I'm beginning to believe . . .

that spring is really coming. My favorite time of year is starting to tease us.

The temperature almost hit 50 yesterday and again today and that means that a lot of snow has melted. Not enough, but a lot. You can see grass again, at least on the south sides of buildings.

My sisters were here this weekend and we were out and about quite a bit yesterday, after spending a rainy Friday night inside by a fire that challenged all of my and Greg's keep-the-fire-going skills. Today, with the time change, the morning and early afternoon went very quickly before they headed home.

Allie then asked if she could play outside and I went out with her because Julia didn't want to. And by shoveling until my wrists ached, I reclaimed my side of the driveway. Yes, the driveway that was so narrow because of our blizzard weekend is back to it's normal width. There's something very satisfying about chopping and clearing ice on the driveway. I even took a stab at the huge banks leading up to our mailbox, trying to clear things out better for our mail carrier, but I didn't get very far.

Meanwhile, Allie had a blast playing in the gutter with the girls across the street. Yep, my child in the gutter, playing with the melting water and snow. I don't know exactly what they were up to, but it involved making stews for fairies with snowmelt, leaves, and grass.

The neighbor girls were just wearing sweatshirts, while Allie had on her snowpants and coat and mittens. Her mittens were soon soaked and they haven't begun to dry out yet. The house warmed up because of the sun outside so the furnace hasn't run for several hours. At night, we have an electronic thermostat which turns down automatically, so again the furnace doesn't run. I hope her mittens are dried by morning.

We had a very nice weekend and I hope it's a smooth week for us, and for you too.

Not so interesting confab

(My sisters are here for the weekend. Tell me what to write, Pam)

Talk about Simon catching dust in the sun. Giggle, giggle. Look at him, he's cute.

(How about talking about what it's like to be a guest in our home?)

I'm never a guest in your house. I haven't been here since July.

(You're a bad auntie.)

Oh, yeah, bad auntie. What am I doing today? Stop that, shut it off.

(She's going to spend money on shopping for my kids, FYI.)

We woke up this morning to a thunk and we think it was Rabies falling off the landing upstairs onto the front hall floor.

(Just like Simon a couple of weeks ago. My kittens aren't too smart.)

This is a really nice computer. Is that the newest thing, flat keys and that?

(It's because it's a laptop.)

Look at my bruise, Greg. It's getting better.

(Greg: How did you do that?)

Fell in the parking lot at work.

(Deb: she fell getting into her car, on a little very slippery patch of ice. The bruise is about four inches across. I guess I should get you some breakfast, Pam.)

Dentists are the pits

Well, today I finished the last of five appointments involving my left upper back molar. Yep, five fun-filled visits. I'm not sure it was worth it. It'll be worth the $2200 I spent, right?

I went for my regular checkup in November and found out I had a cavity, my first in a long, long time. I had a filling, which was a complete failure. I had immediate swelling and pain and redness of my face, to the point that I needed an antibiotic. I had to get an emergency root canal, which was more fun than I think I can describe here.

I needed a crown. I went for an emergency appointment with a new dentist (having given up on the old one because I wasn't sure he didn't cause this to some extent). This dentist found there was still decay in the tooth and he drilled away for literally two hours. I went to another appointment where I had to have four impressions taken. The third one was so bad that I gagged and almost threw up.

Today I went to have my permanent crown put on and the dentist discovered he needed to laser away some of my gum or the crown wouldn't fit correctly. Oh, yes. That felt really good, let me tell you, especially since I wasn't frozen up completely.

Gee, I only have 3 1/2 months to wait until I go back for my next regular checkup. Yup, really looking forward to that one.

Sleepytime?

For many years, I've been able to wake up at almost the exact time I wanted to. Since I've had kids, my actual bedside alarm clock has been set to 5:30 (on weekdays). Almost without fail, I wake up on weekdays at 5:28 or 5:29. On the weekends, my internal clock knows it's not a weekday and I can sleep in until one of the kids wakes me.

My clock even works for naps. I took quite a few naps when I was pregnant (both times), and as long I looked at the bedside clock before I closed my eyes, I could wake up in almost exactly one hour (or whatever).

Completely bizarre stuff.

Unfortunately----I have way too much work crap on my mind these days. So for the last few mornings, my body clock has decided that I need to wake up at 4:00 a.m., just so I have plenty of time to lie awake and think of all the overdue stuff I was supposed to do days ago.

Have you ever tried to turn your brain off in this situation? It's impossible. You resolve to just think about breathing.

In, out. In, out. In, out. Did you do that report for the president? Oh, shit. You didn't do it. You are so screwed. Surely they realize how overburdened you are. Of course they do. Oh, crap. No, I'm not going to think about that. In, out. In, out. So screwed, yes you are. And what about that survey that the CEO asked you to complete and get in. You didn't do it, did you. What are you going to say when he asks you about it. Are you just going to lie? You are so screwed. You need to go to sleep. You're going to be so tired tomorrow and you have to get some things actually completed. First thing, you'll do the president's report. Then you'll do the CEOs survey. Before you do anything else. In, out. Oh, shit. You need to remember about the testing. You should have called on that last week and now there's no way that vendor's going to be able to make it in with two days notice. You are so screwed. You need to go to sleep. You're not going to think about any more of this crap. In, out. In, out. In, out.

Oh, look. It's 5:00. You might as well get up. You brought your work computer home for the 400th night, so you can get a start on some stuff right away.

Sigh.

Why did the squirrel cross the road?

I traveled to one of my company's other locations today and saw the strangest thing. I was late, so I was speeding rather dramatically. The speed limit was 55 mph, but I was going at least 65, if not more. I saw a squirrel on the left side of the highway and immediately thought, Boy, I hope he's not going to try to cross in front of me, cause I ain't stopping.

Then I saw another squirrel on the right side of the road. Then another, and another and another and another and another. In the space of a hundred yards, there were nine squirrels on the sides of the road (I counted).

Granted, there's a lot of snow on the ground and the shoulder of the road is clear, but what the heck is up with that?

And Dan, no cracks about the superiority of British squirrels, please!

Spoiling pets

Back in 1989, I got my first cat and immediately started spoiling him. I bought a special videotape just for him called "Video Catnip." Someone had an idea to make a million bucks and videotaped a bunch of birds and squirrels in their backyard for cats to watch. It sounds stupid, but hey, I bought one.

Fast forward 18 years and this week, we pulled out the old videotape and made two new cats very happy. Rabies, especially, is completely fascinated by these birds chirping and jumping around and eating, but he especially likes the squirrels. We're going to have a cool time this summer when we have real squirrels running around the backyard.

The tape comes with a warning that cats may become very excited and so you are to be sure that your TV doesn't have any exposed wiring in back. They also tell you to remove all breakables from near the set, in case your cat completely goes crazy.

You know, I don't knock your hobby!

Bad cat

Last night, I was going to go upstairs to bed. Greg was already upstairs and the girls were long asleep. Greg had brought me a glass of water earlier which I'd only half drunk, so I picked it up as I started walking to the kitchen. I noticed that the glass Greg had been drinking out of was on the other end table, so I picked that up. I walked into the kitchen carrying the glasses without turning on the light, since the light from the living room suffices.

Imagine my surprise when the sweep of my eyes over the counter was met by a pair of eyes. Rabies was sitting with his paws tucked under him on the kitchen counter (next to the knife block if you know our kitchen). He'd obviously been there for some time and as I looked at him he cocked his head to look up at the vent above the stove, which makes noise when it's windy, as it was last night.

Unlike some people (my sister Pam!), we do not allow our cats on the counter and we never have. I picked him up and put him on the floor, upon which he took off running. When I told Greg about it upstairs, he asked why I didn't kick Rabies's butt.

This morning, I was standing at the kitchen peninsula, reading the paper and eating toast, as I do almost every morning. I finished and turned around to head upstairs. And there was Rabies, in the exact same spot doing the exact same thing.

He's a really quiet jumper, because he wasn't there when I got to the kitchen (he was downstairs eating his breakfast, which I'd just given him). This time, he got spanked. Bad kitty!

It's snowing again, by the way.

The devil is in the details

Greg and I are planning a trip later this year, and his parents are planning on joining us. We're excited about the whole idea, except now---it's just the details----

When Greg and I went to England and France two years ago, we only took carry-ons for 10 days of travel. It wasn't easy to pack for that, but we did so much walking, travel on public transportation, and generally, doing without a car that it really, really paid off.

We naturally want to have the same ease of movement this time, but Greg's mom is not thrilled about our restriction on luggage. We're going to have a car this time, but there's still three flights involved plus some public transportation and we're certainly well aware that most rental cars in Europe are quite small. I read some notes one woman wrote about a trip to England where she said that she and her three travel-mates spent every minute in their rental car with extra bags on their laps because things physically could not fit in the trunk (or boot).

We're also having some discussion about the month of travel. I want to go earlier. Airfare, hotels, and the rental car will be cheaper and so will meals (and probably some entertainment). Plus it's a certainty that things will be less crowded. Some others want to go later, because it'll be warmer.

Last night, we checked a temperature chart and the difference is 8 degrees between the two months we're discussing. For 8 degrees and possibly as much as $1000, I can wear a coat. Especially since when Greg and I were in Paris, they had a 90-degree day in May. You just never know what you're going to get.

Things will work out, I'm sure. Everyone will realize that they should fall into line with my ideas and we'll proceed with the planning peacefully. Until we actually leave, and then everyone will acquiesce to my decisions and we'll have a wonderful time.

I can't wait!

Ongoing events

It's snowing again. That's all I'm going to say about that.

Julia has a fever today. She was a little hot last night and this morning, I felt her forehead and knew I wasn't going in to work this morning. Greg suggested taking her to daycare and seeing how things went, but I said uh uh.

Because I work in town, I get the first call when either one of our girls is sick, either at school or daycare. Unless it truly is something that comes on suddenly, I hate that feeling of being a bad parent for trying to keep to my normal schedule.

