Jill is going through some training of her own, and I wonder if we compared notes who would be more frustrated. The one trying to get a three year old potty trained, or the one trying to get a sixty-four year old woman to understand text messaging. Saturday was a very full day.

But Sunday was what killed me.

I usually keep Sundays plan-free. I love Sundays for this very reason. Sleep in + no schedule = paradise. But this Sunday I had two very old and dear friends in town. So we planned to have brunch at eleven. And then I had to meet my parents back at my place to hand over Blue....somewhere around one. THEN I was responsible for arranging a meeting between this sweet girl and some prospective adoptive parents. That was supposed to be at one, but I bumped it to two. (I was late anyway.) Still, that was a whole lot of arranging in about three hours of my day. I didn't want to rush my friends (who I don't see terribly often,) but nor did I want to delay the meeting between this dog and the interested potential-owners. Throw in finding a time to get my parents in there, and MAN was I stressed.

Luckily I knew the people who were thinking about adopting the dog. They offered me a beer as they were getting to know her. DONE! The boy was with me and commented that he could literally see the tension leaving my body. The meeting was successful, and "Izzie" found herself a new home. That was a good way to end the weekend.*

And when I got home that night, I had a text message from my mother that read, "Home ok thx 4 gr8 time lol mom n dad" I assure you, she did NOT learn that from me. When I called her back and asked, "Mom, who taught you to text like that?" her response was, "I read the comics."

I can't make this stuff up, folks.

*My boss wants to know when I'm going to start selling for him the way I "sell" for his wife (who runs the pit bull rescue.) I told him he needs to find better products.

Environmentally Friendly Fail

The whole "ride your bike to work" thing went swimmingly for my boss and I. Until we realized that we were hungry for lunch and no one really wanted to go out to get food. In fact, when talking to one vendor who asked if my boss had ridden his bike (meaning motorcycle) to work given the beautiful weather, he responded, "No, it's dumbass ride your bike to work day, so I rode my bike-bike."

That pretty much sums up how we were both feeling. Apparently we both prefer being environmentally friendly in theory vs. in practice. It was about this point that the boss (who lives closer) decided that he would ride home at lunch, get his car, and thus be able to run errands after work. A brilliant idea that I only wish I could take credit for. Instead I just copied him.

And so I now have my car. To run errands. And I can't decide whether or not I cheated. Because technically I DID ride my bike to and from work today. I just, you know, drove my car too.

It's good for me

So, Friday is Indianapolis Ride Your Bike To Work Day. It occurred to me on Monday that my excuse of class after work had expired, and I needed to get back on my bike. Of course, by Wednesday when the sky was overcast and threatened to open up at any time, I remembered why I vastly prefer driving my car.

Still, since I'm at the tail end of a tank of gas, now seems as good a time as any to renew my adventure from last year. And when I saw a flyer for Ride Your Bike to Work Day, I mentioned it to my boss. Actually, "badgered him until he agreed that it was a good thing to do" would be more accurate. (We are not super environmentally friendly here, and I always do my best to make little changes. My boss is not at all excited about this one.)

And then, of course, I promptly forgot about it. Until today. When my boss said, "I sure hope the weather holds for us to ride our bikes tomorrow."

Hmmm??

Oh yes. Riding my bike to work. Right...right. I totally didn't forget about that. I am all over it.

"I expect you here at 8:00am sharp, Emily."

Damn.

Her Baby

In the big Blue dropoff of 2009, I got to see my parents interact with Blue for the first time since they've "owned" him for longer than a week. I mean, I've been getting random phone calls that go something like, "I'm worried - it's raining and Blue is afraid of the rain. How will he go to the bathroom?!" or "His nails are so long? How do I cut them? Do I just use nail cutters?" or (my favorite) "This dog FARTS! You didn't tell me that he would FART!!" So I knew that the adjustment was going well and Blue was well on his way to being spoiled. I just didn't get a chance to see it firsthand.

When I came home to find my parents waiting for me and Blue's crate was sitting on my porch ready to be moved in, I wasn't surprised. It makes sense to bring his crate for the week he would be here. What surprised me was the twenty-five pounds of dog food, dog treats, blankets and leash that also accompanied him. Um, they DO know that I already have one dog, right? And thus all the tools to be able to take care of two dogs? In fact, it wasn't very long ago that I used to HAVE two dogs.

Well, they wanted to bring "his" things. Hmmmm. Casey's things are apparently not acceptable. Hmmmmm.....

And then (AND THEN!) we were moving everything in, and my mother says to me, "Watch this." I obediently watch. She then proceeds to say, "Blue! Sit!"

Blue, of course, sat.

Following this, a series of high pitched words in BABY TALK (the likes of which I have never heard come out of my mother's mouth ever before in my life (ever!)) erupted from my mom, "Ohyouaresuchagoodboy! Youarestartingtobemydoggie, aren'tyou? Aren't you?? YouareSOGOOD!" All this was done while she was squeezing his head in a sort of hug that Blue didn't even TRY to wiggle away from.

I couldn't have been more surprised if she had taken out a gun and shot him. Seriously. More disgusted, maybe....horrified....but not more surprised. I mean, what just happened??

By the time my vision cleared and I was certain that I was not going to faint, it was too late to delicately ask if Blue was still considered my dad's dog.

As the evening progressed, I heard stories of how Blue is starting to bark at strangers who come to the house (a sign that he's accepting the house as "his" house) and how he puts his "big heavy" head on my mom's lap. Which she used to complain about. Until she realized that the farts are in dad's direction. Then we came to the subject of clipping his nails.

