Sad Day: Goodbye Bob

Warning: pet (cat) lovers, you might want to skip this post. Actually, cat haters might want to skip this too, because all it talks about is our cat.

Bob, our 13-year-old cat, died today. So this post is just going to be about him, because essentially, that's all my day was.

By 2002, Bob had been through two homes. At four and a half, his second owner had to find a new home for him because he was so ornery and aggressive (despite being fixed) that he was causing vet bills for the other cat owners.

Naturally, we thought he'd be a good companion for our cat, Nyx. So I contacted the number on the flyer I saw and made arrangements.

Bob turned out to be a mostly white cat, except his tail was black and grey and looked like he'd stolen it from a raccoon. It only matched his ears, were healed-over rips and notches from fights. His back looked like someone had spilled a latte on him. He had striking blue eyes. I would come to joke that we didn't know his breed, but that he looked like he'd borrowed his parts from various other creatures.

To smooth the transition, we left Nyx at my parent's house while Bob adjusted to his new surroundings. We brought Bob home on Christmas eve in 2002. He howled as if being tortured the whole way. He promptly went under the waterbed and refused to come out. Then he peed under there. He spent the whole night howling, preventing us and guests visiting from California from sleeping. Christmas night was no different.

After a couple of days of this type of behavior, we decided that even though it had been our intention to keep him indoors for a week before letting him out (so he would know where his knew "home" was), we couldn't put up with the peeing or the crying, and since our condo was on the second floor of a taller building, we figured it would be too far of a jump for him to get down, so we let him out.

And finally got some sleep.

The next morning, he was nowhere to be found. We left out food, we called him, nothing. After several days, I finally contacted his old owner, who came and called for him all over the place.

We gave up. We brought Nyx back home.

About three weeks after he disappeared, my husband thought he spotted him near the mailboxes and suggested we leave food out again, so we did. I thought it was pointless because it would be so unlikely to 1) see him there if he was eating the food since the only part of our condo on ground level was the front door and 2) we had no way to know that it was him and not some other cat, or for that matter, a raccoon, eating the food.

29 days after we let him out, he was on the doorstep when I left to go to work.

He never left again.

Our guess was that he'd tried to get back to his old home, but considering he would have had to cross an 8-lane freeway and a river, he couldn't. About four months after his return though, we had to move. I was really worried he wouldn't take the move well. He certainly didn't take the car ride well, howling constantly again.

Just so you know, "howling constantly" is not an exaggeration. It was not a pleasant noise to listen to, and to keep myself sane, I started counting.

I got as high as 7. That is, 7 seconds between howls.

He sorta did okay with the relocation. Like our first place, he immediately found a "spot" on the carpet that he claimed as his personal litter box. I learned quickly that when he howled at 4:00am, he wanted out to do his business. He trained me to let him out and as soon as we could afford it, we replaced the carpet with hardwood.

He got better about using the box, I got better about keeping it immaculate, but more importantly, I got better at putting him outside at night or when we'd be gone for a few hours.

He did disappear a few times. The first time, he was gone for a few days and we were worried it was the end of him. Even food we left out wasn't being eaten, which was very unusual (normally, even raccoons would eat it). I decided to go out and look for him and headed west down the street from my house and circled the block. It's about a third of a mile to circle our block, so by time I got home, I feared we wouldn't see him again.

Literally right as I got home, I heard a pathetic mewing. After searching around a bit, I looked up. He was literally in the tree that is just to the east side of the property line of our driveway. In other words, had I walked the other direction when I went on my search, I would not have left my property.

Despite being pretty good at navigating all kinds of things (including jumping off the second floor of our condo before), he had managed to get stuck in a tree. I managed to coax him down a low-hanging branch, but when I tried to get him, he scrambled back up towards the trunk.

We didn't have a ladder large enough to reach the top of the branch, so I perched it close to the end, coaxed Bob down again and then had to wrestle him out of the tree. After being hissed at, spat on, scratched all over and bitten, I watched him run off to the porch to go cry at the door to get in the house.

You're welcome, Bob.

He remained an ornery booger. He would battle our other cat and when we got our dog, quickly established who was in charge, by scratching her eyeball when she (the dog) was only ten weeks old. Even when our puppy turned into a full-grown Golden Retriever, she knew to avoid Bob.

For example, our house has a "loop" in that the front entryway goes straight into the living room, the dining room is adjacent to the right, the kitchen is adjacent to the dining room, the family room is then adjacent to the right of the kitchen, and also has a doorway back to the front entryway. If Bob was parked in the doorway at any point in the loop and Zwina (the dog) wanted to get to the other side of Bob, rather than walking next to the cat (where there was plenty of room), hopping over (which she is capable of), she would instead walk through three other rooms to get to a point three feet from her starting place.

Just to avoid Bob.

I'm telling you.

Ornery.

Booger.

Honestly, though, I don't blame Zwina for being cautious. This is the cat that fought off THREE LARGE RACCOONS AT THE SAME TIME in our back yard.

His favorite place in the house (aside the waterbed, which is heated, so it is the first place we check when looking for any of our cats) was the one room he was forbidden from: my massage room. However, the latch on the door doesn't work properly, and Bob learned early-on that if he leaned into the door properly, he could let himself in.

Fortunately, he couldn't open the closet doors where I stored my sheets. So unless I forgot and left them open, they were fine. Although the number of times I ran otherwise clean sheets through the sanitary cycle to rid them of cat hair/dander and reclean them for client use was a bit high, he did manage to teach me (in addition to teaching me to get up in the middle of the night to let him out) to close the closet doors.

For one of our family trips to Morocco, we left Bob with my dad and brother (FYI, my dad lives an hour away. I still didn't get over my "7" maximum seconds between howls--that hour drive felt like a DAY. Also, I was near deaf when we arrived.) Apparently both my dad and brother fed Bob (and the other cats), so when we came home, we no longer had Bob.

We had Blob.

This cat, who was healthiest around 9 pounds, was about 16 pounds. It took awhile (and some very cranky kitties) to get the weight off, but we eventually did.

And my life of doing cat-output-related laundry continued on, as irritating as ever.

Jump to 2007. On the morning I had to go to the hospital for my C-section, I had my husband take a picture of me in the front yard with my big pregnant belly. I was holding Bob in the photos.

Then, after our trip to Morocco in early 2009, we came home to the same problem: Blob. I put the cats on their diet again.

Unfortunately, by now Bob was ten and a half. Although Bob was still plenty fiesty, the other cats (who had always been larger than him) now knew that his reputation was greater than the being. So, through intimidation, Bob ended up being the only cat on a diet.

He started eating the dog food, which did not agree with him, and created additional cleanups and laundry. (I know, I know, at this point, you're wondering why we kept him. Combine sucker for animals with third home for this kitty with who the heck else would take him with my husband doesn't believe in euthanasia, and we still had Bob and his "quirks.")