Within a couple of hours, she was up to 102.6. She seems to have a little sniffles thing coming on, so hopefully that's all this turns out to be.

In the meantime, Allie is getting ready to do a parade around the hallways in school for Chinese New Year. All of the first graders get to participate in carrying a giant dragon around the building this Friday.

It's also "National Read Cat the Hat Day" on Friday, so she's supposed to wear her goofiest hat while her principal reads the story over the loudspeaker. Hundreds of schools nationwide are participating at the same time, 2:36 p.m.

I guess I could try that over the P.A. at work----

Don't I have another topic?

Yesterday, Allie joined an exclusive club at school. In gym class, she spent 10 seconds doing a tripod balance, so she got to join the "Upside Down Club."

What's a tripod, you might ask? It's when you stand on your head and balance your knees on your elbows, which are at a 90-degree angle. I don't think I can describe it any better than that. Maybe we'll try to get a photo at some point.

Speaking of photos, Greg is adding photos from our winter adventure this weekend. Now you'll be able to see what I've been complaining endlessly about. Click here to take a look.

It's never going to end

Since I last posted, I have shoveled twice more.

This morning, I shoveled the driveway of about an inch of snow so the passage of our cars wouldn't leave tire tracks that'll last until April. And this evening, I shoveled the sidewalks again, which were incredibly slippery by the way.

It snowed for about another three hours this afternoon, which is completely disgusting.

At work, we had so much snow drift off the flat roof that all the entry doors on the west side of the building were completely buried. The drifts started at about 10 feet up and extended at least 12 feet or so from the building. Some lucky souls had the fun of digging out narrow little pathways so all the rest of us could get inside to work.

There were a number of semi trailers parked at receiving docks next to the building. Because they were closer to the roof, these trailers actually looked like they got more snow on their roofs than the entry doors got. The roofs on the trailers are damaged from the weight of the snow.

We have a large parking lot full of product and I understand that the entire day was a series of pieces of equipment getting stuck in various places and having to pull each other out. My company owns a front loader, but we only have one and we have five plants in this city alone. We couldn't possibly get everything done that needed to be cleaned up.

Did I mention that we're supposed to get another storm starting Wednesday night that may bring us another 6 inches of snow? I think I'm going to cry.

Aching, aching muscles

Well, it snowed some more. A lot more. About 9 inches more and it got warm, so the snow got very wet and heavy. At 8:45 this morning, the city plows came to our cul de sac and completely filled the end of the driveway. Without exaggeration, the pile was about three feet high and five feet wide. It was chunky and heavier than hell and the banks on either side of the driveway had gotten so high that you had to take a shovelful and throw it up and up.

Into this environment came me and Greg, already sore from yesterday's shoveling. And we shoveled some more, me for another hour and Greg for longer than that. We got so warm that my glasses kept fogging up on my face, even though it was only about 30 degrees out.

It sucked. It really, really sucked. When we came in and sat down, we were hot and sweaty. After we sat for awhile, we tried to get up and began to really feel the pain. By the way, Greg did get the snowblower fixed and he successfully used it for about four paths up and down the driveway this moring before the transmission left us for good. So we had to shovel.

Later in the afternoon, Allie wanted to go out and play in it, so we went out together. Did I mention it kept snowing after that? Yep, we got about another 1/2 inch by afternoon, so I shoveled that. And it's snowing now--we're supposed to get another 2 inches or so tonight.

I took pictures of Allie on top of the snowbank by the mailbox. She's way over the height of the mailbox. I told her I was sure that these were the biggest she'd ever seen snowbanks in her life. They're the biggest that I remember in a long time.

They can start melting any time now!

I'm whipped

It's 11:45 a.m. and I've been ready for a nap since about 9:45. We got socked with snow last night. Majorly socked--at least six or seven inches in the driveway and I swear more than that on the sidewalk, where the plows must have thrown enough from the street, over the grass strip, to make it about eight inches deep.

And our snowblower has been broken since the first winter storm in November. The other snowstorms we've had have all been light, fluffy snow, the kind of snow that you could sweep instead of shovel, if it weren't more than a couple of inches deep.

This was wet, heavy snow that you had to pick up in shovelfuls. Hundreds and hundreds of tiny little shovelfuls. Hundreds and hundreds of back breaking, arms hurting, stopping because you're gasping for breath shovelfuls.

And it's not over. It's going to start again late this afternoon and it's going to snow, and snow, and snow. Then snow some more, until we're supposed to get up to maybe 11 inches more.

I really don't think either Greg or I have it in us to shovel 11 inches more.

Greg is going to try fix the snowblower again in a little while. We're planning to buy a new one this spring but we have to get to spring first. I really, really hope he's successful.

Please pray for us.

What are you worth?

I'm working on getting someone promoted right now, trying to get my company to pay her what she's worth.

Do you think you're paid what you're worth? I don't want to know how much you actually make, just if you think that you're worth more or if your pay is about right. I don't know that anyone would say that they're overpaid.

As for me, I think I'm paid about the right amount. I work really hard, so I don't think I'd like it if I figured out how many hours I actually put in. Also, my boss has this philosophy I don't particularly care for, that managers shouldn't submit requests for reimbursement of mileage. That philosophy costs me at least $50 every week, which does add up.

But, I make a lot more money than I did when I started with this company, so I'm OK for right now.

How about you?

Still adjusting

You know, I didn't say cats were smart. Though I do think there are cats that are smarter than some dogs.

We have a two-story entryway, with some windows high up, stairs on one side, and the railing up above where the upstairs hallway starts. Simon decided awhile ago that he liked to walk up the stairs on the wrong side of the railing, by clinging to the carpeting edge. I tried not to have this give me a heart attack.

Last night, Simon was laying (lying, whatever!) in the hallway upstairs, with his head, shoulders, and front paws through the railing and hanging into thin air. I think he was looking down below at his brother.

It was the girls's bedtime and I went into Julia's room to tuck her in while Allie looked over the railing to see what Simon was looking at. The next thing we all heard was a loud thud, and Allie screaming that Simon fell.

Yep, the inevitable happened. We think he twisted around, tried to adjust himself with his non-existent claws, and slipped. Either that, or Allie pushed him. I prefer to believe the former.

Regardless, he fell a good 10 feet and landed on his side (not his feet) on the hard vinyl-covered floor. He missed the front hall carpet, which I suppose would have been softer by a miniscule amount, by about two feet. He immediately ran into the dining room.

Much knashing of teeth followed, as we debated whether he was hurt and if he needed to be checked out by our vet. He's acting OK, so we just watched him carefully. Today, we know he must be sore. We still had a little painkiller left from the declawing last week, so we gave him some of that this morning.

Rabies used up one of his nine lives with us when he hid for 8 1/2 hours on his first day here, giving us fits. Simon has now used up one of his nine lives. It's a good thing they're still kittens--but they're making me feel older by the day.

Ridiculous

I am doing three full-time jobs right now at work, plus part of a fourth. It's stupid. It's absolutely retarded.

I'm doing my own director job, pretty half-assed, actually. I'm doing a manager job while I try to hire a replacement (I'm interviewing my second candidate tomorrow). I'm doing one big task of an entry-level job because I can't fill the position yet (because we don't need someone to do all of the tasks right now). And for the next week, I'm doing an administrator job while someone is unexpectedly gone.

I seriously need to take some action and I know it. I need to get someone else to do the one big task (maybe I'll work on training someone for that tomorrow). I need to finish interviewing for the manager job--I'm working on that one. And in a week, the administrator will be back, I pray.

Then can I have my life back, please!

Oh my aching neck, I'm anticipating

We did it. This morning, our whole family went out to breakfast and then to the hardware store. And we bought paint. Then we came home and emptied the dining room, taped the molding, and painted the entire room is just a little over two hours.

Another room in my house isn't white any more! It's a brownish tan color that we've decided we really like. In the daytime, the big window in the room makes the color look not too dark, and at night it's kind of intimate. I'm pretty happy, despite the fact that my neck is likely going to quite sore tomorrow because I painted all of the edge around the ceiling and I am not a tall person.

The kittens are doing quite well, despite Simon's tendency to want to stick his nose into the gallon of paint today. We gave them some medication this morning, but they've been jumping and playing a little, so I think they're recovering well.

Allie was our official helper today, taking off and replacing the plates on the light switch and electrical outlets, among other assistance. Daddy warned her that getting a screwdriver into an outlet would result in her death, but she did just fine. Julia mostly stayed out of the way, though she did manage to get paint from somewhere onto her knee.

All in all, a little more productive Saturday for the Lee family than usual.

Raining cats and dogs

I am not a dog person. My family never owned a dog when I was a kid, so I've never gotten the hang of it. I'm used to standoffish cats, who are really showing they love and trust you when they come over and sit on your lap. I'm slightly contemptuous about the fact that dogs will basically slobber affection on just about anyone who has a dog biscuit.

Greg loves cats, but he has very fond memories of a black lab his family had when he was a kid, as well as other earlier dogs. I don't know if we'll ever get a dog, but if we do it'll definitely be Greg's dog.

In the meantime, we have our two new kitties, who returned to us today after a night away at the vet. Yesterday was their mutilation (declawing). They seem to be doing very well, but they're on drugs, so what can you expect. The vet gave us enough pain medication to last three days or so, if we stick to the recommended dosage. This is also assuming that Greg doesn't decide to try some of it. You think I'm kidding, but Greg has eaten various kinds of pet food, so I wouldn't be at all surprised.

A few years ago, the next door neighbors that we really liked moved away to the country and we got new neighbors. These neighbors have two medium size dogs who are outside in the backyard quite frequently since the neighbors don't ever walk them. They have an invisible fence, so the dogs never trespass into our yard, which is good since they probably have quite a bit of poop saved up for those visits to their backyard.