As I explained to my mom, Blue's nails are clear, so clipping them is fairly simple. You can easily see where the quick begins (where you don't want to cut because he will bleed) and just need to cut off the tips. She first cringed at the possibility of making Blue bleed, but I did my best to get her to see how easy it was to avoid. The problems began when she realized that getting his nails trimmed wasn't his favorite thing to do (he doesn't fight it, exactly....more just moves his paws out of my reach) So she made me stop. No putting Blue under any stress. If Blue doesn't like it, apparently Blue doesn't have to go through it. (Which means I'll be trimming his nails in secret apparently.)

I was seriously floored by these revelations. I mean, Blue's a great dog, don't get me wrong. He's loving and easy, and relaxed and endearing.... I just didn't realize that my lifelong "cat person" mother would be so easily taken in.

On Mother's Day, I called my mother to sing and let her know that I was thinking about her. She told me what they had planned for the day, and then asked "How's my baby?"

"Oh, I'm fine mom. I've got a whole Sunday stetching out before me with no plans..."

"No, no. I meant Blue."

"Erm, of course you did. He's fine."

"Is he? Because earlier I heard him barking at Casey. Is she stealing his bone again?"

"We're fine mom. We're all going to walk to Broadripple later today to visit the boy at work. It should be fun."

"Good. Give him a kiss for me."

"Um, okay. I love you too!"

I have this sneaking suspicion that my brother has been bumped from the position of "favorite child.*" I just can't believe I didn't see this coming. Not one little iota. I mean, there was baby talk. BABY TALK! I don't think my mother even uses baby talk on BABIES!!

*Which he SHOULD since he had to call his big sister to get his mother's cell phone number in order to call for Mother's Day. How did I get second place again?!

Of Cheetahs and Bulldogs

So the parents have come and the parents have gone. My refrigerator has more alcohol in it than it's had in a long long time...and my dishes were mysteriously washed while I was volunteering at the Animal Hospital on Saturday morning. Overall, I'm pretty sure my parents left wondering how on earth I live in such a tiny space, but I think the visit was without any emotional or psychological scarring, and really, that's all a girl asks for.

After my parents had arrived and were decompressing from the drive, we were making small chit-chat as we waited for dinner to cook and my mother's eye fell on a book on the coffee table.

(If you remember, a long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I posted about a book that I had purchased for the boy and I. I highly recommend the book to anyone in a relationship. I mean, you have to have a solid relationship, because there may be some answers that will truly test your patience (and your sense of humor.) But overall the book was a success. I loved it. It's been relegated to a box in my bedroom for over a year now, but in the deep clean that preceeds a parental visit, the book was dislodged from its usual spot in my bedroom and brought out to the living room so that I could re-live all the hilarity that the boy and I went through when filling it out. I just, um, forgot to put it away before the parents arrived.)

My mom asked about the book, and after I explained it to her, it became a topic of conversation. See, the whole object of the book is that it asks questions, both parties have to answer them, and it's supposed to open up more conversations. The questions range from serious (When did you know you were in love with your partner) to silly (What animal most reminds you of your partner?) I chose the silly to discuss with my parents. (No, I did not let my mother actually SEE the book. Are you crazy?)

When it came to confessing which animal most reminds us of each other, I went first. The answer came easily - a cheetah. The boy reminds me of a cheetah. He's lean, he's fast, he's agile....and he always lands on his feet.* I think cheetahs are like poetry in motion when they're running, and I see the same in the boy when he's playing soccer, playing with the dogs, etc. Done. Cheetah. The boy chewed that over for a while (I don't think it's what he expected) but he seemed satisfied with my response. (Image courtesy of National Geographic, btw)

When it was the boy's turn, he answered with no hesitation whatsoever, "Bulldog."

Blink.

Blink blink.

The boy, seeing my astonishment hurried to explain. "You know! It's because you're tenacious. And stubborn. And strong. And strong willed. And, you know....you're short. Compact."

Now, I don't know what springs to YOUR mind when you hear the word bulldog, but in my mind, a bulldog looks like this image that I found at kandinginfo. Um, notsocute. I mean, I think they're cute, but in that 'they're so ugly they're cute' sort of way. In fact, I think of slobber, and underbites, and snorting, and no agility whatsoever. Dear God, I'm a bulldog?! THAT'S how the boy sees me? A BULLDOG?! This is...what? I mean....what?!

As those thoughts ran through my head, the boy asked me what I was thinking. "Um, I dunno. Isn't there anything with all those characteristics that is a bit, um...cuter?"

At this point in the story, my father was laughing out loud. I told him that eventually I just accepted that this is how the boy is and chose to see this comparison as a good thing. I mean, I am tenacious. I am stubborn. I am compact. I really can't fault the boy for his opinion. It's not completely devoid of reality, you know.

After his laughter died down, my mother turned to my father. "So what animal would you compare to me?"

Whoops. Sorry dad. Didn't see that one coming.

An awkward silence decended while I tried desperately to think of something to say to change the subject. Unfortunately, all I could think of was "What animal would I compare my mother to?" None of the answers that occurred to me seemed appropriate.

"A monkey." My father said finally.

My mother seemed appeased. "Why?"

"Well, because you were born during the year of the monkey."

My mother's appeasement vanished. "That doesn't count!"

Another awkward silence. I could see my father getting frustrated. "Fine. Well, you're stubborn like your daughter. And you yell a lot. I don't know, a jackass?"**

And all of a sudden, the boy's answer didn't seem quite so bad.

*And for StaceyJ, I'll point out that cheetahs also sleep something like 18 hours per day. Though I did not realize this at the time and did NOT point it out to the boy.