It wasn't until he vomited a couple of times that I realized something was wrong. I felt worse when I went to pick him up and realized that he had become far too skinny--and that it had been awhile since I'd held him.

Off to the emergency vet, who luckily is about 1.5 miles away. I knew Bob was not well because I reached 14 in my seconds-between-howls count: double all previous drives. Bob was jaundiced, dehydrated, and pronounced as most likely having liver cancer, and being in liver failure. I was given the option of spending "hundreds, if not thousands" in medical care that "had a 20% or less chance" of working OR I could choose euthanasia.

Financially (my husband had JUST started a new job after being laid off for six months), we couldn't do the expensive cancer treatments. Also, I knew my husband hadn't said "goodbye" to Bob when we left the house and whether or not it would bother my husband, that bothered me. So I asked if we had ANY other options. Anything. The vet did say that she could give him an IV and hydrate him and then we could send him to his regular vet in the morning for tests that would be more conclusive and we could make a decision off of those.

So we did. Turns out he didn't have liver cancer, but had what is called "fatty liver." Essentially he lost too much weight too quickly and the liver having to process all that fat becomes overly toxic and all kinds of other problems start, which is where he was. But not to worry, despite being in liver failure, he could still probably live a fair bit longer and be okay. We just needed to put him on a special prescription diet.

After the IV he had perked up quite a bit anyway, so I was relieved. We took him home and all was well for a couple of months. Until the vomiting started again.

Back to the vet. Turns out Bob was constipated. Despite that it cost us about $160 in vet fees, I found it funny. The vets were not as amused. Apparently it took not one, not two, but ELEVEN enemas to clear him out. NOBODY liked Bob by time he left. Let me make this clear. This is the most amazing vet I've ever been to. They are kind and supportive and actually quite reasonably priced and I just love them and wouldn't take my animals anywhere else (except the emergency vet, who is also great). I've had other vets (who were good), but these people are just amazing. So if Bob was enough of stinker that they actually commented, "He was not a good patient," I can imagine what he must have been like.

Because we see it all the time at home.

Again, though, he perked up and all was well. For about a year.

Then I left to visit my sister for my nephew's birthday. I was gone for a little over a week and my husband fed Bob, but didn't guard him when he ate--meaning the other cats bullied him away from his food. (In my husband's defense, I didn't tell him to do this, it is a pain in the butt, and I don't blame him.) So Bob was underweight and sick again when I got home.

In to the vet, again. I was extra worried by time I arrived at the vet because I reached 58 in my seconds-between-howls count. This time they decided he'd need IVs again, and showed me how to do them at home. The easy part was hanging the IV bag from the pot rack in the kitchen, getting the needle ready, and catching Bob. The hard part was holding my used-to-be-cat-and-now-exclusively-sharp-teeth-and-claws-flailing-about-demon. But he got his IV.

A few more treatments, which became increasingly more difficult because he didn't want to come anywhere near me, it took cleverly wrapped towels and my husband to hold him down, and he was back to his normal self.

Over the last year since that, though, it's been really difficult to keep the weight on him. Healthiest at about 9 pounds, he was around 7. I had to sit with him for feedings to make sure he got to eat and we started feeding him in the kitchen, separate from the other cats.

We've dogsat for a few friends. It always amuses me how quickly ALL visiting dogs learn that Bob is to be strictly avoided (and they join Zwina in the walk-through-three-rooms-around-the-loop-to-avoid-Bob practice). For the most part, Bob would stay hidden, but if he ventured out, the dogs would steer clear--at least, after their first encounter with Bob.

When my daughter and I colored on the front porch cement with sidewalk chalk, Bob came out to join us. Then he promptly laid down and rolled in the drawings, resulting in a rainbow-colored cat.

When I left again, I paid the neighbor girl to do special Bob feedings. I kept worrying because he was slowly getting scrawnier, but despite increasing the quantity of feedings, he just wasn't eating as much. It got to the point where I'd give him about an eighth of a cup of food, he'd eat half of it, and then wander off.

When we recently dogsat two Golden retrievers (meaning we had three goldens in the house), I was in my daughter's bedroom and asked if they'd like to go for a WALK. The dogs, all excited and scrambling all over each other to get to the front door, dashed out into the hallway and then came to a halt, falling all over each other to stop. When I peeked around the corner to see what brought 200 pounds worth of Golden Retrievers to a screeching halt, guess what I found? That's right.

7 pounds worth of cranky cat Bob.

The visiting dogs just couldn't understand why Bob didn't want to be their playmate. Bob couldn't understand why they wouldn't leave him alone. He even seemed to delight in tormenting them by sitting just on the opposite side of the sliding glass door and slinking around as the visiting dogs went nuts barking at him.

Just last week when I was working at my computer, Bob settled down contentedly on my mousepad. I was annoyed because it left me about a half inch circle to move my mouse, but it was better than relocating him to the tune of his claws, his teeth, my skin, my blood, and been there, done that.

I think the final straw was that I left for three days to a class and because he wasn't getting those special feedings (just my husband leaving food out for him a couple times a day--that the dog or other cats ended up eating), he lost that last bit of weight that pushed him over the edge. Trying to boost his weight, I was feeding him every 30-60 minutes, with the hope that he'd eat something.

I tried to feed him anything he would eat, but he went from not eating much to sniffing and walking away. When he vomited, I had a feeling that this trip to the vet would be one-way.

I had the family say goodbye to him last night, and did my best to explain to my daughter what would probably happen. That he was very sick and the vet might not be able to help him and that he would get a certain kind of medicine that would make him die, so he wouldn't come home with us. Whether my almost-four-year-old is a stronger soul than me or she wasn't terribly attached to him or she didn't really "get it," I don't know, but she seemed fine.

I contacted an old friend and chatted a lot about it. She said some things I hadn't thought of which made me feel better. Like when I said I was afraid that if I'd be putting him down for "convenience" to myself, she pointed out that I would have done this years ago (8.5 years of cleaning up inappropriately placed cat outputs) if I were doing it for "convenience."

I cried on the way to the vet. I cried more as I realized his howls were only halfhearted and that I lost count somewhere around 200 seconds-between-howls. I cried some more at the vet's office, as the vet pronounced that he was a sorry-looking kitty (he weighed only 4.5 pounds) and my options were euthanasia or "heroics." Not wanting to go the route of IVs or home kitty enemas (which he told me might not even work because he was probably so toxic), I reluctantly chose euthanasia. He supported my decision and went to go prepare the injection.

While the vet was out of the room, I suddenly realized that although I wasn't trying to "hide" any of the process, I didn't want my daughter to see Bob get his injection. Not because I was trying to spare her the moment of her pet's death, but because she is already terrified of shots and HATES them. I didn't want her to develop any kind of association that a shot might also put her to sleep like it did the cat and create other problems for vaccinating, so I had her wait out in the lobby.