The new neighbors moved in during winter, so we didn't really get to know them or their dogs until several months later (we do live in Wisconsin, you know). I still remember that first warm spring night when we were able to sleep with the windows open to the night air. Greg and I were sound asleep at maybe 5:00 or 5:30 a.m. on that Saturday morning when we were very rudely awakened from sound sleep by loud barking that sounded like it was in our bedroom.

Makes ya jump, you know. Yes, it turns out that the dogs were taking their morning constitutionals around their backyard and our bedroom is closest to that yard. The dogs look across our yard to the busy street beyond and whenever someone walks by with their dog, which happens every, oh, six minutes or so, the neighbor dogs bark. Loudly. Early in the morning until late at night.

In fact, they barked just a moment ago, which prompted me to include them in this post. I like to sleep. Some morning, when Greg isn't around to stop me, I might just take his gopher-killing BB rifle and have myself a little hunt out the window of our bedroom on those noisy critters. I'll bet if I only pumped the gun two or four times, the BB wouldn't even break the dogs' skin. Just scare the crap out of them and make them think twice before they barked again. Hmmmm.

Paint me

I am a coward. Yes, it's true, I'm afraid of color, at least on walls.

Greg and I have lived in our house for 8 years now. It was new when we moved in, so every room was white. We haven't made much progress in changing that.

We painted Allie's room yellow before she was born and it's still yellow, though I'm sure she'd love it if we agreed to paint it pink (ugh). We painted Julia's room a fern green before she was born. She'd probably like purple now (double ugh). And after I mentioned to Greg that I thought a photo in a magazine was cool, he surprised me by painting our downstairs half bath a beautiful bright blue color.

That's it. All the other rooms in the house are still white. Oh, we've talked about painting the dining room a darkish tan color. We really need to paint the kitchen and the front entryway (which is open to the stairs up and the upstairs hallway) and which continues through to the living room and downstairs hallway. Both the bathroom that the girls use and our bathroom also really need to be painted.

After the disaster of what my workplace used to look like, I'm afraid of even choosing a color. Plus I'm lazy. I don't mind painting at all when I'm doing it, in fact I helped quite a bit with the painting at work, but somehow Greg and I never get around to changing anything at home.

Do any of you have a paintbrush that'll travel?

Thrice a bridesmaid . . . no wait, four times

I stood up in three weddings before I was married and one afterwards. The first wedding was my sister Pam's, and I think we should have known things weren't going to work out 12 years later based on the dresses we wore. We wore pastel purple dresses with trains and ruffles on the back of the skirt. We also wore hats, little round yamukah-type things on the top of our heads that had little bits of fishnet attached. Yes, it was the 80s.

The second wedding I stood up in was my friend Leanne's. She and Brian are still together 20 years later, despite the mint green tea-length lace-covered bridesmaid dresses we wore. I guess that the ugliness (by today's eyes) of the dresses isn't really an indicator of the couple's future. I'm not really eager to dig out any photos of that wedding, however.

The third wedding I stood up in was my friend Donna's. Until my own wedding, that was the most fun I'd ever had at a wedding. We bridesmaids wore lace-covered deep purple dresses that had short hems in the front tapering to longer hems in the back. Yes, it was transitioning to the 90s. I think the bouquets we carried had black flowers, which again should have been an omen of the marriage's eventual success.

Then I got married. I'm still in love with my wedding dress, but this was towards the end of the 90s, so things had tamed down a little fashion-wise.

Lastly, in 2003, I stood up in my sister Claudette's wedding. We wore deep blue long dresses, pretty similar to the outstanding bridesmaids dresses I chose for my attendants.

I still have all of the dresses and I anticipate that one day, my girls will wear them to play, like I did my mom's bridesmaids dresses long, long ago. Do you have any wedding fashion memories to share?

Ten years and counting

More than 10 years ago, I went shopping for some things for my trousseau. Greg and I were about to get married and I wanted some new clothes for our honeymoon. Since we were headed to San Francisco, my shopping included a couple of sweaters.

In one of Greg's favorite pictures from that trip, I'm wearing a red wool cardigan sweater. I still have it. It's my wear-around-the-house-almost-the-entire-winter sweater. If you're family and you've been to my house in the last seven or so years, you've seen it.

Why wouldn't you have seen it for the first three years of our marriage? Because I probably mostly wore it to work. Why don't I wear it to work any more? Because it has an absolutely huge hole in one elbow.

The hole in the elbow drives Greg nuts. Tonight again, he asked it he could patch it or try to sew it together or something (that whole Renaissance man thing going on again--see my birthday message from last September 13). I told him no, because either would change the way the sweater feels.

Because it's wool, I never wear it without another shirt beneath, so it's not like I get a draft on my elbow or something. It has wonderful memories attached to it. So yes, I can afford a new sweater to wear around the house in the winter. Am I going to get a new one? Nope.

It's Saturday, and we got hooked on a new show

Most Americans are probably somewhat familiar with a show called Most Extreme Elimination on Spike TV. It was imported from Japan. The original name of the Japanese show was Takeshi's Castle, I believe, and it features ordinary Japanese people humiliating themselves, often while wearing bizarre costumes, as they attempted to complete an difficult obstacle course of stunts. That show was funny, if sometimes painful to watch. People really cracked their faces, legs, and other body parts sometimes, before they fell into pools of nasty-looking muddy water.

At some point, someone must have decided that it might be interesting to have the same basic premise but let genuine athletes give an obstacle course a try. Thus the show we saw this morning, which was called Ninja Warrior. It's Japanese name was Sasuke. This was a great show!

One hundred people of various backgrounds attempted to complete Stage One without falling into the same type of muddy pools of water. The Stage One obstacles included a series of slanted blocks that you had to bounce between, a large log bouncing down a slanted channel that you had to grasp with arms and legs and roll along with, a turning screw like thing that you had to run across, an obstacle where you had to use a rope to jump out over water and then swing back to land underneath the first platform, a vertical trampoline used to body-bounce from one ramp to another, a cargo net obstacle hanging over a pool of water that you had to be careful not to touch, a semi-circle ramp that you had to run up and climb over, and a rope swing to a large wall that had to be overcome. At the top, if you made it, you hit a button. The contestants had 100 seconds.

In the first episode that we watched, seven men made it through the first stage, including a firefighter, a medical worker, a gas station attendant (wearing his uniform, if you can believe that), and an army officer. Those men went on to other stages, most of which involved obstacles requiring extensive hanging from their hands.

It was heartbreaking to see these guys, who do all the competition over a one or two day period, fall in the water because their arms can't take anymore. The announcers would go on about how the lactic acid must really be building up in their muscles by now and then the men would fall. In another episode, 16 men made it through the first stage. Eight made it through the second set of different obstacles, and all eight failed in the third stage.

There has only been one man in the history of the show who made it through the fourth stage (that's in 15 years--or maybe 15 cycles, it wasn't clear). He won 2 million yen, or about $17,000. And a hell of a lot of bragging rights. I think we watched the show for at least two hours.

It must be Saturday.

Salty or sweet

I love popcorn, and potato chips, and Doritos, Fritos, and Tostitos.

I love chocolate and gumdrops (Dots, cherry coins) and Sweet-tarts.

Why is it that sometimes when I'm looking for a snack, only something sweet will do, and at other times, only something crunchy. I understand that for me it's more common to look for something salty and women for something sweet. Does that hold true for you?

Responsibilities

Tonight when I got home, Allie greeted me at the door with this sentence. "Mom! We have 8 things to do tonight!" She started reciting them as she stood in the doorway from the garage to the house, ignoring the fact that it's still only 10 degrees out and Julia was waiting behind her to hug me hello too.

Tonight, we were supposed to eat dinner, get Allie's homework done, finish decorating her Valentine's Day card box for school, do her valentines for all of her classmates, give her and her sister a bath, read her library books, study the words for her spelling test tomorrow, and count out 100 pennies for the math she's going to do that's associated with the 100th day of school.

We got six done. I guess she's going to have to rely on the same method her parents used in college for the spelling test--cramming!

Allie's birth story

I'm shamelessly stealing this blog idea from other websites today, but since Allie just had a birthday last week, it's timely. Warning: Long

When I was pregnant with Allie, Y2K was still a real fear. I hoped that I wouldn't go into labor early, because everyone was saying that hospitals would be full of equipment that wouldn't work as of January 1, 2000. That date came and went because I wasn't actually due until early February (the 12th, I think? I can't believe that I can't remember). The last four weeks of my pregnancy, I had some pretty severe leg swelling. My legs were huge, red and tight and they hurt all the time, no matter if I had them up or down or sideways or if I soaked them or anything. My doctor had no advice at all. I asked if I could take Tylenol and they said they'd never heard of anyone with legs that looked like mine being helped by Tylenol, but if I wanted to try it, go ahead. It didn't help at all. Nice to know your doctor knows what they're talking about, right. Huh.

Because my legs were so bad, my doctor said when I got to 38 weeks, we could schedule an induction. Greg and I were fine with that, and the day that made sense was Super Bowl Sunday. My doctor was on call, so I'd get her to deliver my baby instead of one of her partners. We were supposed to call about 5:30 a.m. on Sunday, January 30 to see if they had a birthing suite available and if so, we were supposed to head into town. The drive takes about 25 minutes.

I was awake early and so was Greg. Knowing your going to become a family that day will do that to you. It was snowing pretty heavily (and it snowed all day), so when we found out a birthing suite was open, we started out driving pretty cautiously into Madison. We had done this drive lots of times before, for the Confident Homecoming series of childbirth/childcare classes we'd taken at the hospital. Despite that, Greg was so nervous that he missed our exit.

We got to the hospital and walked in from the parking garage. We got a great parking space, right by the door. Greg wanted to get me a wheelchair because of my legs but I said I'd walk. After all, I wasn't in labor. People smiled at us on the way in.

We got checked into our suite and I changed into the infamous hospital gown, which actually had a back. My room was really nice, but I knew I wasn't going to be laboring in the tub or walking in the halls because of my legs, so all I really needed was the bed. After some preliminaries, the nurses started me on Pitocin. It was about 8:00. My doctor stopped by at some point, and eventually the nurses discovered that the Pitocin needle had fallen from the IV attached to my arm when I braced on that arm, so I wasn't getting any medication for probably an hour. That was annoying.