**Don't worry, it was said in frustration/jest. My father took back that response later and promised to think about it. I'm sort of hoping he goes with "badger" next time, though I think "monkey" wasn't too far off the mark. He should have gone with his gut instinct.

Missing you (since you've been gone)

The boy is off on a two day backpacking/hiking trip with a mutual friend (whom I shall dub 'Curly.') A mutual friend who (as his wife pointed out) shares a surprising number of traits with the boy. As such, I'm sure they're currently reveling in their unshowered, damp, two day hiking had-to-carry-all-supplies-on-their-back manliness. And as much as I miss the boy, I am not at all disappointed that I didn't go wasn't invited.

Not one little bit.

See, when the boy and I met, I was 100% honest with him. Every word I said to him in that first conversation has stood the test of time.* One of the things that I mentioned was that I "love to do things outdoors, but I'm not so much a camper." To which the boy responded, "Really? I love to camp."

Then I went and did this madness. All of a sudden, the boy figured that perhaps the door to camping had been opened a crack.

It hasn't. Truly.

When the boy and I started hanging out with Curly and his wife (who is a super cool awesome person, btw) the boys began discussing the possibility of a camping trip for the four of us. Uh oh. The more we hung out, the more the idea appealed to them. My response was, "Sure! If you guys plan the trip, I am SO THERE!" Since Curly's wife is no more looking forward to the camping than I am (and immediately grasped the implications of having the boys plan the trip) she agreed.

Did I mention that Curly and the boy are very similar? Nothing has been planned. It's been a couple of years now. I felt pretty safe.

Then Curly had to go and propose a two day hiking extravaganza. And, much to my surprise, it actually happened.**

In the days leading up to this hiking trip, the boy was very very excited. As he gathered up everything he would need (and didn't already have,) he made a list.

Food
Sleeping bag
Emily's Camera
Water Filter
Poop Shovel

I'm sorry, what?

Yeah - apparently a poop shovel was needed. You know, so that a hole can be dug to poop in, and the poop can then be buried.

I'm sorry, what?

The boy was about to explain to me again, when I interrupted to tell him that I completely understood, and that there was no way I was ever (EVER) going to do that. I mean, I know that I've backpacked. And I've camped. And that I was traumatized by having to poop in a glorified hole in the ground while doing so.*** But I didn't actually have to dig the hole!

The boy showed a rare flash of emotion and got a bit upset. "Well, you know this means that we can never go on a backpacking trip together!"

"FINE BY ME!"

After all, I think that if you got a girl who previously thought "roughing it" was Motel 6 to agree to camping, it falls under "compromise." Trying to get her to agree to dig a hole in the ground and then defecate into it....well, that's just madness.

*Which is more than I can say for some people. Ahem. "I'm a morning person" indeed.

**And Curly and the boy are, like, friends now. Like, friends independent of the four of us. Which is weird. Because previously, Curly's wife and I were friends independent of the group, but the boys just came to dinner when they were told. And now they're all hanging out and camping and... DEAR GOD I'M GOING TO HAVE TO CAMP! Which I've actually made my peace with.**** Until the boy told me about the new tent he had purchased. The tent that is big enough for him, myself, and "our dogs." (cue the ominous music) I'm sorry, what? Not only do I have to camp, I have to camp with my nemesis? When did I sign on for this??

***Because sometimes people turn thirty. And sometimes when they turn thirty, they do crazy, insane, out of their mind things that they would never normally do. And sometimes those things are incredibly poorly thought out, but turn into once-in-a-lifetime breathtaking adventures. But they were still insanity. This should never, ever, be forgotten.

****Beer. There will be lots of beer. Enough beer so that the gigantic bugs disappear and are definitely not within a one mile radius of me.

Customer Retention

I went on a quick grocery shopping excursion the week before last because I could no longer scrounge up any sort of meal from the items left in my kitchen. (Parmesan Cheese, pepperoni, soy sauce, and something that used to be chicken.) I had just gotten out of class, and was making a quick run before heading home to take care of Casey...because, um, dog food was something else I needed, and if I didn't buy some, there was going to be no "taking care of Casey" just a "starving and angry dog."

I was in a really good mood after having received my latest physics test score (which was a 97% in case I didn't already tell you!!!) but otherwise, the only things on my mind were getting what I needed and getting home. When I got to the checkout counter, I began putting my items on the conveyor belt and was immediately amused by how the items screamed out "lives alone!" Tuna helper, tuna fish, wine, skinny cows, dog food. Hmmm...if that doesn't scream single woman, I'm not sure what does.

So I was smiling to myself as I lifted the 25lb bag of dog food onto the conveyor belt and when I glanced at the cashier, I was somewhat startled to make immediate eye contact.

< Tangent > I always try to make eye contact with people when I'm speaking with them, whether they be the Starbucks barista, the pizza delivery guy or the checkout guy at Safeway. My rule is at least a good second of eye contact and a smile. It's actually pretty difficult to catch and maintain eye contact with strangers. You should try it sometime. It's like we've become a society of no eye contact. I miss it. I think it makes you feel more connected to whoever you're talking to and these days, who doesn't want to feel connected? < /Tangent >

He was a young man, probably in his late teens, but in my eyes he looked approximately twelve years old. He had really pretty eyes, and as he watched me heave the dog food onto the conveyor, they widened slightly.

"Wow. You're really strong."

I got embarrassed and looked down. "Yeah, well, I've had a lot of practice." When I glanced up again, he was still looking straight at me, and at that moment I could see him decide to say something. I braced myself for some comment about the "great night" he could see that I had planned based on my purchases.

"You look like J-Lo. Has anyone ever told you that before?"