And here's the hard part for animal lovers. The vet laid down Bob, who actually didn't resist. In fact, as I stroked his head, he purred pretty loudly. I felt a level of relief that he would be able to pass quickly and somewhat peacefully.

Except the vet struggled with the vein because he was so dehydrated. He called in a tech to help. She too had problems, and by then Bob was in full force, writhing and howling, which made me feel awful that his last moments were frightening and painful. Suddenly though, he calmed down as the vein was hit, the anesthesia was in, and he was gently laid down. The vet stayed and waited for his heart to stop, then helped me wrap him in a towel and put him back in the crate.

I carried the crate out to the car, and my daughter wanted to see him. I told her I'd let her see him at the cremation place we were headed for.

I cried some more on the way.

The cremation place is also quite close to my home. I'd never had need to go in there and was quite impressed. The staff was kind, they provide so many options, and they let me take the time I needed. My daughter was getting very anxious about getting to see Bob when he was dead. They took Bob's crate into the back and then called my daughter and I into a viewing room, where they had him lying in a basket, with a little blanket over him. He just looked peaceful.

My daughter went up and gave him a hug and a kiss. Then she was done and since it was past her nap time, honestly a bit of a pain as I tried to take care of the details and simultaneously keep her off of furniture, not breaking delicate paw print keepsake samples, and just generally being 3.

I cried some more when we got back in the car.

When we got home, I put my daughter down for a nap. I cried some more as I toodled around the house, unable to stick to any project/task to completion (okay, I know that's normal for me, but it was WAY worse today).

I finally laid down to take a nap with my daughter. I only slept about 20 minutes, but it was enough to kind of "reset" me. At least for a bit.

By 9:00 p.m., I was in full-on grief mode and crying and crying. It was so bad, my daughter came up, giving me hugs and kisses and saying, "It's going to be okay, Mommy."

Part of what was hard about today was knowing that because of my husband's beliefs that euthanasia for animals is wrong was knowing that this was going to have to be completely my decision and furthermore, I wouldn't have his support. So I was on my own.

Surprisingly, he came in and just hugged and comforted me a bit. We talked about Bob and--as hard as I know it must have been for him--he said absolutely nothing and implied absolutely nothing about me having done the "wrong" thing per his beliefs. Which, weirdly, felt so supportive that I was grateful.

I started to write this and realized that even if this is an entry that my few readers skip, I needed to write it. I needed to tell the story of Bob, and all his little anecdotes that I could remember (I was surprised how many of them kept popping up), and in itself, this has been healing for me.

Rest in peace, Bob. We'll miss you, you ornery crotchety old man cat.

I won't miss the extra laundry.

Today Was More About Delusional

Since Mother's Day (when I ran a 5K, with hills, and still got a significantly better time than before), I haven't had much opportunity to train. I spent a couple of days recovering from that overexertion and then had two multiple-day out-of-town events in between. I walked a lot, but no running, and not much else.

So when my neighbor asked if I would like to have his registration for a 5K that he couldn't go to, of course I said yes.

I set out with a goal to do better than I did two weeks ago. I didn't care if it was by one second, I just wanted to improve.

This was the first race/event I've been to completely by myself. My husband was exhausted from working all night (he got home about 6:00am) and because of the short notice, I didn't ask my dad to come and take care of my daughter--I just left her at home, hoping that when she got up she'd find her breakfast and the movie I left on rather than waking up her father immediately.

I got up and was disappointed to find no clean frying pans to cook with and no clean surface to cook on. So instead of scrambled eggs with shrimp, I had shrimp. Knowing this wouldn't be enough, I had a bowl of Cheerios and a little bit of juice. I gulped water en route to the race.

I'd looked up the race last night before bed and found very limited information about start location--it looked like whoever set up the web page never quite finished, as the start location was literally "at the intersection of and."

Thanks, that was helpful.

I only got lost once and then after finding it, had to loop through a full parking lot and then leave to go find another one. Amazingly, I parked right next to the starting line. I didn't even have too long of a wait, so weirdly I couldn't have timed it better.

I started out jogging along like last time and went through the same "I should have trained more/Why do I do this/I hate this/Keep going because you have goals set" conversation I had the last 5K.

Huh. Wonder why I can't remember that so well between races.

Anyway. There was a guy running/walking intervals near me. I think he had some kind of a heart monitor that he had set (or perhaps his doctor had set?) to go off if his heart rate got too high, because he would instantly stop jogging when it beeped. Then, it would do a slightly different beep and he would start jogging again (I assume it beeped to let him know his heart rate had dropped to a certain level).

I gotta look into getting a toy like that for me. It might actually help me improve more quickly than the overpush I tend to go into at a higher heart rate and might not be so traumatic on my body. Or I could just, you know, train more sensibly overall.

There was no water until the halfway point, and I was still feeling pretty good (considering I was running, anyway). Somewhere between 1.5 miles and 2 miles, my left foot started hurting. Since it did this on the last race, and I just ran through the discomfort (which ended up easing off), I figured I could do the same thing this time, so I kept going.

It kept getting worse.

And worse.

My foot started going from "sore" to tingly-numb. Then it spread to my little toes.

Convinced it would go away or that I could "work through it," I kept running.

Eventually the whole left side of my left foot and all of my toes were numb--and felt like they were twice the size of normal. I felt like I couldn't even control my big toe.

I pushed it about another 200 steps (I initially wrote "strides" but realized that would be a severe exaggeration) and foot pain aside, I was worried I might injure something else if I fell because I couldn't control my foot.

So I walked the last 1/4 of the race or so.

I kept wanting to start running again (okay, part of me not really), but my foot wasn't getting better even at the walking pace.

I started limping, just trying to keep going. I (briefly) entertained thoughts of giving up, but wasn't sure how I'd get back to my car.

It's sad the things that motivate me sometimes.

I was both pleased and disappointed to see my time when I got to the finish. 45:40. Pleased because I'd walked a fair bit of the race and had I been able to keep running, I'm pretty sure I would have beat my time from Mother's Day.

Disappointed because I didn't beat my time, I had to walk, this was a flat course on top of it, and my foot was still hurting.

Upon reflection, I think the following things contributed to my not having as successful race as I'd hoped:

1) Not enough training.

2) I may have pushed myself harder than I realized at the start/first half and possibly could have avoided all this with a more reasonable initial pace. However, since I didn't have a watch or any distance markers to go by, it's a little hard to tell.

3) I don't think I had enough of the right foods at breakfast. Dad thought I was nuts before my last triathlon requesting eggs and sausage, but it felt right. This one just didn't seem to be enough.

So all things I can fix if I plan ahead a little better.