I had some contractions, but nothing that made me catch my breath. Greg and I read the paper, tried to watch the DVDs of "Chef" that he'd brought along, watched other TV, and were pretty bored. Nonetheless, things did progress. I'd been dilated to about 3 cm for two weeks already, so I got to 4-5 cm pretty rapidly. At noon, my doctor returned and asked if I wanted my water broken to speed things up. I said sure! That felt weird, but it did succeed in making things move along and it didn't hurt.

By 2 p.m., I was having some pretty dramatic contractions. I am not a very tough person, so I asked for Numorphin, a drug that was supposed to take the edge off the contractions. Instead, it made me sleepy between contractions and didn't do crap for the contractions. That injection lasted about an hour and when it wore off, I asked for and got an epidural.

I loved that epidural. It was amazing. Greg actually got pretty upset when I was first getting it, because the hospital let a resident anethesiologist try to do it first and they poked, according to Greg, in five different places trying to get the needle placed. I didn't care a whole lot. Needles don't bother me and I was busy trying to breathe through contractions at the time. And when it kicked in--heaven. Being a wimp, I always wonder when I hear stories of moms who give birth without drugs. You know, the prize is the same for them as it was for me at the end, and I got to enjoy the process a whole lot more.

The nurses recommended that I try to get some sleep and I think Greg and I both dozed a little. Things continued to move along and by 6 p.m., they said I could try to push. This is when things started to go bad. Pushing made my blood pressure drop, which meant that after every episode of pushing, I got nauseous and threw up. Pushing also made Allie's heart rate go up, which was a little worrisome. I pushed and threw up, pushed and threw up, pushed and retched helplessly. It was pretty awful. This went on for three hours.

Yep, you read that correctly, three hours. I got desperately thirsty but I wasn't allowed to drink anything because of my retching. Eventually, my doctor checked me and determined that Allie's head was turned a little bit and therefore stuck. She stuck her entire hand inside me, pushed Allie's head back up a little, and rotated it to the correct position. Then they told me to push some more. All righty.

So I pushed some more and retched some more, for about another half hour. Nothing was happening. My doctor came back and said that I hadn't been able to push Allie's head down even as far as it had been before, so it was time to give me some help. She and the resident got out the suction cup thingy, and they both proceeded to spend about half an hour trying to get the suction cup affixed, having me push, and then flying backwards when the cup wouldn't stay on Allie's head. They'd told us before they started that it could be a pretty funny process and it was kind of, but not really, because Allie's heart rate was still elevated enough that they brought in the special care nursery people with an incubator, ready to whisk her away if I actually succeeded in getting her out.

I did not succeed in getting her out, so about 10 p.m., my doctor said they wanted to do a c-section. I had been very calm through the whole process. Greg said later that he completely expected me to scream at him throughout and that just never happened. By the time the c-section was proposed, I was ready to just have this baby, so I calmly said OK, when are we doing this.

Allie was born at 10:27 p.m. on Sunday, January 30, 2000. She was pink and fine, unlike her mother who threw up again on the operating table. I saw her and then I don't remember a whole lot until I was being cooked like a french fry under two heat lamps but still shivering in recovery. And I remember the nurses pushing me to try to nurse, when I still couldn't move my arms or legs. Greg was sitting in a rocking chair next to me, holding Allie. I think he held her for the first hour or more of her life. He said later that no one told him he could put her down.

We got back to my room (the discount floor now, since I was just a recovering c-section surgery patient now instead of a birthing suite mom) by maybe 1 a.m.ish? I remember that they wouldn't let us get any sleep that first night. The nurses continually checked if I was having pain (that was nice), how much I was bleeding, what my vitals were, how the baby was, and on and on. By morning, we were exhausted.

And ecstatic. I couldn't wait for family to arrive to meet our beautiful Alexandra Grace. She's still beautiful, still our Alexandra, but now she's 7. Now you know how it was when you were born. Happy birthday again, sweetie!

I just don't know

OK, here's a question to consider. Would you stay with your spouse if he or she had a sex change operation?

Earlier, I was watching part of one of my favorite shows, "Little People, Big World," which is about a husband and wife who are little people. They have four kids, three of whom are average size (don't say "normal" size) and one of whom is also a dwarf. The word "midget," by the way, is frowned upon.

Tonight, that show was followed by another show about a family who are all dwarves, and then this show came on, which is called, "My Unique Family." I've seen the previews for this show, which highlight a family that is raising their children as Wiccans and another where the family members have hand deformities.

For some reason, they didn't preview this episode, in which a father of two children has decided to change gender. Her wife, Chris, now talks about her partner, who used to be Jeff and is now Jennifer. Jennifer has been taking female hormones for several years and even though it's only 15 minutes into the episode, Jennifer has already shared that soon she's going to have her first genital surgery, to have her testicles removed. She says she'll be able to decrease the amount of hormones she's taking, which seems healthier. Well, I guess that's a good thing, right?

The big question for these two, apparently, is how the former wife is adjusting to being married to someone who has become a woman during their relationship.

I love Gregory, but this is an unbelievably big question. I have no fears that I'm going to have to deal with this situation, of course. But what would you do?

Naughtiness, Lee style

Allie got many new things for her birthday, including a diary that opens with a spoken password. It's not too discriminating. I don't think I'm giving away too much if I say that Allie's magic word is "flower." You can get the book to open, though, by saying "flicker," "flores," "fleur," and a lot of other "f" words. So it's actually open almost all of the time. It has a spoken greeting and farewell, and Allie says "It speaks British!" because the manufacturer obviously thought little girls would think it more magical if the voice didn't speak with a southern drawl or a midwestern nasal tone.

Tonight, Allie was at the kitchen table doing one of her new art projects and Julia grabbed the open diary and started to look at it. Of course, Allie couldn't have that, so she came over, grabbed it away, and closed the book. Julia immediately protested and I told Julia that it was Allie's book, so she had to give it up.

This did not go over well with Julia, of course, and before I could tell Allie that it would be nice if she would share, Julia threw a gift bag at her in a fit of pique. I told Julia to cut it out and she said, "No!" I said, "Julia!" in a warning voice, and told her she needed to say she was sorry. She said, "No!" again and I got in her face and told her she needed to be nice or she was getting a timeout.

She said, "Hmph!" in a completely unrepentent voice and I told her that was it, she was getting a timeout. We do those (pretty infrequently, actually) on the lowest step of our staircase in the front hall. I put her out there, got in her face again, and told her I wanted her to think about how naughty she was being or she was going to go to bed immediately. She said, "Hmph" again and that was it for Greg.

He came out of the living room, grabbed her, and hauled her up to her room. She spent the next 7 or 8 minutes alone in her room, screaming for us. This is not actually a very bad punishment because, firstly, the light was on. Secondly, after we close the door, she obviously can get off the bed. Next, her room is loaded with toys of every description, as well as various comfort items. Usually, she stops crying almost immediately, but I think she realized that Daddy was really mad.

All was forgotten in about 10 minutes and life returned to normal. Dispute over until, oh, 30 minutes from now.

How can it be?

How can the party be over already. It just started!

Allie opened a large pile of presents, Julia opened the two little gifts that Aunties Cat and Pam were kind enough to bring for her, we played homemade Pictionary until no one wanted to play anymore, we ate a great luncheon (it was too much food to call it just lunch), we cleaned up, we played more Pictionary, Julia took a nap, we played Allie's Uno Assault, we did massive hits on the pinata until it finally broke, and they were gone.

Last year, we got a pull-string pinata for Allie's birthday, which was pretty fun. This year, we got what we thought was a traditional pinata, something that would break in maybe ten hits. Uh uh. This thing was a solid, corrugated cardboard tube that Allie couldn't even make a dent in. She took off her blindfold since we didn't want her to give herself a rotator cuff tear from the repetitive motion, but still nothing was happening.

Finally, Greg got the thing softened up and Allie broke it open a little. Unfortunately, by then the contents were seriously shredded. Many of the little plastic toys inside were cracked or broken and a lot of the candy was also in tiny little pieces. So much for that.

And now Allie's birthday is officially over. Only five months and 26 days to wait until Julia's birthday!

Party time!

It's Allie's birthday party this weekend, though it's going to seem a little bit like Thanksgiving. Greg and I have decided that we really need the room in the freezer that's taken up by the turkey my company gave me for Christmas, so tomorrow we're having turkey, mashed potatoes, baked beans, etc.

Greg says it's not the same meal as Thanksgiving because we're not having carrots. I suppose that's a good point, because I haven't been baking any pumpkin pie either.

So Grandma, Grandpa, and Auntie Cat are here and tomorrow is the Dog theme party. We have a dog centerpiece, dog bone confetti, dog plates, dog cups, and a multitude of presents. She is going to be even more spoiled than usual tomorrow.

My dad made the comment that the weather is the exact opposite of Julia's birthday, which is exactly six months from Allie's. Last July, it was 95 degrees out, and this weekend it's supposed to be -5.

Yes, folks, that's a 100 degree difference in temperature. I think I'd rather have the cold weather, personally. You can always bundle up. Yes, I'm rationalizing.

Kitty love and future plans

It's pretty much impossible these days to adopt a cat without getting the "declawing" lecture. That's right, no one wants you to declaw a cat anymore. You get the story of how it's mutilation and major surgery. You're supposed to live with ruined furniture and accidental scratches to your person (some pretty nasty) and holes in your sweaters and clothing. Live with it for, say, 15 years.

Well, you know, we're not planning to do that. Live with ruined furniture, scratches to our unknowing daughters, and holes in clothing, I mean. We're planning on getting the kittens declawed shortly, about the time they turn six months old.