My immediate thoughts went something like this: Do not laugh. DO NOT LAUGH. That was a COMPLIMENT. Nevermind that it has no basis in reality. It probably took a lot of courage for him to say that. Don't you even smirk! Just say something non-committal and move on. Do NOT LAUGH AT THIS LITTLE BOY!

I bit the inside of my cheek for what felt like five seconds, swallowed back my laughter and said, "Well, thank you. I don't think I've ever heard that before."

"Well you do. You know who she is, don't you?"

"Oh, I know who she is."

As he handed me my receipt he said, "Can I have your autograph?"

For a brief moment I was tempted to sign 'Jennifer Lopez' but refrained at the last second. I silently returned the receipt, took my bags and with one last smile, I headed out to my car.

Where I dissolved into tears of laughter.

I immediately called my father, "Hey dad, do you want to hear something hilarious?" and proceeded to tell him what had just happened. He laughed, and mentioned that between that compliment and my test grade, it had turned out to be a pretty good evening for me.

"It really has. But dad, do you want to know the best part? From where the boy was standing behind the checkout counter, he couldn't see my butt! He wasn't saying I look like J-Lo because of my behind. He actually thought I looked like Jennifer Lopez!"

And then I laughed again. Because I was flattered. Truly. But in reality? No freaking way kid. Thanks for making an old lady's night.

The Parents are Coming! The Parents are Coming!

"There's been a change of plans."

I don't know about you, but each time my mom tells me that, I get a sinking sensation in my stomach. This time was no different.

"Instead of having you come and get Blue, we'll just bring him to you, and then crash at your place that night on our way to [latest vacation locale.]"

Well, crap.

I realize that my parents mean well. They're thinking that they are retired, and that it's easier for them to bring me Blue to dogsit (as I offered) when they go on vacation instead of having me come and get him. They're saving me a six hour round-trip drive. I appreciate that kindness and consideration. It's the last part of the sentence that makes me break out in hives - specificially the "crash at your place that night" part.

My place is tiny. Like, I have seating for six people in my living room if people are willing to squeeze. Like, it's about ten Emily steps from my front door to my kitchen. Like the door to my backyard through my kitchen hits the stove when you open it. I picture my dad (who is not a small man) being supremely uncomfortable.

And now my parents are coming. More specifically, my mother is coming.

And all of a sudden the clothes that I have folded, but never bothered to put away and are currently stacked on every available space in my bedroom* scream at me for the messiness that needs to be straightened. All the school books scattered in my living room must be gathered and shelved. The recliner that I haven't seen in months that is currently holding clothes that have no home? Need to clear it. The bags of items that are currently waiting to be taken to Goodwill? Need to be taken. Bedspread? Needs to be washed. The list is endless. After all "mom clean" is a completely different thing than "acceptable for Emily" clean.

And here's the thing. My place really isn't messy. It's just not deep-clean-I'm-comfortable-with-my-mother-seeing-it clean.

And then there are the sleeping arrangements. Luckily, I have a queen sized bed (that's too big for my bedroom, but that I wasn't willing to part with) that I can give to my parents while I relocate to the couch for a night. Unluckily, I only have air conditioning in my living room. Did I mention that my parents were coming in May? Like, in the spring when it's getting warm? Oh, and did I mention that last summer I used to shower at night and go to sleep with wet hair to help with keeping cool at night? Even with the open window with fan? (Which reminds me, I need new pillows...)

Oh, and did I mention that being really warm at night is a trait that I genetically inherited from my father?

So I called my father and voiced my concerns. "No problem at all," he said, "I'll just sleep on your couch in the living room."

Have I mentioned that my father is not a small man?

And that is how the boy came to find out that part of his Saturday this weekend will be spent hanging a ceiling fan in my bedroom.

Part of me is thrilled that I get to spend this unexpected time with my parents. That we can go on a walk, that I can show them where I eat, where I hang out....that they can see a glimpse of my daily life and know that I'm doing just fine.

But the other part of me? REALLY wishes that I had a self-cleaning house.**

*special thanks to Candy for not judging me on the messiness of my bedroom. or was it punkinmama? I can't remember. Either way, I wasn't judged and I love you for it.

**At least they're coming after finals.

Woman's Work

Once upon a time, I moved from an apartment to a house. Since I was still a renter, I was surprised that the job of caring for the lawn fell on my shoulders. Still, I do love me the novelty of new things to do....so I set about procuring a mower and trying to figure out how often I would actually have to mow.

First, a mower. I had a few restraints when I was thinking about getting a mower. A) it had to cost little to no money. B)
it had to cost little to no money. C) it had to be something that I could actually use. Luckily zlionsfan had an old mower that he had since graduated from (to a real "big boy" mower with a motor.*) It looks something like this. I was enchanted with the idea that it was green (not the color) that it was small, easy for me to maneuver and, of course, that it was free. I had visions of putting on my iPod and mowing my (not very big) yard on the weekends. This yard maintenance thing is a breeze!

Then my dad mentioned that he had an edger for me. I'm embarrassed to say that I had no idea what an edger was. Wait, you mean I have to do something other than mow my yard? Originally my dad had a gas powered edger for me, but upon careful consideration, decided to trade my little brother the gas powered edger for the electric edger for me. Why? Well, because the electric edger is lighter. I was insulted. What? You don't think I have the arm strength needed to edge my postage-sized yard? Seriously?

After my first go-round with the electric edger, and the subsequent day of not being able to raise my arms to shoulder level, I bowed to my father's incredible foresight. I then settled into an easy routine of mowing about once every ten days, and edging maybe once per month. My neighbors, mostly men, thought I was insane. I was routinely offered "help" with my lawn (at a cost, of course) and I routinely turned them down. I think that in this neighborhood, a woman doing her own yardwork is a bit, um, odd.