In the meanwhile, I tried to take a nap, but my daughter was all wound up since she'd slept late and my husband had a doctor's appointment. In other words, life as usual. At least I have a clean living room today and can feel a little less guilty about lounging in it while my legs rest.

Still Delusional About Household Goals

One of the things I do on Fridays is write down a list of what I have to get done. After getting back from the chiropractor (rib feels WAY better, but not great), I sat down at my daughter's art easel whiteboard and wrote out a list of 15 different things I wanted to accomplish.

I got nine of them done and I'm exhausted. At least my living room is clean, for the first time in a couple of weeks. And I gave a couple of massages, I scoured the bathroom and massage room and got a little bit of grocery shopping done.

When I got home, my neighbor brought over my race bib for tomorrow. I'd better get some sleep.

One Day, Two Totally Different Worlds

I was a bit conflicted this morning as I really wanted to stay for a sweat lodge ceremony that was being offered (I've never been to one and they sound interesting to experience, at least once). Problem: the sweat lodge was at 2:00, it lasts up to two hours, it's a two hour drive home, and I was hoping to leave my house at 5:00 to get to the booksigning.

Plus me and dehydration are such good friends that I was honestly a little afraid that a sweat lodge may mean an unplanned extra night at the retreat while I recovered.

Since I would have to clean out my cabin later, I decided to save myself some time and began organizing things.

And found my underwear. At least I could drive home in comfort. Except that as I was standing up to leave the cabin, I had a sudden sharp pain in my back on the right side.

Boogers. I somehow put a rib out. No Dr. Amy here and the earliest I could go visit her would be Saturday--if I could get an appointment.

Barely made it to breakfast and then went to the hot springs for another Watsu session. One of the other girls in my class worked on my shoulder (probably to shut up my whining about it). She commented, "You know, this 'practicing patience' may be good for your character, but it's hell on your shoulders."

We practiced some new techniques and then a group of us went to a different tub to continue to practice. I haven't mentioned yet that in addition to wearing swimsuits, the pool we were using was reserved for the class, so there were no "kibbles and bits" (as one person in the class referred to anatomical gender differences) hanging around. The group of us that went to a separate pool to continue practicing (still in our swimsuits) ended up sharing the space with lots of exposed kibbles and bits. While I'm used to that, especially in the hot springs environment, it still felt like a clash while practicing Watsu, even though both practitioner and recipient were covered.

Interestingly, we all discovered quickly why Watsu is done in body-temperature water as this pool was about 105 and we all overheated (which happens much more quickly with your head in the water). We left the kibbles and bits behind and headed off to clean out our cabins. I also decided to take a shower in one of the river-view outdoor showers (which are actually totally private) and dressed (comfortably) for the drive home. Back for our final land training and wrap up, and then found out that the woman I'd carpooled with wanted to go back later and had found a separate ride.

Although I'd planned on staying for lunch, the sudden freedom to go home and see my daughter was more inviting, so I left.

I will admit, the first stop I made was to get a cheeseburger. After picking up my daughter, I swung by my emergency backup chiropractor to see if I could be squeezed in for an appointment. No such luck, so I booked him for 8:00 tomorrow morning.

Got home, made arrangements for my daughter to visit the neighbor (from the hands of one of my village to another) so I could go see Jen Lancaster at her booksigning.

The drive there--which should have taken 20 minutes--took me an hour and 15 minutes. Further, Google maps had failed me for the third time in a row and I had problems finding the bookstore.

Despite arriving 45 minutes early, there was no seating available.

I did get to ask/tell her that I would love to see her take on a sustainable living community like the one I'd just visited. Didn't think until after the signing that when she asked me what I thought of it that I should have answered, "It's all fine and good, but the first thing I did when I left was go get a cheeseburger."

Despite waiting in line for an hour for her to sign my books, I got home at a reasonable hour. Unfortunately, I was too tired for the chores that awaited me, so I decided to crash and--perhaps delusionally--set the alarm for early so I could get things done in the morning.

Separation from the "Real World"

It's odd. I come to this hot springs retreat about once a year. Every time I'm there, I'm so separated from "real life," yet at the same time, I think about how my normal reality is, in fact, separated from a natural environment like this--and how this is more "real" in some ways than my day-to-day life.

It's remote. No cell phone service, no internet access, no television, no satellite dishes. About 30 cabins which hold 3-4 people each share 4 toilets: 2 for each gender. I had to walk a fair distance to get to the bathroom. This is fine most of the time, not so much fun first thing in the morning when I'm stumbling around to get shoes on so I can make the trek. Also, only two showers per gender, unless you count the 2 outdoor showers which are open with a view to the river. Oh wait, did I forget to mention that clothing is optional in the actual hot spring pools?

So not a place for everyone.

For example, me 15 years ago. Back then, I would have come unglued, and no matter how rude or socially inappropriate, I would have STARED and then gone screaming the other way. If I wrote down and explained the whole path of how I got to "whatever, we're all just people" and hopping in, that would be an extremely long blog entry. And it wouldn't change the mind of anyone who's not interested anyway.

I will explain though, that for this Watsu class (and for Watsu sessions), a swimsuit is required. One of the things discussed in the land sessions is how there is a level of trust required by the recipient of a Watsu treatment--they have to "let go" of their body and float, and let the practitioner move them through the water. On top of this, because the treatment is so gentle, it can seem almost intimate, and so swimsuits are an easy way for clear and appropriate boundaries.

I get up this morning, later than planned because I'm just enjoying the "down" time. As I start to pull my things together for the day, I grow increasingly distressed. I check, then re-check, then empty the entire contents of my duffel bag, and replace them one by one.

Somehow, I have forgotten to pack underwear.

Well, at least I'm in the right place for that, and at least I DO have swimsuits.

Annoyed with myself (I folded everything I was taking, right out of the dryer, and packed it into my bag--underwear was between my black shorts and my blue t-shirt in the pile, both of which are here, how did it get missed?), I head off to class in my swimsuit.

We had two more classroom sessions and two more practice sessions. I spent down time in between finishing Jen Lancaster's book. For anyone who hasn't heard of her, she's extremely rude and hilarious. She is someone that, based on her memoirs, I would say appreciates "creature comforts." Even though her latest book is not a memoir, it got me thinking...how on earth would she handle a place like this, and even better, what would she say about it?!

I'll have to ask her something along those lines when I go to her booksigning tomorrow.

As the evening closes, I'm wondering if my dad got my daughter to Family Storytime, if he did, if he dropped off the DVDs, and whether she will get a bath tonight. I am finding that I don't mind being disconnected from the world, but I do mind being disconnected from my family.

Depending on My Village

About a month ago, I got an email about a continuing education class that I've wanted to take for years. It was for Watsu (short for "water shiatsu") and the teacher is fantastic--and it was going to be her last class.