We bought them scratching boxes that they're enjoying, but almost every night, Simon comes and jumps up on our bed to get some love. I don't pet kitties in the middle of the night (why set them up with that expectation, are you nuts?). So Simon crawls under the covers between me and Greg and settles down by my knee. He then proceeds to knead with his front paws, sending needle sharp little claws into me while purring madly.

And then I move my knee away, dig him out from below the covers, and set him or push him onto the floor. I'm nice, too, about doing that--compared to Greg who has been known to throw cats away from him. Won't it be nicer for everyone involved for the cats to be loved more thoroughly?

After the whole mutilation thing is over, I mean.

M*A*S*H

Almost 25 years after it went off the air, I'm still addicted to episodes of M*A*S*H. It was on the air for 11 years and when I was in high school, I watched it every Monday night at 8 p.m. Now it's on TVLand, along with shows like The Andy Griffith Show and Green Acres.

Like lots of other things, this makes me feel old. It doesn't stop me from watching though. I can usually tell you the entire plot of the episode within a couple of minutes after "Suicide is Painless" stops playing. Great show.

Are there any shows you watched as a kid that you'll still drop anything to watch?

Kitty on my lap and kids in their beds

I'm blogging in the living room and I have a kitten (Simon) half on my lap, half on the seat next to me. And the other kitten just jumped up too. Rabies seems fascinated with the movement of my fingers, which isn't a good thing since both cats have all of their claws and I can just see a lightning quick rip of the skin on my fingers in investigation.

So Allie turned 7 today. It's 9:50 p.m. right now and she was born at 10:27 p.m., so 7 years ago at this instant, I was probably being prepped for my c-section. This was after Allie's head got stuck and they figured out after I pushed for three hours that we weren't having a baby the regular way.

I honestly didn't care one whit. I was ready to see whether we had a boy or girl and to count those fingers and toes. Unfortunately, I threw up as the doctor, as Greg says, "was putting your insides back in." They upped my medication and I zoned out completely after Allie was out of my belly.

The next thing I knew was shivering and shuddering and freezing in the recovery room, trying to wake up and unable to move, as the nurses persisted in asking me to try to nurse. It's no wonder it took me about two days to know that I loved her.

It's OK. I've loved her and her sister every day since, and I can't believe it's been 7 years. She's becoming a true big girl. I'm thrilled I have Allie and Julia in my life. Happy Birthday, Alexandra!

One life gone

Rabies was missing for 8 1/2 hours when Greg found him. And now he has 8 lives left instead of 9.

It turns out that while we worried the entire day, Rabies was ensconced under the stairs. Yep, under the stairs, in the section that we would have sworn no one and nothing could have gotten into, unless you turned the stopper and pulled a piece of drywall away.

Greg checked under the stairs hours and hours ago, but he didn't have a flashlight. So now, there Rabies was, sleeping peacefully, the little shit.

The space under the stairs is half blocked off and the other half is where the cats have their litter boxes. Greg partially drywalled the side of the space, so Rabies jumped up about four feet, balanced on top of the drywall, and then jumped down in the space between the drywall and studs, which allowed him access to the area under the stairs.

We were convinced he was a Rabiesicle. We were convinced he was wandering the block, lost and alone. We were composing Lost Kitty notices and thanking god that we had a picture of Rabies. We thought he was dead.

Instead, he's just a kitten. A kitten with 8 lives left.

Missing in action

Well, hmmm.

Things went really well with our new kittens last night. We brought them home, set up food, water, and litter boxes, and let them out of the cat carrier. Simon turned out to be much braver about exploring the basement, but eventually both of them ate, drank, peed, and played. Later, they both came to us and were petted. We left them in the finished basement last night, so they could explore on their own and we could get good sleep.

This morning, Simon was waiting for me on the other side of the basement door. I sat on the futon and both Simon and Rabies came over for some love. I think that was probably the first time I've petted two cats at once, because our two other cats, Pig and Butterscotch, came together in one house later in life and they wouldn't have both been on a couch at the same time, let alone asking to be petted at the same time.

So we decided to let them into the largest part of the house, but still close off the bedrooms upstairs. Simon was once again the brave kitty, and Rabies came up and then rushed back downstairs a few times. Simon explored everywhere, including behind the dryer (don't have to try to get the lint out of there, now!) and settled down in the window, enjoying the sun and getting petted every other minute.

Now, it's been about 3 hours and Simon is stretched out full-length in the middle of the girls on the couch, sound asleep. Rabies, however. Rabies we have not seen for about 2 1/2 hours and we have no idea where he is. I mean, no idea. We've looked everywhere we can think and a few places that seemed impossible for even a five-month-old kitten to get into and we can't find him.

We've heard some indistinct noises from the basement, so I'm convinced he's down there somewhere. And since his brother is now napping, I'm guessing he's sleeping and we won't see him come out again until late afternoon. Greg is going absolutely bonkers. The only time anyone opened a door to outside was when I went out to get the newspaper, so he's convinced I let Rabies out then.

It's about 5 degrees outside, however. Plus, we got fresh snow this morning and there are no pawprints on the doorstep or front porch. He's in the house; we just have absolutely, completely, no idea where the hell he is.

RABIES! WHERE ARE YOU????

Dinner date

Last night, we went out for fish. It was Friday in Wisconsin, after all. Of course, Greg was the only one who actually ate fish. Allie had a hot dog, which she and her appliance struggled with. Julia had mini corn dogs, which she ate and then asked for more. I had chicken.

At the end of the meal, the waitress brought the ubiquitous little leather folder with our check. Julia reached out before Greg could grab it and snagged it. Greg asked her if she wanted to pay the bill and she said, "Yeah! Gimme a dollar!"

Switched, but didn't want to

Damn. I was forced to switch my Blogger account to Google when I signed in today.

For months, I've been ignoring their requests to try the Beta version of Blogger. Then I've ignored the statements about how they're out of Beta and don't I want to change to the new, exciting crap they have available.

No. I do not want to change. I like things the old way, and if any of my stuff is messed up, I'm going to be pissed.

Now I'm all perturbed, and I can't think of something else to write when I'm perturbed. Aren't most people resistant to change? Yes, they are. And I don' t like the new font they have me typing in right now.

Oh, they promised nothing was going to change. They're full of it.

Mildly sweet stories

This morning, Greg was getting ready to leave for work. He'd already kissed Allie and Julia goodbye and was heading towards me, as I was making Allie's lunch, to kiss me goodbye.

Allie went running after him and said, Wait! She grabbed a napkin off the table, wrote quickly with a marker, and held it out to her father. The napkin said, Press, and she'd drawn a giant button in the middle. When Greg pretended to press the button, she threw down the napkin and attacked him with a hug.

*******

Julia and Allie got free mini piggy banks last night when they went to the grocery store with Greg. There's a new bank inside the store that's trying to drum up business. Today, Julia wanted to bring her piggy bank with her to daycare, to show it to her friends. Of course, she wanted to have some additional coins to put in her bank.

I grabbed my wallet and all I had for change was a dime. She took it and put it in her bank, then she asked for something big. I went over to our little change dish and grabbed a quarter for her. She said, Is that big? I told her quarters are as big as coins get (most of the time). She put it in the slot and said, Is dere more big money in dere?

Sure, honey. It's the magical change dish! Quarters without end. Not.

Political overtones

Greg is downstairs watching the State of the Union address and procrastinating about some work he should be doing. I am upstairs, refusing to listen to Bush talk, just on principle. The guy's an idiot and he has stupid ideas, so why would I listen to his propaganda on things he's not going to succeed at doing. The only good thing about all of these politicians announcing recently that they're running for president for '08 (because the election process is way too dragged out) is that it starts the countdown in my mind for when Bush will be gone.

Tomorrow morning, I'll read a little about the speech in the newspaper, preferably the section where they analyze the claims Bush makes and present the facts on each issue. He's usually stretching the truth or pontificating with oodles of wishful thinking.

Greg and I have always taken the girls with us when we exercise our civil rights to vote, since Allie was an infant. Gosh, guess who I'll be voting for in November, 2008. Anyone but George W. Bush!

Transformation

About three years ago, my boss at the time decided that we needed our offices painted. Because I work in Human Resources, most of us have private offices and we could all choose our own colors. When she came up with the idea, I had no idea how terrible things would turn out to be.

My boss chose a creamy tan color for her office, which is really nice because it's pretty bright and neutral and her office is now my office. My office at the time was gray, so I chose a creamy light yellow that unfortunately turned out to be a rather bright yellow. One co-worker chose a weird kind of puke green color, another a seagreen color, and another pink.

My boss told the receptionist at the time that she could choose the colors for the department bathrooms, for our conference room, for the outer hallway, and for the reception area and inner hallway. Our company color is blue, so she chose a pretty dark blue for the conference room and a slightly lighter blue for the men's bathroom. For the women's bathroom, she chose a mauvey purple color, which is really unfortunate because the ceiling light/fan does not have a bright bulb. It's like going into a little cave to pee. For the outer hallway, she chose peach. For the reception area and inner hallway, she chose the same mauvey purple.

The end result should have been obvious even before any paint hit the walls, just from the description I've given. Our office looks god awful. I mean, ugly, weird, and, as one of my former co-workers used to say, a lot like an Easter egg.

We've lived with all of this color for three years, except that when we got some new filing cabinets in the front office area about a year ago, we painted one wall white. I became boss about a year ago and I've been waiting for the building maintenance people to come and paint the rest white too, which they promised to do when they had time. They've never had time.

This week, the era of weird color is partially coming to an end. We're painting the inner hallway rice paper (white), at least two more walls in the reception area the same white, my old yellow office (which now has a male occupant) a tan color, the puke-green office (which is temporarily vacant) the same tan, and the women's bathroom white. If we have time and paint left, we're going to paint at least a couple of walls in the pink office white (that office now has an occupant who says she is not a pink person).

The conference room actually looks pretty good because it's a bigger room. I don't really see the men's bathroom and they haven't complained, so that's staying blue (plus they have a nice bright light, so it's not bad). The seagreen office is vacant and probably will be for awhile, so I'm leaving that. I would love to do the peach outer hallway over in white, but I am supposed to be getting some human resources work done this week, so that probably won't happen.