This year the weather has been a bit sporadic. There were beautiful days separated by random days of rain. Each weekend, I would tell myself that I was going to mow on Sunday, and it would inevitably rain. Then, last Wednesday, I stepped out of the house to face a yard that pretty much looked like this. Fabulous. I decided to mow during a weekend that was already packed to the gills. Until I spoke to my neighbor who mentioned that he had the holy grail of lawn care products - a self propelled mower. He would mow this weekend. YAY!! Not only would I be spared the comments of men in my neighborhood, I wouldn't have to force my little mower through the amazon jungle that was my lawn.

When I got home Monday evening after class and still had to bushwack my way to the front door, I was forced to admit that perhaps my neighbor suffered from the same "later" disease that sometimes afflicts the boy. Since my nagging would have no effect on a virtual stranger, I sucked it up and pulled out my little mower. After one length down the yard, I was already cursing my neighbor** and his phantom power mower, and had already decided that I was going to marry the next man who spoke to me - simply to have someone else to handle this first mow of the season.

Then came the beginning of the comments, and I took back that line of thinking. All comments came from men walking on the street or driving by and pulling over to offer advice. Apparently gender plays a big role in the household duties in this neighborhood and apparently women don't mow the lawn. All the comments had the same theme, "Hey baby! You shouldn't be doing that! Don't you have a man to do that for you?" or "Why don't you let me take care of that for you?" Right. Yes, I have a man to do this for me. Unfortunately he's busy right now inside making dinner and doing my laundry. But hey! Thanks for asking! After about ten comments, I had my fill of sexism and decided to let Casey out in the front yard with me. The bonus of having a well trained dog is that she says within eyesight and doesn't need to be leashed. Miraculously, the comments ceased. Apparently woman with lawnmower = woman to be harrassed. Woman with lawnmower and pit bull = woman to be ignored. Sweet.

After battling with my jungle for about an hour, I had gotten to the point where I could push my mower easily over the lawn for the second time to catch any thick patches of grass that had gotten away the first time. I was no longer getting stuck on various leaves and sticks, and thus the cursing and evil thoughts had ceased. But twilight was setting in, my arms were shaking, and I still had the small portion of my lawn near the street to get through. At this point I couldn't remember why I so enjoyed the "green" aspect of this mower and I was considering my options for next year. A) get married before the first mow of the year so that I don't have to do it, B) suck it up and buy a power mower, C) move back into an apartment, or D) not wait quite so long to pay someone to do the first mow of 2010. Luckily, a very kind neighbor with a power mower had been watching me battle with my jungle and decided to offer his power mower services. Yes, please. He finished up the portion that I had not yet begun to attempt. It was at this point that I learned a valuable lesson. Insinuate that Emily can't do or shouldn't be doing something, and she will rebel and get angry. Engage her in a discussion about her "green" mower, and then offer to assist with your power mower and she will fall down at your feet in gratitude.

I will say that I got sort of proud and fluffy when I stepped outside into the rain today and my lawn was no longer threatening to take over the house. Look what I can do!! Girls rock! I would throw up my arms in celebration if I could move them at all. As it is, the edging will have to wait until the weekend at least. We'll see.

*I get all sorts of his hand-me-downs. I'm thinking about registering myself as a not-for-profit under the name zGoodwill.

**Who smokes, btw. And who I see out on his front porch step all. the. time. But did he show his face once during the 90 minutes that I was mowing? Of course not. I know you can hear me in there!! Get out here and let me make you feel bad while I struggle through the grass and you sit there and watch me!

I never rarely sunburn

This weekend was beautiful. I'm so sorry it's over. It was absolutely gorgeous, and sunshine-y, with a breeze and blue sky and clouds.... As a result, I spent quite a bit of time outdoors. And as a result, my arms are currently the color of the red bricks that make up my house.

See, when the boy burns (which he often does, and did this past weekend as well even though I told him multiple times to put on sunscreen...) he turns this alarming fire engine red. It really does scare me. We're talking a red that glows in the dark. He then inevitably blisters and peels. And he tells me it's painful. It certainly LOOKS painful.

My burn is not like that. Oh, it still hurts, but it's more of a brick red that will eventually settle into brown. I've only peeled once, and it was after the red had settled into this great dark tan color that I was sad to see wasn't actually tan, but burnt skin instead. After that I started using more sunscreen and less tanning accelerator. It was also then that I began using the word "rarely" instead of "never" when discussing my sunburns. I was 21. See? An old dog CAN learn new tricks! And I actually did use sunscreen on Sunday. Unfortunately, I got burned on Saturday.

Why was I outside so much? Well, on Saturday I took a bike ride with my good friend Candy. We only road about seven miles. Not like last time. But still, there were hills, there was Emily with her dog, I think it was a fun time for everyone.* Dmoore, I promise that if you want to come next time, I will leave Casey at home.