I called around, made arrangements for people to watch my daughter while I'd be gone three days midweek, and sent in payment.

This morning was a bit chaotic as I got up, scrambled to pack myself for three days, pack/plan for my daughter for three days, and get to a different class on being a board member for my daughter's preschool (as if I needed anything else to do).

After the class, I came home and ran around a bit more loading the car, then realized I had several errands to run before I could meet the woman I was going to carpool with to the Watsu class. Threw everything in the car and as I was mentally going through my errands, I stopped at a light. Since I was in a hurry, of course the guy didn't notice it was green. Someone else honked at him and he finally took off, but not in enough time for the honker or me to get through the signal.

Then a train came by and took up a good 10 minutes. Then the signal turned for everyone else but us. TWICE. I sat at that intersection for 20 minutes. By time I got through, I was ready to break land speed records to get everything done because one of the things I had to do was eat.

Dropped off letters at post office. Dropped off ballot to vote. Picked up lunch. Stopped at the grocery store to pick up nasal strips to keep me from snoring since I was going to be in shared lodging accommodations. Finally I met up with her and we were on our way.

When we got to the hot springs (where this class was being offered), we went to check in--and we couldn't move into our lodging yet. I had only 20 minutes to get to my first session after we could move in and it's a 10 minute walk from the lodging, so I was feeling a little cramped for time, again.

My first session, which was an introductory treatment, was fantastic. It helped me slow down and unwind, even though I had to consciously think about letting go.

We had dinner--I was glad I'd stopped for groceries as this is an all-organic (yay!) 100% vegetarian (not so yay) retreat. The food is excellent, but my inner carnivore is never satisfied, so I take along beef jerky for between-meal snacks.

On the way over to our "land training" session, there were three deer right next to the path we were on, not twenty feet away, just munching on the grass. One of the women I was with noticed that one of them was significantly larger than the others. Just as we were debating whether she might be pregnant, we saw her belly move in a highly abnormal manner: her baby was kicking!

It was really cool.

During land training, we scheduled our water practice sessions--although it is the largest pool at the hot springs, it is still a bit crowded doing Watsu techniques, so only four practice at a time, and we had eight in the class. At the end of our discussion/lecture session, we were asked to sum up, in one word, our intentions/feelings for the moment or as goals for the class.

One word limit? Me? I couldn't do it. I was the last one to go, and all I could come up with, based on how I'd rushed through the day and been so impatient with it, was "Practicing Patience."

Double my allotted word count. Oh well.

Afterwards, instead of taking the time to just soak, I went back to my cabin to work on finishing Jen Lancaster's new book, If You Were Here.

I really wanted to call and see how my family was doing, if my daughter got picked up okay, to give my husband reminders to give to my dad tomorrow (like drop off the DVDs that are due when he took her to Family Storytime, etc.), but this being a remote retreat--no cell phone service. And by "no cell phone service" I mean the last place I had reception was an hour away, so it's not like I could drive five minutes down the road and back to check in.

Apparently I will just have to be patient and wait and see how things went when I get home.

Drama, and Not What I Expected

It feels like I barely got home and I'm getting ready to leave again. Oh. Wait. That's actually what's going on.

I was across the street, talking to my neighbors about upcoming babysitting needs, when my husband came running across, yelling, "What did you have that was blue?"

Me: Huh?

Him: The little bug drank something blue and now her face and mouth and tongue and teeth are all blue. What was it?

Me: How should I know?

Him: It was on your desk.

Me: I don't have anything blue on my desk that's drinkable.

Him: Well you DID, and she DRANK it and I don't know what to DO!! She won't even TALK to me!

So I ran back across the street. My husband was still in a panic, complaining that our daughter wouldn't tell him AnYTHING. He did bring me the glass of the stuff she drank.

There was a black sludge in the glass and it was kind of stinky.

Our daughter was clearly scared and a bit traumatized, and I knew if I was going to find out exactly what she'd drank, I would have to be the calm parent.

Me: Honey, did you drink from this glass?

Her: (nods)

Me: Did you put something in it?

Her: (nods)

Me: Thank you for telling Mommy. Now, this is important. Can you show me what you put in the glass?

Her: No

Me: Do you mean you can't show me or you don't want to show me?

Her: It's all gone. I used all of it.

Me: Can you show me where it came from?

Her: (face lights up) YES! It was from this!

As she holds up a wrapper, I realized she had opened and poured a package of black Rit fabric dye into a glass of sparkling water.

As I tell my husband we need to call poison control, I'm scrambling through drawers trying to find the stickers with the number on them. Being unsuccessful, and him getting more impatient by the minute, I run over to my computer to Google "Poison Control." He's still in panic mode and asking what to do and I'm telling him to HANG ON, we might need to make her vomit.

Having been given something to DO, he hauls our daughter into the bathroom, while I yell, "NO NO NOT YET!" and dial Poison Control.

I get a very calm man on the phone and tell him what our daughter has ingested. I can't tell him how much since it's hard to judge how much of the sludge was dye and what might have been consumed.

The good news: it's non toxic, and ultimately, she will be fine.

The bad news: it's very high in sodium, so she may vomit and/or be a bit "spacey." Also, she should probably only vomit once, and if it's more than that, to take her in to urgent care to replenish fluids.

As I sigh in relief, he tells me, "Oh, the most important thing you need to know....TAKE PICTURES. You're going to need blackmail material in about 10 years or so."

This--the poison control guy telling me the most important thing is to get blackmail pictures--is a moment I will remember for a long, long time.

My husband is unable to find the humor in this event yet as he is still too traumatized.

And now I'm a little paranoid about leaving tomorrow for two nights.

Meandering Time

Had my meeting (part 1) today, which was long, but shorter than scheduled, so good. We had plans to meet for dinner and were told it was walking distance from the hotel.

It totally was walking distance, but it was NOT where we were told it was. I frequently scorn my husband (and dad) for their use of a GPS. I hate the repetitive drone of "in point one miles, turn left on Z street." I figure with walking, the number of times I would have to hear that would drive me to break my new phone.

Did I mention I got a new phone? No? Well, it's because I hate the process. We spent several days talking to salespeople, writing up 2-year-cost charts, trying to figure out if switching carriers or just one of us switching carriers or staying put with our current carrier would cost the least. After factoring in Cancellation fees, New Phone fees, Initialization fees, Monthly fees, and We-Just-Want-To-Charge-You-More-Fees fees, we decided to pay out of pocket full rate for new phones, get insurance this time, and stay with our current carrier.

Interestingly, we now have MORE services on our phones AND insurance, and are paying about $8 a month more.

But it was still a hefty payout and I did not want to be driven to annoyance by a GPS that would encourage me to yell at, beat, or throw my new phone, regardless of insurance coverage.