Today me and my benefits guy spent several hours giving the inner hallway two coats of rice paper. I can't believe what a dramatic difference it makes. I've been working in a freaking cave! It's so bright that we seriously talked about whether we should take a bulb out of one of the fluorescent fixtures that light it. It looks so much better, I'm amazed.

I did give myself two gargantuan slivers when I was taping the molding, so that sucked. Fortunately, our company nurse is right downstairs and he put on his lighted magnifiers, dug around with a scalpel, and got them out. He earned his salary for this week just for helping me, in my opinion.

I also am already feeling aches and pains from my unnatural postures today. Unnatural, by the way, because I normally spend all day sitting on my ass typing at a computer or talking on the phone. Today I was squatting, stretching, and standing on a ladder for several hours, which is coincidentally the same types of activities that our 1100 manufacturing employees do every day.

My workers comp people and the occupational health staff talk about work hardening for newly hired employees all of the time. That's what I got today, some work hardening, and some environmental transformation. Mauvey purple, be damned!

Global warming?

We got six inches of new snow yesterday. And our snowblower is broken (or, at least, Greg has given up trying to get it to start). I don't have the faintest idea myself how to start or use a snowblower, so during one of the short periods yesterday when it wasn't snowing, our family foursome went out and shoveled.

We weren't really out there very long--our driveway isn't much (especially compared to, say, my parents' driveway--but they have a working snowblower). One of our neighbors saw us outside and came across the street to do our sidewalk. That was very sweet--Greg has regularly used our snowblower to do the sidewalks of other neighbors of ours, but I don't think he's ever done Lori's.

It was light, fluffy snow, thankfully. And now, everything is looking very Winter Wonderlandish. It's supposed to warm up a little today, so maybe the snow will get wetter and the girls will be able to pack it and make a snowman. We haven't made any snowmen yet this winter, despite this being our third good snowstorm.

And last night, the snow made everything outside so bright that after we turned out the lights to head to bed, both Greg and I were looking for a full moon or something. No moon, just lots and lots of frozen precipitation. Lots and lots.

Dreams and aspirations

Allie was asking me about growing up. We discussed that she'll be able to drive a car (Mommy will be teaching her that one, I'm sure) and have a job and maybe a family. Julia heard us and asked what we were talking about.

Allie said we were talking about work and how when Julia grew up, she could be a doctor or a dancer or president or an artist.

Julia said, with great excitement, "I want to be a butterfly!"

No, Greg is not dead

I headed upstairs tonight and told Greg, "I'm going to blog, and I'm going to blog about you." He grunted in response. See, ladies out there, we may have been married for 10 years, but our communication skills are still top-notch.

Anyhow, to respond to an inquiry I got earlier tonight, no, Greg's hands are not broken. Yes, it has been since approximately December 27th, 2006, that he last blogged (yes, that is last year, people) but he is also not dead--witness the witty repartee that we engaged in above.

He says he doesn't feel like blogging, so he's been (purposely or not) leaving it to me to fill the gap in news about our family by me blathering on about illness and dental issues and sores and boils (those latter two topics as he would have).

So just as a non-health-related update, I want to report that our new couch was delivered today. It was relatively cheap, but it has a queen sleeper like the old one and we figure we'll try to get it to last for at least five years, until the girls are older and less likely to spill grape or cherry kool-aid on it. Then we'll buy a better quality one.

I put up four flyers at work advertising that our old couch was available for free, and we found out today that we have a taker (which is a good thing, because it's in the dining room and Marcia's going nuts because she can't run the sweeper in there). A sweeper, by the way for those of you not born in Illinois, is a vacuum cleaner. Yes, Marcia, Greg's mom, is staying with us this week, and because of that, our house is cleaner than it's been since we moved in (it was new then, oh lo that eight years ago).

Besides the obvious benefits of having a mother-in-law staying here who likes to clean, she's also been tremendously helpful to us by taking care of Julia, being here for the Moxi repairman (gotta have our TV), and being here for the couch delivery. And tomorrow she's going to be here for the old couch pickup too, so we get our house back to normal by the weekend. Maybe we should kidnap her permanently. Did I mention she cooks too? We love you, Marcia.

And to my parents, who were here last week caring for Julia and Allie, we love you too.

Here's a public thank you to all of you for everything. And we can't forget Greg's father, Dave, who's driving all the way to Wisconsin to retrieve his wife this weekend. Thank you too, Dave.

So look, Greg, I didn't write just about you after all.

American successor

Paula Abdul had better watch her ass.

The latest (sixth, if you're counting) edition of American Idol began last night with a compilation of auditions from Minneapolis and, tonight, from Seattle. And yes, of course, I'm aware that this show is a copy of Pop Idol (is that the right title?), which was a British hit first.

A 16-year-old girl from Madison, which is about 20 minutes from us, was chosen for the next round on the show last night. Our local news channel highlighted her selection after the show concluded, and then managed to talk over every word she sang as they told her story. We missed her actual audition on the original show, so that was annoying.

I'm not a big fan of this show. I tend to catch the introductory shows because they're on sequential nights for hours, then I kind of follow what's going on by reading updates in the newspaper, then maybe I'll catch part of the finale.

Tonight, our family sat down together to watch some of the "unusual" (to say the least) people who auditioned in Seattle. And that's why Paula had better enjoy her gig while it lasts.

Another train wreck of a singer got up and started singing, and Julia took her thumb out of her mouth and said, "He's not a good shinger." You got that one right, little girl.

Oh, the throbbing!

Sorry, just my small attempt at getting some of the google hits that Dan's managing over at All That Comes With It by repeating the names of some birds in a recent post.

I know I've been writing a lot lately about being sick, but this afternoon was kind of memorable. I had to drive to one of our other plants for something and I was only there for a few minutes before I turned around and started back. It was a pretty nice day for a drive--sunny, the roads have pretty much cleared up from the 5 inches of snow we've gotten over the last three days, and Wisconsin Public Radio was discussing something somewhat interesting.

I am going to have to have a root canal, and I'm on the waiting list for the endodontist. They're going to call when they have an opening and I'll have 2 hours to drop everything and get up there, to be relieved of the pain that's had me popping Tylenol at an alarming rate.

As I left town, I noticed that my already-you-know-that-you-can-usually-expect-it late afternoon throb was starting in my jaw, but it wasn't too bad, so I started out. It's a 45-minute trip and within 15 minutes, my jaw really started to hurt. By 30 minutes, I was calculating how many more miles I had to go. There isn't really anywhere to stop on this trip to buy Tylenol and I stupidly didn't have any with me.

I pulled up at the plant I worked at and went straight to the vending machine that dispenses commonly used medications. I popped in my quarter and trudged up the stairs to the bubbler to swallow my relief. You would not have wanted to get in my way as I headed towards those pills. I told Greg when I got home that if he had held those pills from me and required me to murder someone to get them, I'd have asked him who he wanted killed.

My whole face and head felt throbbing and tight and tense and sensitive and hot and hurt. By the time I swallowed those pills, the pain had moved up as far as my eye socket and even that hurt. Bizarre.

20 minutes later, I felt perfectly normal. Let us now all bow down and give thanks for modern pharmaceuticals. The pharmaceutical companies may perpetrate the biggest ripoffs of consumers in modern and ancient history, but god knows, they do give people what they need.

Reinhard Ulrich, RIP

I got a message yesterday from an old college friend (she's not old, but college was kind of a long time ago) about the death of one of my favorite professors. Reinhard Ulrich was 77 and died of cancer. He was a wonderful man, who had a lot to do with my becoming confident that I could actually handle college and subsequently, life.

Well, to tell the truth, when I first sat down in his class, my self-confidence took a beating. Then later I started to believe I could really handle college. You see, I didn't really know anyone who had attended college when I moved to campus. I wondered if I could really handle it and I was convinced that almost everyone was smarter than I was.

Second semester of my freshman year, I was chosen for my college's honors series, based on my first semester's grades. Reinie (as we called him behind his back) led that Freshman Honors class (I wonder if he was brave or if he got stuck with us). The first couple of classes, the class discussed Picasso and Great Books.

When I say the class, I mean most of other people in the room discussed those things and definitely not me, because I'd never heard the phrase Great Book in my life and although of course I knew Picasso was an artist, I couldn't have told you any particular piece of art that he sculpted or painted.

What turned the tide was when we got the syllabus for the class (by the way, I'm sure it's not a surprise that I had no idea what a syllabus was when I started college), I bought the books, and I started reading Plato. Even though I thought the whole allegory of the cave thing was pretty bizarre, I had some semi-intelligent things to say in class and I gained confidence every week. That was mostly due to Reinie, who someone managed to never make you feel like you had said something stupid even when you pretty much did.

I'll always remember him talking about his "beasties," his German accent (it was the first time in my life I'd spent any appreciable time with someone not born in America), and his kindness. He died much too soon, before he could make men and women out of even more raw freshmen. Lakeland won't be the same without his presence.

Depression

My cat just died, one of my best employees unexpectedly gave notice and I have to try to do his work myself (with one other person's help) until I find a replacement, I've only received four resumes for the job this week, I was already behind in my old job duties before this came up, my teeth hurt and I'm afraid I'm going to need a root canal, I'm still taking an antibiotic and I don't like taking medicine, Julia gave me her cold, I haven't been sleeping for crap lately, I fired a guy today who has a wife and two kids at home (he deserved it, but I feel badly for them), the restaurant we went to tonight had a heating vent above our table that blew really hot air from right on top of us every five minutes which dried out my contact lenses until I didn't think I'd ever be able to peel them off my eyes, and our sleeper sofa mechanism broke and we have to buy a new couch.

On the good side, we have banana bread, chocolate ice cream, fudge cookies, and Nestle Tollhouse bar cookies in the house. We never have this many treats around, so I guess things are looking up.