On Sunday, I walked with my friend punkinmama in the March of Dimes walk for babies. In early April, the blogosphere was saddened by the death of Madeline Alice Spohr. I had never read her mom's blog before, but punkinmama is a longtime reader, so she was especially moved by the news. She got super motivated and ended up raising over $700 for the cause! It was awesome and I am so proud of her. There's not much that gets me so motivated, so watching punkinmama was a real inspiration and I was really glad to see all of her hard work go towards such a good cause. (Still, I'm not gonna lie. I was a bit of a fish out of water at this event. Hmmm...) We even met other cool bloggers who were rallying for Maddie. The walk was five miles and began at 10:00am. Incredibly, we finished by 11:20. Look at us go!! The weather was beautiful, I got to see punkinmama's little munchkin at the end, and I totally judged a woman who was walking an incredibly fluffy standard poodle with a rhinestone tiara. It was a good day. The only trauma came when punkinmama made me wear beads.**

After those five miles, I headed over to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for the HSI Mutt Strutt. (Note to fundraising organizers - if we can schedule these for separate weekends so that Emily has time to rest, that would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!!) Casey and I made our way around the very same track that is home to the Greatest Spectacle in Racing!!! She wasn't very impressed. I think she only did it for the compliments (look at her eyes!!) and the doggie treats supplied by Three Dog Bakery. (She recommends the peanut butter variety.) Casey was an angel in the madness that was what felt like thousands of dogs and their owners walking at once.***

After that Casey and I pretty much crashed on the couch. I woke up when I rolled over and something was hurting my shoulder. I realized quickly that it was the sunburn pressing against the couch that was hurting my shoulder. Marvelous. Luckily today is just as sunny as the weekend was, so I'm not tempted at all to skip class and spend more time outside. (<-- Sarcasm.) Now if you'll excuse me, there's a bottle of aloe that has my name on it.

*Yes, this means that Casey ran with us for about seven miles. Ran. For seven miles. I'm now 100% convinced that that dog would run to the ends of the earth for me. She didn't seem any worse for wear on Sunday, and seemed a bit miffed that I didn't want to take her to the March of Dimes walk with me. I then explained that there would be quite a few children there, and she went willingly into her crate.****

**My choices were, beads for parents, beads for future parents, beads for parents who had premature babies, beads for parents who have children who suffer from birth defects, and beads for parents who have lost a child prematurely. Guess which ones I had to wear? Yes, punkinmama made sure I was "walking for my future baby."

***I would just like to issue a public service announcement here. If you never walk your dog, if your dog's idea of exercise is being let into the backyard to use the bathroom, perhaps (PERHAPS) you should not think it is a good idea to take your dog on a 2.5 mile walk in temperatures above 80 degrees farenheit. Just a suggestion. Otherwise, you might end up carrying your dog for a good portion of the walk. And if your dog isn't getting regular exercise, I'm going to venture a guess that it's not the lightest dog on the planet.

****I don't actually talk to my dog, you know.

Friday Conversation

"Do you remember that blogger that I talk about all the time?"

"Which one?"

"The one who took the picture of the dog that's not mine but is still my desktop picture at work?"

"Right. She's the one who wrote that post about Chuck that you made me read because you laughed so hard that Coke came out of your nose."

"Correct. That one. She wrote a book."

"Is that what you're reading?"

"Ummmm Hmmmm. Check it out. Look at the first page."

"It's blank."

"Keep flipping."

"To Emily, Much Love, Heather B. Armstrong... No shit? That's awesome! Where did you get this?"

"From the most awesome cousin in the whole wide world."

"Wow. That really is awesome. What a perfect gift. This is the sort of thing that I would do if I was a good boyfriend, right?"

"...."

"Maybe I should call her for lessons."

"Um, I don't think even SHE is that patient..."

(All facetiousness aside, thanks a lot, cuz. I'm nowhere near done, but so far the boy and I have gotten endless laughs out of certain passages, and she's convinced me 110% that I don't need to ever be pregnant. Ever.)

Tricky Tricky

So, I've had Casey since she was six weeks old and looked like this. She was originally "just a foster" but come on. I don't know any dog lover that can raise and potty train a six week old (six pound!) puppy and then give it up to someone else. And so Casey became my "firstborn." I had just gotten involved in pit bull rescue at that point, and since Casey was my first dog, I read voraciously on what to expect, what I should do, how I could train her. I knew that some pit bulls are just dog aggressive. That it just kicks in at a certain age and there was nothing I could do. But I also read that the more I exposed Casey to different people and scenarios, the better she would be at handling new situations when she got older.

So that's what I did. Every time I was walking Casey and I came across another dog owner, I would ask, "Friendly?" If the answer was yes, I would say, "Can they meet?" Casey met big dogs, little dogs, loud dogs, quiet dogs. She met women and men of all ages. She was around bicycles on the Monon, she was around cats (Laney), I fed her out of different bowls in different places. We went on car rides to all sorts of different parks and she's been going to doggie daycare since she was six months old.

But through all of that, I never realized one area that Casey didn't get any experience at all - children.

Looking back, it's not surprising. I didn't have any children. Most of my friends didn't have any children (yet.) I lived in an apartment complex that didn't have many families, and those that were in the complex were not usual associates of mine. Casey just....never met any children.

Fast forward to today. Kids scare the bejeezus out of Casey. Seriously. They terrify her. There seems to be an age range of about 5-18 where she wants absolutely nothing to do with kids. I have no idea why, but I don't really want to push it. When I had Blue, he was a good buffer for neighborhood kids who wanted to "pet the doggie." Each time I spoke to a neighborhood child, I would tell them how to "meet" a dog, and have them extend their hand for sniffing. Once they passed the sniff test, they could pet the dog. (Casey doesn't even go for the sniff test. She hides behind me.) Running full out towards my dogs is expressly (expressly) forbidden. Like, I'll get between them and the dogs.

Now that Blue's gone, it's a bit more challenging. Yesterday, for example, I met a nice lady in my neighborhood who also had a pit bull. She had several children in her yard, and once she found out that I volunteer quite a bit with pit bulls, she had several questions about training, behavior, etc. They were all questions that I wanted to answer....but she had a 6 or 7 year old son.