So I tried to use the web services to find the place I was supposed to go, which proved to be a challenge as the company web site detects when it is being accessed by a mobile phone, yet does not offer a "search locations" option in that mode and won't let you access their regular web site.

Smart phones? Not so clever. And despite being supposedly "easy" to use, I still find myself battling it.

So on the way I found a neat little bookstore. A mix of new, used, comics, and games. Almost all of it was right up my alley in terms of genre. The place was teeny, but literally packed floor to ceiling with stuff. The whole wall just to the left of the entry door looked quite similar to my home collection and I commented on that to the owner. He directed me to a new series--which I picked up the first book. What was really cool is he offers a 10% discount if you purchase something off of his recommendation.

Despite my detour and not being able to find the place, I arrived at dinner early. Totally busted my eating plan for the weekend, but thoroughly enjoyed the fish and chips.

Had a nice walk back to the hotel and spent some time doing some recreational reading. Ahhh.

Stepping Away

I had to leave for a meeting this weekend. My daughter went home from preschool with a friend. The report I got (later) indicated that while she was there, they were playing in the treehouse. My daughter squealed that she'd seen a mouse and the Mom--who happens to not be so fond of rodents--bravely climbed up, only to discover my daughter was joking.

Oh dear. What kind of example have we (I completely include my husband in this) set such that our 3-year-old is already playing practical jokes?

Meanwhile, I had a three-hour drive to my meeting which was absolutely gorgeous. The weather was nice, the late afternoon angles of light through trees and across water and mountains was phenomenal. Wow. I love where I live.

While I was rock-jamming out on the drive (and somewhat stunned at the speed I was quite frequently passed at, especially since I thought I was really speeding), I was thinking about what I'd do when I got to my hotel. I had a bunch of reading to do to prepare for tomorrow's meeting--a "bunch" being about 3-4 hours worth.

Yes, I could have read it before leaving home. No, this wasn't typical procrastination behavior (although any other time I would totally attribute it to that). Since I have to have a good grasp on the material, I read in the night before so it is "fresh" but yet I've still had time to sleep on it/process it. Having read the material in advance before (and then been unable to recall details) and also read it the morning of (and felt like I didn't have enough time for reflection), I now schedule time to read the material the night before.

So I had several hours of non-fun reading ahead of me. But I wanted to take some time for myself. An idea formed on something I've been contemplating for awhile. And when I checked in at the hotel, the girl at the front desk (who was so awesome I'm going to write a letter to the hotel management about her) called around and booked me an appointment and then wrote out directions for me to get there.

I found it, easily, and went and got a haircut.

I totally copied one of the moms at my daughter's preschool, but I've been admiring her cut for a couple of months, I know that style suits me, and my husband has also really liked similar cuts.

Now, the question is . . . will I be able to style it to look this good in the morning?

For now, I have some required reading in front of me. Hopefully I will have enough time to get to my new Jen Lancaster book before bed.

Progress=Three Weeks Between Chiropractic Visits

I LOVE Dr. Amy, and in part it's because I don't have to see her as much any more. That may sound strange, but I was on weekly visits for awhile there, and she was using every trick in her bag, including sending me home with kinesiotape to have my husband apply when the stuff she put on fell off.

Markers I'm not entirely sure I've made a big deal out of yet, but really need to put down as it's been nearly a year now.

1) No longer need pain medication to take care of basic day-to-day needs (laundry, dishes, etc.). (Crap. Can no longer use back pain as an excuse for not doing them.)

2) No longer need pain medication to exercise.

3) No longer need pain medication after exercise (occasionally Aleve though).

4) Can exercise enough to get my heart rate into a training zone.

5) Can run a 5K! (When I started, I couldn't do a .5K.)

6) Have given away clothes that are too big and had to purchase smaller clothes. (Not as much of this occurring as I would like, but compared to when I started, this is still progress.)

7) Have competed in a total of four actual athletic events.

8) Need to visit Dr. Amy less frequently.

9) Have actual days where I forget I have/had back issues.

10) Different (and still improving) mental outlook.

Today marks three weeks since my last visit to Dr. Amy. The even more interesting part (other than it's the longest stretch I've managed), is that it felt like more of a "maintenance" visit as opposed to a NEED visit. Before I could almost graph my pain scale and function scale in correlation with the visits. Day of visit, slightly better, day after way better, day 3 holding, day 4 hold/slight decline, day 5-7 gradual decline, although usually not worse than my previous visit (although sometimes the same). Now, instead of days, these are more like weeks, and I went in before I hit the decline point.

My daughter was very interested in "helping" on this visit and spent much of her time sitting on me and "massaging" me. So sweet. Not terribly effective, but sweet.

On the way home, I stopped at the Kaiser office. Of course, the first thing out of my daughter's mouth was, "I don't want a shot!"

Since that's what we were there for and the anticipation is usually worse for her, I actually just kept my mouth shut. Amazingly, the meltdown was not nearly the magnitude of the last one, which was a relief.

I'd planned on going to the park where my friend and I hike but this was the last Mom coffee of the school year and I just crave time where I get to talk to grownups other than my husband. Plus my friend had bailed on me.

Not much accomplished today, but it was nice that even my doctor can see the difference in my progress and abilities.

The Day After

Woke up a bit sore--but only in my upper back, which was the part of me that didn't get to soak in the hot tub last night.

As the day went on, I decided Aleve might be a good idea, but I couldn't find it anywhere. Turns out my husband had taken the bottle to work.

Since I was thinking rationally, I decided a bike ride would be a good idea. Of course, the bike was in the wrong gear, I had problems getting clipped in to my pedals, then had problems getting the one foot that did clip out of the clip in time to prevent myself from eating asphalt in the middle of the street and right in front of my neighbor.

Wow.

I pedaled around the neighborhood a bit and think I finally might have the hang of my new gear shifts (the trainer has NOT been helping with this as there is no risk of falling off when I screw up). I sped around the block a few times. I was amazed by two things: 1) I can get going MUCH faster on this bike than the other one and 2) I need WAY more training time if I want to sustain any kind of speed to hit my Catalina goals.

Unfortunately, my brief ride brought me in touch with my inner feelings. As in, muscles inside I didn't realize were feeling quite that sore from yesterday but apparently were.

Despite my soreness, I spend a good amount of time today looking up races and other events I can enter through the summer. The year is rapidly passing--just under 6 months to Catalina (and registration isn't open yet, which is odd, because it was this time last year). I've only done 4 of the 10 events I set as a goal for myself this year. That means I need to come up with 5 more events before November. Technically, that would be one per month, but September and October I can't schedule because of gymnastics judging. So I have to find two events per month for the summer. I have a few that I want to do, but they conflict with little things, like the family vacation we've been trying to plan since February, or a continuing education class I've signed up for and already paid for. That kind of stuff.