Overhauling

What would you change about your house if you had, say, $150,000. You can't move, you have to remodel your current home. And you have to spend it all on remodeling, you can't use it for anything else.

Greg and I have been in our house for eight years now and we've talked maybe a little more than occasionally about what we'd do to our house if we won the lottery (this fantasy might become a little closer to reality, by the way, if we actually played the lottery more than twice per year). Greg always says that we'd move to a brick house; he has this serious obsession about brick houses, but moving is not in the rules.

First, I'd bump out the entire back of the bottom story. Our living room is kind of small, to the point that we have only ever had it arranged one way, because the couch will only fit on the wall by the big windows.

Next to the living room, I'd bump out the dinette. We have to have a tiny little table (from Ikea, naturally) because that's the only size that will fit. You can get six people around it, as long as they don't mind being cozy and you don't mind that you don't actually have room for any food, just the plates, glasses, and silverware.

Then next to that, I'd bump out the kitchen, not so much because I think we need a bigger kitchen (though Greg has ideas on that front if he cares to contribute), but because on the other side of the kitchen is the doorway to the mud room. If we bumped out the kitchen but kept it the same size, we could make the mud room bigger and I'd actually have room to fold my clean laundry and maybe leave out an ironing board and have a bigger closet for all of the stuff that first comes into the house through the back door that's also in that room.

Then I'd probably go upstairs and bump out our master bathroom. I'm not the whirlpool tub kind of person, which is good because we don't have one, but it would be nice to have a double vanity, at least.

Then I'd bump out our master bedroom a little. We actually have a really nice sized master bedroom, but if it was even larger, we might be able to split off a small study full of bookshelves. Then me or Greg could be on the computer in the corner of our room without having to try to be quiet for the one trying to get to sleep.

And that's it. All of these bumpouts are on the back of the house, so we could just take off the back of the house and do the expansion everywhere at once. As a bonus, even though Allie doesn't need a bigger bedroom, she'd get a little more space too.

OK, that's my $150,000. How about you?

I have enough holes, thank you

For the last three days, our local paper has been running a series on the current popularity of tattoos, piercing, branding, and scarification. That last one, if you didn't know, is the process of purposely cutting your skin with scalpels (or a dull stick I guess, if you're into the pain and infection aspect of it) to leave intentional scars.

For some reason, I started talking about this at work with our receptionist, who is maybe 25 or so. I had noticed, of course, that she has a nose piercing and some holes in her ears, but I found out just how obtuse I am.

She actually has two tattoos, one on the top of her foot and one she just had started three weeks ago, in the middle of her upper back between her shoulder blades. She has a bar piercing that goes all the way across the top of her left ear (so two different holes). She has four piercings at the top of her right ear. And she has the nostril piercing.

The biggest shocker, however, is that she has a tongue piercing that I never noticed, even though she's been working with us for three months. I really need new glasses, my god. She tried to make me feel better by explaining that she's become very expert at laughing and talking with her mouth mostly closed and when she demonstrated, I realized that she's absolutely practiced at hiding her piercing. I swear to god, I never noticed a thing and I see her every single work day.

I talked about the newspaper series with her and that the writer had emphasized how long some piercings take to heal. There's this one place called the tragus that's part of your ear and the newspaper said that it never really heals after piercing, ever. That's when she admitted that she's had three of the four holes in her right ear for 9 or 10 months and they still haven't healed.

Greg and I actually talk about tattoos with Allie all the time, telling her how stupid she would be to get one (the comment section is at the bottom of the post, people). I'm not sure if she or Julia will completely rebel in 11 (or 14 1/2) years and decide a tattoo is the perfect way to really piss off her parents.

Just in case, I think I'll remember our receptionist's story about her ear not healing. And if her ear ever falls off from infection, Allie's going on a road trip to visit her!

Medicine all around

In our continuing fight against family illness, Julia and I are now on medication. Julia has been getting Tylenol intermittently for fever and she also has a nasty cough and runny nose, poor child. I called my dentist this morning because I have an infected cheek/face, and I'm on an antibiotic as a precaution. So I am quite ready for all the members of my family to regain their health, starting ohhh, now.

In other news, Allie seriously needs to work on her writing at school. Julia is going to waste away if she doesn't start eating something more substantial than cottage cheese and fruit snacks, and the weather is getting freezing cold again (in other words, back to normal January temps).

I think it's time for me to develop Seasonal Affective Disorder. Too bad I'm not a sunlamp person.

Brush your teeth

Seriously, if you haven't brushed your teeth in the last couple of hours, go do it right now.

Otherwise, you could end up like me right now, in serious pain from the "simple" filling I got at the dentist this afternoon.

In the past, I've had root canals, fillings, crowns, bleaching, bonding, teeth pulled, and an implant. This, at this moment, is right up there with how I felt before I got my root canals, painwise.

I took some Tylenol and can't take anymore for another 1 1/2 hours. I've been icing my cheek for the last hour.

My mouth still hurts. I'd moan if it didn't hurt to open my mouth. I guess I can moan with my mouth shut?

Illness continues to stalk our home

The latest victim, Julia. She came out with a croupy cough starting early yesterday morning, and by the time she woke from her nap in late afternoon, she was up to a temp of 103.

Some Tylenol made her feel better and she even played a little later in the day. At this point, it appears to just be a cold. Julia loves her Tylenol. Maybe the fact that it's bubble gum flavored has something to do with that.

I remember loving the orange taste of the baby aspirin I chewed as a kid, so who I am to talk. My sisters and I did know better than to eat the chocolate Ex-lax when we weren't sick, however!

Nowadays, some pharmacies have flavor additives for nasty tasting medicines that aren't made just for kids. As long as our kids are still stymied by child-proof caps, I guess that kind of flavoring is a good thing.

In better news, little Ashton Wade came home from the hospital last Friday. I think he weighs a little over 4 lbs. right now. Here's hoping his family has a smooth transition to becoming a fivesome and that he continues to flourish.

Memories of Piggy

I feel a little better emotionally prepared today to tell some favorite stories about Pig, who died two days ago at age 13.

Greg picked Pig initially at the humane society because she was the only kitten who wasn't making a lot of noise. As soon as her got her in the car to take her home, he realized how mistaken he was on that front. She fit in Greg's hand and was basically a ball of black, brown, and tan fur (a tortoiseshell).

Initially, her name was Grendel, after the monster in Beowolf. No one knew what Greg meant when he explained that, because Greg didn't know any other English majors at the time. Her name became Pig, because of her appetite.

Pig was eventually spayed and front declawed. Before that happened, Greg lived in a townhouse apartment with open carpeted stairs. He remembers sitting in his living room, watching her use her little needle-sharp claws to climb up the stairs backwards, hanging upside down.

Upstairs in the townhouse, there was a rather thin wooden railing around the stair opening. Pig loved to walk along the top of the railing, even after the day when Greg was sitting in his living room and Piggy fell from the top floor to land on the carpeted first floor. Greg says she laid there winded for a minute and then got up, acting out the traditional cat posture of "I meant to do that."

Once Greg and I started dating, I told him that I thought Pig would love to look out his screened front door (his windows were kind of high up and Pig loved to look at birds). I set her up on a chair in the doorway and Greg and I started to watch TV. A few minutes later, we both heard Pig meowing rather frantically. We figured out that she's leaned against the screen and fallen out the bottom of the screen where it was torn. Poor Pig had never been outside and she was completely freaked by finding herself on the front porch.

When Greg and I moved in together, Pig had to adjust to having another cat in the house (my cat, Butterscotch--who died four years ago) and to a new house. It was not easy for her. I don't think she even came out of the spare bedroom for the first two weeks. However, when we moved to an apartment in Wisconsin and they were starting from neutral territory, Pig was the brave one who explored all of the floors of the townhouse first.

Pig and Butterscotch fought a lot initially. Greg and I used to hate it when we'd be in bed, absolutely sound asleep, and the cats would chase each other completely across our bodies. There was inevitably a paw or three that would hit you right in the middle of your chest or stomach and suddenly, shockingly steal your breath.

I pretty much have always gotten up in the morning earlier than Greg. Pig and I quickly developed a routine of her waiting on the floor by the bathroom cabinet until I finished putting in my contact lenses, then she'd get intense loving for at least three or four minutes each day.

We used to say that Pig was coming to 'have sex' when she'd get these fits where she demanded intense petting from various people--Greg, me, my mom, and my sisters, especially.

Before she developed diabetes, Pig was quite a fat cat. When Butterscotch got sick, we didn't even realize that she was eating all of his food until we noticed how thin he'd gotten and how she was really porking up (bad pun). We put her on a diet after his death and she was in much better shape until she really got thin from diabetes.

Pig was always very gentle with our girls, though I think she resented how these squealing things took up our laps when she wanted to sit down and get some love. One of her last routines was waiting until Allie and Julia came downstairs right after waking up. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, usually with a blanket over their legs. Then Pig would jump up by Allie and settle down for a period of intense petting while the girls watched morning TV and ate some breakfast.

During the last night she was alive, Pig had gone downstairs to the basement to use her litterbox (or try to) and then she stayed downstairs, hiding under one of our futons. I went looking for her when I got up and she came out so I could pet her. I knew I was probably saying goodbye.

I carried her upstairs with me and she had a little drink of water. A few minutes later, I woke the girls and they settled on the couch. As sick as she was, Pig still went over to the couch as usual to get some love from Allie. I had to lift her up because she was so weak.

We loved her so much.

Mom of the Year

I'll be waiting for my award after this one.

Today, I took both girls to the dentist. It was Julia's first time. I should emphasize, by the way, that Allie adores going to the dentist. It's a pediatric dentist office, which I insisted on because of my sister, Pam, who went on dental visits with me when I was a kid and who refused to open her mouth despite any threat or bribe (and yes, she paid for that in a big way later in her childhood).