In my experience, the little boys are the most difficult to keep away from Casey. I'm not sure if they're just being "brave" or if they all really believe that they will be the ONE CHILD that my dog will like. I told him several times that my dog was not friendly and he should not pet her. His mom understood and told him the same thing. And yet, every time she and I got into conversation, I would see him inching towards Casey....who was keeping one wary eye on him. Several times he made a sudden movement just to see Casey jump. Each time his mother would call him back with a reprimand. And the cycle would repeat. Eventually I just excused myself from the situation and continued on my walk. I just figured that I would speak to the mother later sans dog.

It's both perplexing and worrisome. I mean, I've spoken to some who believe that dogs pick up on their owners feelings. And it's true, I'm guarded around strangers, and I'm no fan of children....but I love LOVE my friend's children, and that seems to make no difference to Casey. If I touch or hug a stranger that enters my home, it immediately seems to signal to Casey that there is no danger, but no change in my behavior towards children makes a difference.

And so I'm not quite sure how to proceed. There are only a couple of situations where I feel uncomfortable when Casey is around. For example, we'll go to Mutt Strutt next weekend with no reservations....even with children around, I know Casey will be fine with the other dogs and people, the children will just have to pet the other dogs. We won't walk near families with children. Besides, if Casey saw a child she would just avoid them. It's the children who run up to her that scare me. Children who don't listen and run up to her to be specific. When we're on our walks, Casey has been known to veer off course to sniff perfect strangers and then return to me. No problems. Strollers? No problems. But kids? Problem. Lots of kids? Big problem.

So we avoid situations where several children will be present. But I still worry. How much more careful can I be? How many times can I tell children not to come near my dog? I would feel horrible putting a muzzle on my dog, but if kids aren't going to listen, I would much rather do that than deal with a fear-bite situation. I guess yesterday was the first time I reached the end of where I control the situation, and it just worried me. Children who don't listen worry me. And I'm just not sure how much more I can do to make the situation easier both on kids and on my dog. Any suggestions?

Wiped. Out.

Plenty going on in the life of Emily right now. Most of it heavy and emotional, so I'll stick to the lighter fun topics. They're easier to write about.

I went home last weekend for Easter to see that Blue is settling into his new home nicely. I think part of him still misses me, since he LEPT off the couch when he saw me and pretty much didn't leave my side. But he's also got his routine at my parent's house where he watches movies with them and puts his head on my mom's lap. It's the cutest thing. They love him. He loves them. And after seeing the stark contrast between Blue and Casey, my parents have once again determined that Casey is not allowed in their house.*

On the homefront, I can't TELL you how different it is. Both the boy and I have commented that we miss Blue - a LOT. But on the other hand, Casey is suddenly an absolute angel. With no one to compete with, she's back to "remembering" how to behave. Even when zlionsfan came over, Casey didn't jump on him once. (And if you ask him, before the subtraction of Blue the dogs would practically pull him down like a pack of wolves when he entered the door.) It was like an Easter miracle. Other benefits to the one-dog household include being able to put your shoes on the floor without fear that they will be eaten, and not having to worry about gigantic drool spots appearing on your jeans. And have I mentioned that Casey is an angel now? Because she is. Seriously. It's completely unexpected and appreciated.** This whole thing has opened up an entirely new range of emotions for me. One the one hand - so happy that my parents love Blue and that he's got such a good home. On the other hand - I miss my buddy. One the one hand - so proud that I placed this dog in the perfect home and that Casey is so much better as an "only dog." On the other hand - I miss my buddy. It's definitely been a learning experience.

A bright spot in my life is the addition of "new" electronics. Now, since I'm a poor student, I have accepted that new electronics are just a part of my life that I have to do without until I graduate and become a DVM.*** But then I realized that I have this friend who likes to upgrade HIS electronics, and is willing to sell his old electronics at a below-market-Emily-feels-like-she's-ripping-him-off price. (I have other friends who also know the joy of "inheriting" old electronics. Best. Thing. Ever.) I guess I should just be glad that he let me buy this one instead of gifting old electronics as has happened in the past. So, internet, please meet my "new-to-me" laptop. This isn't the best picture, since it doesn't show the pretty pretty blue color that is the top of my laptop, but it'll do. It's pretty pretty pretty and probably hasn't left my sight since I got it. It also has a wireless card (did I say that right?) so I can surf online at school. And, apparently, at home since it picked up a wireless network in my living room that is not password protected. It asked me if I wanted to connect. Um, yes please. I wonder if I should feel guilty about this?

I would also like to note that this laptop has confirmed to me one of the fundamental differences between men and women. My first impression of the laptop was the pretty blue color. The first comment from my brother and my boss was, "The screen is HUGE! How big is that anyway?"

In other news, there was yet another physics test last night that I feel reasonably confident about.***** That was the day after my second chemistry formal report was due, so I'm ready for my glass of wine tonight. I would normally want to pair that wine with some meat and cheese, but I guess that since it's spring, and since I told certain guilt inducing people that I would join in, I should start watching what I eat. (she says grudgingly.) Sigh. It's time for the yearly weight loss struggle to begin. Maybe this year I'll keep it off. (And maybe I'll be elected president of my own country too.)

Finally, I directed my parents to watch the fabulous video that I posted last week. (Have you watched it yet? You should watch it. Seriously. Go. Now. I'll wait....) When in church for Easter (I know, right?) I saw a little girl wearing a fabulous yellow shirt paired with a beautiful sparkly turquoise scarf. I loved the outfit, and when I got a chance, I leaned forward and told her so. My mother watched this exhange, then leaned over to me, pantomimed stamping her hand and said, "Validated." That one comment made my day.

*What they really mean is that I have to be present at all times that Casey is in their house. No more leaving her under their supervision because things have a way of, um, getting broken.