Although honestly, right now I just want a massage and another hot tub soak.

Happy Mother's Day!

This morning I was woken just after midnight by one of the dogs needing out. Since it was the dog that spent yesterday puking, I dragged my sleepy self up to let them out.

Amazingly, I fell asleep again rather quickly.

At 3:30 am, same dog wanted out. Dragged sleepy self up. Let dogs out (because they won't let me let just one of them out). Went back to bed.

Couldn't sleep.

Alarm went off at 5:30. I hit snooze, thinking I *might* be able to doze a bit. No such luck.

Worse, my knees--especially my left one--were really hurting. When I don't get enough sleep, they hurt. I'm pretty sure I have some torn cartilage in both, but I've already had three knee surgeries and am not excited about adding to the count unless it becomes day-to-day intolerable and I don't think I'm at that point yet. So I took some Aleve, hoping it would be enough before the race.

I got up and cooked breakfast for the family, fed the dogs and cats, woke up my daughter and got her eating and dressed, and waited for my husband who was operating on Moroccan time. It was only when I went to go put my phone in the car I discovered that he'd texted me last night (after I went to bed) to wake him up in the morning.

Despite leaving 35 minutes later than I'd hoped, we managed to arrive in enough time to park pretty close, get to the restrooms and still have time to stand around and wait.

Had this NOT been a first-year event, I have a feeling the parking aspect would not have been so easy.

Anyway, my daughter's race started. It was a small loop around the park, followed by a bigger loop. After the first loop, she came up to me complaining she was thirsty. I pulled out her water bottle and let her drink and OFF she ran again!

Just around the corner from me, she ran right out of her shoe. I grabbed the bag of stuff I'd set down (I was still putting away the water bottle), and stood up to run and go help, but someone had already taken care of her and she took off again.

A bit later she came running around the big loop, and Baba (who'd gone off separately to get photos) was with her. I cheered her on and she finished the race by herself.

As she was handed a blue ribbon when she crossed the finish line, she proudly declared, "I WINNED, Mommy!" I gave her a big hug and kiss and agreed with her.

My race started awhile later. A 5K, this started in the park, but then wound UP into a nearby neighborhood, was mostly flat for about 1.5 miles or so, and then back down into the park.

I was still pulling off my sweatshirt when the gun went off, so I had to jog to get to the back of the pack (where I was starting), and then wait for the pack to start moving, and then move some before officially crossing the start line.

Like the 5K in my last triathlon (April 2, 2011 entry), I decided I was going to RUN the whole thing if I could. (Again, please note that by "run" you should not have a picture of someone taking lengthy strides and moving at a speed that would indicate miles being done in a single-digit minute range. No, no. Picture instead someone who is not walking, but almost might as well be.)

As I struggled through the first .75ish miles of the race (mostly uphill, part of it fairly steep), I was engaged in the following discussion in my head.

1) I should have trained more.
2) I hate this.
3) Not even sure why I'm doing this.
4) There's people walking.
5) I should walk.
6) Okay, I'll walk when I really can't run any more.
7) I hate this.
8) Way to go, positive thinker.
9) I'm insane to be thinking I could cut my run down to 10-minute miles. Hah.
10) There you go with the positive thinking again.

I did stop at the 1-mile mark, which was a water station. In my defense, it was because I wanted to consume the water instead of just wear it. I partially succeeded.

I'm not sure what point I noticed her at, but it was before the first water station: a woman wearing a purple shirt and grey pants. She was doing intervals--walk a bit, run a bit, walk, run. Since I was determined to run the whole way, I decided I wanted to try to beat her. I would just start to close the gap on her when she would start running again (and her run more closely resembled "running" than mine did). I kept plodding along, but just couldn't close the gap.

Passed mile 2 and the water station (again, stopped just enough to drink instead of wear), and then headed back downhill. I was able to pick up some speed on the downhill and was actually surprised my knees didn't kill me (especially considering my discomfort when I got up this morning).

Still couldn't catch the purple shirt woman.

As I got close to the finish line, there was a crowd of 12 or so people, cheering me on by name. I was a little confused as NONE of them looked familiar and I still couldn't see my husband. I finally realized they were cheering on someone right behind me, and hollered back, "THANKS!"

My husband released my daughter to me and she ran across the finish line, proudly declaring her signature line, "I BEAT you, Mommy!"

I was handed a pink carnation while they cut my race chip off my shoe. Then we walked around to get back to my husband and I realized I had no idea how long it had taken me. (I initially typed "how fast I'd done the race" but realized "fast" and "I" in the same sentence is not truly accurate.)

I walked back around to see the race clock and it showed 44:40. Guessing that it took me 30 seconds to a minute to get to the start line after the gun went off and a similar amount of time after finishing to check the timer, I knew that I'd taken AT LEAST 4 minutes off my last 5K.

Yes, yes, I know.

My "last" 5K (which was also my first one I'd completely run) was at the end of my last triathlon. So I'd swam 550 yards and biked 12 miles on a broken bike first. So this had BETTER be a LITTLE faster.

And yes, when your "run" pace is essentially a fast walk, it is much easier to take chunks off of your time.

Still, I was pleased, because 4 minutes is taking 1:20 off of my mile pace. Pretty good for someone who spent the whole first mile of her race complaining to herself.

I realized, as I told my husband, that the first mile to mile and a half are really hard for me and I have to FIGHT to not just quit. After that, my body seems to "give up" resisting running. As if my body says, "Well, the idiot in control apparently isn't going to stop this torture so I might as well get to it."

My husband suggested I run a mile before the race starts so that I go faster during the race.

Ha ha. Since this conversation occurred within minutes of me finishing, I was able to tell him, quite confidently, that there was NO WAY I could have gone much further and additionally, I was NOT going to sit down until we got to the car because I was quite afraid I would not be able to stand up again.

We stood around for a bit and then I decided I wanted to hunt down the woman in the purple shirt. I looked for her all over the place, and although it was a relatively small event, it was large enough I couldn't find her.

Then I spotted her pants. i walked up and asked her if by any chance she had been wearing a purple shirt during the race. When she said yes, I told her that she had totally inspired me to go faster--I saw her doing intervals and I was determined to run--but couldn't seem to get any closer. We stayed about 25-50 yards apart the whole time.

She said, "Oh my goodness, you're going to make me cry!" and gave me a huge hug. I thanked her and we left.

I didn't bother staying for awards. Probably a bad example considering when I coached gymnastics, I used to make my athletes (and, by extension, their families) stay at meets for awards ceremonies, no matter how poor the individual or team performance had been. I told them they should cheer on their competitors and show support.

In my defense, it had started to rain and my husband wanted to go home.