This dental office has a movie theater theme, with many movie posters on the walls, movie theater fold-down stadium-style seats, a mannequin ticket taker at the registration desk, a big screen TV continuously showing movies that's dressed up with velvet curtains like a theater, and film wallpaper spooling around the walls. Each reclining plush dental chair has a personal flatscreen television showing children's movies, plus the regular TV screens around the walls that show other movies.

Children wear fancy sunglasses so they don't get the bright dental light in their eyes. X-rays are presented as taking photos of their teeth, and there are an extraordinary number of prizes, jewelry, and stickers available after each visit is completed.

And there are other pretty standard kid dentist features, like puppets with oversize real teeth to teach brushing, different toys to hold (all movie themes here), the gas nasal mask presented as an elephant's nose, etc.

At Allie's first dental visit, the technician took care to ask her flavor preference, gave her a ride in the chair, let her pick the pink sunglasses, demonstrated each tool on her hand first, and so on. She thought it was all wonderful and as soon as we finished, she immediately wanted to go back and see the dentist again.

Despite me and Allie talking up the dentist, Julia wasn't so sure she wanted to go. Allie's exam was first and she passed everything with flying colors, as normal. Julia was a little tentative watching her at first, then she was pretty interested in everything that was happening. I allowed myself to get hopeful (big mistake).

Julia got in the dental chair with only a little urging. She enjoyed the ride up and down in the chair. Then the technician started to show her the soft brush (which polishes her teeth) and Julia didn't want that anywhere near her hand, let alone in her mouth. She accepted a drink from the water sprayer, but didn't want the suction thing to come close. It went downhill from there.

Before long, she was sitting in my lap in the chair (because she wouldn't sit by herself anymore), holding her hands over her mouth while me, Allie, and the technician (who irritatingly keep referring to Julia as her "new friend") tried to convince her to open her mouth. We all tried talking. We resorted to threats. We got limited success with bribery.

We all gave up, but she still needed to be examined by the dentist himself. Dr. Wilson came over and Julia wasn't haven't any of it. She was done. She didn't want to hear anything about how the doctor just wanted to look and wouldn't give any ouchies or put anything inside her mouth. She was finished with this whole dentist thing.

So I leaned her back in my arms and she started to scream. Loudly. And kick the technician (until I grabbed her legs). Did I mention that this is one big, really open dentist office. I would guess that at least 30 people could hear her yelling.

The good news is that because she was screaming, the dentist actually got a really good review of her mouth. She doesn't have any cavities (which is surprising, considering how she loves to chew her toothbrush and swallow toothpaste instead of brush) and her teeth are developing normally (despite the thumbsucking, which we need to convince her to stop, hopefully by her next appointment--at which time she'll be about the age that Allie was when she quit).

Julia was thrilled to get out of the office and go get macaroni and cheese for lunch. I took her back to daycare, took Allie back to school, and went back to work. And I only have ten more gray hairs to show for my day.

Rest in peace, gentle soul

Pig died today. She was 13 years old.

Greg got her as a kitten, from the humane society, about a year before he and I met. She had a wonderful, peaceful life full of attention from her loving slave Greg until he moved in with me. Then she gained another slave.

I don't think Pig knew she was even a cat at that point. She used to sit on the counter in Greg's bathroom and meow at the cat in the mirror.

She was a very sweet cat, with very soft fur, and she was always gentle, even with our girls. We are all going to miss her tremendously.

Goodbye, sweet Piggy. I hope you're in kitty heaven, rolling in catnip, resting on the softest of pillows, and dipping your paw into huge glasses of frothy milk. We love you.

Illness all around

I've said it before and I'll say it again (because you can't stop me)--sometimes it seems that the purpose of the holidays is to get together with your family and friends and exchange germs. After all, you get over the germs that you yourself had and since it is winter, what else is there to do but get new ones and feel miserable again.

The latest victims are our daycare provider and her older son, Jaden. Rather mysterious high fevers. So today, the girls went to a daycare center that's affiliated with Greg's work.

The last time they were there (I think more than 2 years ago), Julia cried and sobbed and was hysterical that Daddy was leaving. And unlike how those things usually go, where the child forgets about Daddy or Mommy by about 3 minutes after they leave, she continued to cry and sob. Greg actually had to leave work and bring her home.

Fortunately, today went just fine. Julia doesn't remember her last visit there and I don't think Allie really does either. When it came time for Greg to leave, both of them were too busy looking at all of the new toys to pay much attention and it sounds like they had a busy, fun day. Except for the three naughty boys that Julia told me threw things.

The weather has continued to be very mild, especially for January, but it's also been cloudy, gray, and often misting or raining almost every day. We're projected to have three more days of 45-50 degree weather before Mother Nature remembers that we live in Wisconsin and the temperature drops back to normal (5 degrees or so).

In other news, Pig the cat is not recovering well from her vet visit last week. She went back to the vet today for fluids and to be fed through a tube. She's home and listless tonight but we're taking her back tomorrow for more treatment. We're crossing our fingers that she'll rally tomorrow and get through this. Poor Piggy.

New Year

Julia does not eat. We fix food that we know she likes and she often looks at it, plays with it, then says her tummy hurts or that she's done and she gets down from the table.

I think the child subsists on cottage cheese, fruit snacks, chicken nuggets and cereal. Tonight, the girls got the following on their plates: pigs in a blanket (hot dogs wrapped in buttery crescent rolls), macaroni and cheese (Kraft, of course), and cottage cheese.

Julia was in one of her no-I-don't-want-cottage-cheese moods, even though it's often all she eats for dinner. She picked some of the roll off her hot dog, complained that her macaroni and cheese was hot (as it cooled and congealed on her plate), and didn't touch her cottage cheese.

So of course, we knew she'd be asking for fruit snacks later. And, after her bath, she did. I told her she could have melon, a banana, or grapes. She said, "I show you what I want," and went off to the refrigerator.

I wasn't watching too closely and she didn't call me over, so I wasn't sure exactly what she was doing as she dug in the vegetable and fruit drawer. Finally, I asked her what she was up to and she said she was getting oranges.

She walked past shortly, on her way downstairs to ask Daddy to peel some for her, with a mesh sack of oranges slung over her shoulder like Santa Claus. I couldn't help smiling, and she caught me looking at her as she circled back to get some napkins.

It's fun to have an independent 3 1/2 year old. Happy New Year!

Shopping sucks

I can't believe that some people (including my sisters, in a big way) love to go shopping. I went to the mall today, the big mall on the west side of Madison that I try to avoid because I don't have the store locations memorized.

I always end up parking at the wrong end of the structure, which is the pits, not because I don't need the exercise of walking but because if I carry a reasonably heavy shopping bag in my right hand for any period of time, my fingers go numb (old tendonitis thing).

And there were an insane number of people in this mall for a Friday afternoon. It was quite obvious that at least half of the city's residents that got gift cards for Christmas were there, using the cards up before they started losing value (that's been on the news a lot lately, but I think they're talking about cards unused after a year, people, not after a week!).

I'll admit that the reason I was at the mall at all was to return a few things that Greg got me. I now have a new favorite store to hate--Coldwater Creek. They had two women working at the checkout/return desk and it literally took half an hour for me to get to the front of the line and do my return.

There were people in line both in front and behind me who were not even doing returns. They just wanted to buy something from this store. You have got to be freaking kidding (guess what word I wanted to type there, but my mom reads this blog and she hates swearing, let alone the "f" word).

I was very, very happy to get out of there. Breathe in, breathe out.

Now I can concentrate on looking forward to doing Christmas with my family this weekend. Just what my children need--more toys! I'm kidding, I'm incredibly grateful I have a family that wants to give my children gifts (did I mention they're the only grandchildren?).

We're going to rent the storage locker for all the new stuff on Tuesday.

Sound asleep

Poor Pig, she's home from the vet after a long day and she will feel better as a result of her adventure, but probably not too soon.

We were really concerned early last night because she wasn't drinking. Then we had to take up her food and water at 8 last night because she was going to be put under today.

This morning, the girls and I took her in. The vet put her to sleep, gave her an antibiotic shot, pulled her loose tooth, cleaned the rest of her teeth, gave her fluids, expressed her anal glands (don't ask), cleaned her ears, and prescribed ear drops for a week and capsule antibiotics for two weeks. $288.52.

We couldn't pick her up until after 4 and she even then was still a little wobbly. Pig was very happy to get out of her cat carrier and I was relieved when she went over to her water dish and started drinking. The vet's assistant said she needed to keep drinking tonight to wash out the last of the anesthesia.

Now she's been home for a few hours and she's snoring with her head under the Christmas tree. I can hear her from across the room.

And now, the cat

This morning, Pig wended her away around everyone's feet, mewing repeatedly. Not meowing--that's not her style--just mewing rather piteously.

She's a champion at faking that we've forgotten to feed her, so we didn't pay too much attention. When Greg came downstairs, he checked her water dish and cleaned and refilled that (I'd already put food down for her).

Then we all went off on our individual days.

After an entire year in my new job, I spent about 4 1/2 hours this afternoon cleaning out files and making new files to clear off my desktop and tabletop. Tedious, dirty (since my office is located inside a factory), but ultimately satisfying.

When I got home, Greg was sitting on the floor petting Pig. It turns out that one of her bottom teeth, one of the big ones on the corner of her lower left jaw, is loose--in fact, pushed out at a weird angle.

She's 13 1/2 years old, so this kind of thing is rather to be expected, but you still feel sorry for her. She desperately wants to drink but apparently that's quite painful. She did eat about 1/3 of her normal amount of food, but still, something obviously has to be done.

So tomorrow morning, Pig is going to the vet to be put to sleep--not permanently, just with an anesthetic! They'll take care of the loose tooth and check her out for other issues.

We used to be religious about taking our cats in for annual checkups, but since Butterscotch died and we later found out Pig has diabetes, we've kind of been letting things slide. Frankly, it was a relief not to have to chase the Pig from under the furniture to get her into the cat carrier every year.

Nonetheless, Pig is off tomorrow to be seen. I hope she doesn't read this post in the meantime or we'll never find her.