**My father said it's because she thinks I took Blue off and killed him or something. So she behaves because she's afraid the same fate will happen to her if she's not careful. You know what? If that's what it is, I'm still grateful. She's being SO good.

***Note the confidence. It's a new thing I'm trying.****

****It's taking all of my willpower not to delete that sentence and put in something that's a bit more, um, open to other possibilities.

*****The lack of crowing about my previous test indicates that perhaps I did not perform as well as I would have liked. I'm hoping to rectify that with this exam.

Validation

I was introduced to this video through a sort of "study group" that I'm in. We are discussing the message in this video. I love it. Love it love it love it. It's about 17 minutes long, so make sure you have time to watch the entire thing. It is so worth it.

Feeling Blue

I headed to my parent's house this weekend, and I'll head back again next weekend for Easter. They live about three hours away, so while it's not a horrible drive, it seems that the week following a visit "home" is always difficult to get started.

One of the secondary storylines from this weekend was sort of unspoken and involved Blue. To be honest, I haven't pushed the subject of Blue living with my parents for a while. I just sort of let it lie and let my parents dad think it over. But Blue was the obvious choice for companionship when heading down for the weekend. (Casey and the boy had their own bonding experience this weekend during which one of them ate all the food in my place. I'll let you guess which one.)

The subject of Blue was the elephant in the room all weekend. But it wasn't a bad thing at all. I told myself I would be okay either way, so I just kept my eyes open to see if there were any clues to what would happen.

Saturday morning, I convinced my mother to go on a walk with Blue and I in the morning. When we got back, my father had left a note saying that he had gone to the grocery store for milk. He got back about thirty minutes later with milk...

...and two five-pound bags of dog biscuits, a bag of cow ears, and a rawhide chew.

Hmmm. My mother said, "Are you sure you don't want to keep the dog?" No answer from my father.

After that I made myself scarce as much as possible to let my dad and Blue hang out. Still... nothing. My father asked questions* about Blue, but remained non-committal.

Finally, as I was packing up my car to depart on Sunday, I was about to pile a couple of items on top of Blue's crate and casually said, "This is your last chance! I'm packing up the crate and then Blue and I head out."

To my complete surprise, my father responded, "I'll be honest with you. I really thought that I was going to say, 'yes. leave the dog.' But my mind keeps telling me no. We just travel so much. I don't want to board the dog."

"Dad, you and mom travel maybe 6 weeks out of the year. That's 46 weeks with no travel and a great dog. You can either have someone come and watch him while you travel, or I'll bring him to Indy with me for a visit. Lord knows I wouldn't mind seeing him every once in a while."

"Okay. Let's get the crate out and see if I can get him into the crate."

That was the moment that I knew I had won.

Blue was hesitant to listen to my dad at first, but he seemed to understand that my dad was the alpha, even above me. (It didn't hurt that my dad is the only one who gives him scraps from the table) He went right into his crate for a biscuit. I went over his feeding schedule (1.5 cups morning and night) his issues (watch the chewing) and behavior with the cats. At this point, my dad wanted to see how he would do with the cats. So after a hilarious introduction of Blue to their deaf cat, Dorian, my dad seemed appeased. Blue was staying. At least for the week.

I'll admit. I got teary. But my dad kissed me goodbye, and said "Come on Blue." Blue hesitated (Mom has KEYS! We're GOING SOMEWHERE!!) but then followed my dad obediently onto the screened in porch to keep my dad company while they watched squirrels and birds. So I left without Blue having to watch me leave him. I don't know that I would have been able to stand that.

I think he'll be okay, though. More than okay. I think he might get fat, and that he'll chase lots of squirrels. I think he and my dad will hang out on the porch all day long, and that he'll make my mom feel better when she's sad. He'll be happy. And, while I'll miss him, I'll still get to see him.**

I'm still treating it as a week long trial period. But my parents are already talking through the logistics of how I'm going to pick him up when they go on a week long vacation from May 9 - 16th. So I'm thinking that the "trial" is just a farce. Blue has found his new home.

*The most notable of these conversations went like this:
Dad: He poops in the house, doesn't he? I don't want to clean up poop.
Em: Of course he doesn't poop in the house. He's completely housetrained.
Dad: So then why does your mother collect newspapers for you to take to Indianapolis? Don't you use those in your house?
Em: Dad, I take those to the veterinarian I volunteer for. They use them to line the dog kennels for dogs that are being boarded.
Dad: Oh
Em: What sort of filth do you think I live in, anyway?
Dad: (...)

**This makes five pit bulls that I have placed with four different families that I know. All five are with people who didn't know anything about pits (or had a negative impression of them) before I adopted Casey. This is in addition to another puppy, and a kitten who have also found homes through me. Anyone else looking for a dog? :-)

Enamored

The boy hates (HATES) it when I take these pictures of us. You know the ones. When it's just the two of you, and one person (me) holds the camera at arm's length to snap a close up photo. He hates them. I argue (to no avail) that it's the only way to get a picture of the two of us. (You know, since the dogs haven't mastered that whole "using the camera" thing.) Unfortunately, a byproduct of his hatred is that he can't let me take these pictures without making some sort of horrendous face. Seriously. He ruins every one.

So the other night, I had just beaten him in MarioKart. Seeing as how this happens never, I was giddy and wanted a picture. He protested, but I was prepared. What I did was put it on the "sports" setting so that it snapped several pictures in a row with just one push of the button. The result is that I got the one where he made a face, and then a subsequent few where he didn't know the camera was still taking pictures.

I love this one, so I thought I would share. I don't know why I love it. It's not a particularly good picture of either one of us me. But for some reason, it makes me happy every time I see it.

Have a great weekend!