Okay, tangent time. Last year, Mother's Day was not a great day for me. I was sick and miserable and decided NOT to infect our good friends who had invited us over for Mother's Day lunch. So my husband and daughter went and I treasured the alone time to sleep.

when I woke up four hours later and they weren't home, I called his cell phone to see when I could expect them. No answer. While this might have worried me, he can be bad about leaving his phone in the car, so I called our friends' house number. He was still there. When I asked when he'd be back (I was feeling well enough to be up and about and wanted to spend some time with my daughter), he said they'd leave in about a half hour.

Three hours later, I called again, this time actually worried. They hadn't left yet. Two hours after THAT, they came home.

Then I was sick AND grouchy.

So far, this year was going better. I was sitting at the computer when my daughter walked up carrying a bag from a JEWELRY store.

Okay, so maybe, just maybe, I hinted a couple of weeks ago that I might like something along those lines. Perhaps the hint was in the form of a coupon. Perhaps that hint was delivered to my husband by our daughter. And perhaps she delivered it with the message, "Baba, I think we should get this for Mommy for Mother's Day," as I instructed her.

Manipulation? Me? Nah.

Okay, in my defense, the item in question was $39.99. Perhaps more than we would spend, but not outrageous by any means.

First I opened the cards. A cute one from my daughter and a very sweet one from my husband. Then I opened the little black box, which had a heart-shaped necklace in it (silver). I immediately put it on. There was also a purple sparkly heart-shaped box. My husband informed me that our daughter picked it out, but that she was actually hoping I would give it back to her. We had a good chuckle.

(She's not getting the box back.) (I know, I'm mean, but I like it and I will treasure it for years to come.)

I showered and we changed and got dressed and went to my dad's girlfriend's house for lunch, which was delicious.

We came home and my daughter and I CRASHED. I slept for nearly four hours (funny what waking up at 3:30 am after 4 hours of interrupted sleep and then running a 5K will do to you) and hopped online, hoping to find race results.

The race I did is held in 3 states. One state's results had been posted. Another state someone else found, and I couldn't find mine ANYWHERE. Finally, I dug into my race packet and pulled out the info from the timing chip, Googled it, and discovered the following:

I took 5:29 off my 5K time, finishing in 43:04. My mile pace was 13:54, which is a HUGE improvement.

Then I discovered my daughter wasn't listed in the results. I scanned and scanned...and found her in the 13 and up division.

Which is weird, because although she's 3, I entered her in the 4-year-old division. (No, this is not about being an overcompetitive Mom, although I'm sure I could be accused of that at some point. She LOVES racing and asks all the time when she can do her next one, so I entered her. And yes, for this type of thing, I totally give in.)

So I emailed and asked them to change the results (not that it makes a difference for her because she was just so pleased to get her blue ribbon that she had my husband pin it to her).

Then a late trip to the gym for a soak in the hot tub and off to bed.

This sure beat last year.

Three-Alarm Wake Up Call

Before you panic with concern, the alarms were not in regards to a fire. The alarms were in the form of madly barking dogs.

Have I mentioned that I (heart) Fridays? I savor them because I get to sleep in a little, take my time getting going, and then I spend the day accomplishing all kinds of stuff I can't get done in a normal day. Fridays (and Mondays, but I don't seem to have the same kind of accomplishment success on Mondays) my daughter is at an all-day French immersion preschool. What's even better is that she loves it too, so it's not just Mommy sanity that is provided, but also an educational and fun experience for my daughter.

Tangent time. (It occurred to me as I wrote "tangent time" that it may actually be more efficient for me to explain when I am NOT on a tangent. Because this is a tangent from my original tangent which never even got started.)

ANYWAY. I have this personal philosophy against day care for my daughter. I'm not saying day cares are bad or that parents who put their kids in day care are bad. I think there are "greats" both in daycares and in parents who utilize them. For some reason though, the idea of putting my daughter in daycare bothers me. My personal thoughts on this are that my husband and I had her to raise her, not to ship her off to someone else to raise her.

Back when I was still coaching, I had her with babysitters because there was just enough overlap in my husband's and my jobs that we couldn't meet in the middle to exchange. Part of the reason I quit coaching was that I realized essentially I was utilizing daycare, but that by leaving my daughter with (qualified) teenagers, instead of having a known and potentially educational structure, I was leaving her in a place with none of that--just a safe place to be taken care of. I could go into all the logistics of how my husband and I worked in opposite directions, so a central place for daycare wasn't feasable, costs wouldn't make sense with my pay rate, and most daycares weren't open the hours I needed so we used kids that were friends of the family instead. Among other things with my work, I really began to feel that I was still just doing "daycare." So that contributed to me quitting coaching.

When the possibility of this French immersion daycare/preschool came up, I was initially reluctant because my initial understanding was that it was essentially daycare. Also, cost, especially since I'm not working regularly. On the other hand, my French is pretty atrocious and she does need more exposure to it. Plus my husband showed me how the cost of this new school was essentially the same as my car payment, so we decided to enroll her right as the car was paid off. I was left without any valid arguments ("guilt" was not relevant to my husband).

And...I have been amazed at how much I can get done without her here. The occasional twinge of guilt is immediately relieved when I think about how she's having fun and doing so in French instead of having me tell her to PLEASE leave the laundry pile alone while Mommy's trying to fold it and ACK, don't pull that cord and other such things she does while she is bored, needs attention, and Mommy is trying (unsuccessfully) to clean/organize.

Granted, I'm not a whole lot more successful at cleaning/organizing as anyone who has visited my home will attest (I joke that we are boarderline hoarders, but it's really not that much of a joke, more of a sad reality). At least I've been able to make a few dents in getting things done, so I was looking forward to another day of that today.

(See? Long tangents. Insert "not a tangent" alert here.)

At about 9:30 (still official "lazy" time for me), the doorbell rang and my dog was barking abnormally loudly (I did not realize at the time that it was not just her barking). I opened the door and was near-trampled by two Golden Retrievers barging in to see my dog.

Oh yeah. I totally forgot that our friends were leaving for a trip and bringing their dogs by TODAY. And even though it was in the back of my head, for some reason I was thinking it would be LATER today.

So my husband's friend saw me in complete disarray and my house even worse. I was (slightly) amazed that he still wanted to leave the dogs with us, although considering he had a flight to catch overseas, I'm not sure he had any other options at that point.

I love having all the goldens here. I would love to get one more of our own so that our dog has someone to play with (I'd even consider several other breeds, just so she would have someone to play with).

Yet at the same time? Sigh. So much for getting things done today.

I did manage to get out in the sun for a brief bit on my bike, which is not getting nearly as much usage as purchasing it would justify or as my training level needs. I would blame the weather, but I do have the bike trainer in the living room and simply need to spend more time on it.

The destroyed toy tally has already begun. Bailey is at 6, including a toy that had lasted our dog through puppy stages and for another 5 years.