Puppy Love

When we lost our older dog in January, it was very difficult for me. What I didn't anticipate was how hard it would be for our younger dog. As surly and unappreciative as our older dog was, Riley has been completely lost without her companionship. Until yesterday.

We've been waiting on this litter since early February, and the timing was perfect: spring break. It's been a wonderful few days and it is so tender to see Riley with 'his' puppy.

Internet, meet Cooper:

Riley and Cooper

March 24, 2013 Cooper's First Photo
On our way home with our new puppy!

Cooper and Smurf blankie

Snuggle puppy

Precious baby boy!

Right before...brat attack!

Cooper raids Riley's basket of toys.

Puppy Vacation is one of the sweetest trips you can take!

Bummer

While I wouldn't describe myself as clinically depressed, most of this winter has seen Babydoll in general malaise. I've heard people attribute these kinds of feelings to the waning light of winter and all - and since this is the second winter I've struggled, I decided to look it up. It's referred to as Seasonal Affective Disorder. 

My apologies for the ugly link.  I'm sure it's Blogger 101 to know How To Make A Pretty Link - but, whatever: 

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0002499/

Yes, the acronym really is SAD. Irony much? Of course, there have been all kinds of upheaval and sadness for me this last week - which I won't go into detail about, anonymous site or not...but none of it has helped the SAD. 

Last night found me pretty overwhelmed and desperate. After dropping Boy and Girl Doll off for club basketball, I had two hours to kill. I searched for a 12-Step meeting on my phone and aside from a meeting across town at 6:00pm that I was already late for, there was nothing until 8 o'clock. I didn't feel like doing anything rash, but I will be honest: I did reflect momentarily on the sense of ease and comfort that the first drink would bring. If I could have done it with impunity, last night would have been the night for a glass of wine. 

In truth, I've never really had a glass of wine. I tasted it a few times before I got sober but never the romantic, paired-with-food adult version. However, I hold no illusions. I know that none of that matters for a girl like me. A person that drinks Japanese cooking wine or Creme de Menthe doesn't give a shit about things like 'oak and citrus notes' or '...finishes on the palette like butter'. One drink is too many and a thousand is never enough. So I decided to get a cup of coffee. 

I know what your thinking: Coffee?! And at night! Scandalous! 

Here's the other shoe: I don't drink caffeinated beverages, either. Yeah. The blood bank calls me regularly and begs for my blood. The Holy Grail of O+ flows through my drug, alcohol, caffeine and sugar-free veins. It just doesn't get any purer than up in here.

I drove to the nearest coffee house to indulge, and threw caution completely out the window by also ordering pumpkin bread. I know, right?! I was barely able to hold my tears back while paying for my snacks. I couldn't wait to get out to my car, so I could cry quietly alone and feel sorry for myself...while huffing down my pumpkin bread and coffee. 

I made my way out in the rain to my car, got in and sat silently for a few minutes before taking my first sip of crack coffee. Bitter, watery and scorched...it was the worst cup of coffee I've ever had.

WHAT THE FUCK, STARBUCKS? 

Partial story-line credit goes to The Mom of Big Dogs. You rule!

Rant-or

Recently, someone asked if I'd ever lost my cool in public. Here is a story of the time I went off on someone:

When I was 18, I used to work at a deli. People could buy cheeses and meats, order a sandwich to go or come over to the small restaurant on the other side of the store. I was the cashier/barista on the restaurant side of the deli.

There was an older woman who was a partial amputee, that used to come into the the restaurant and drink coffee. She loved to make a scene and would dramatically slip off her prosthetic leg and start moaning. Eventually she'd leave, but it made the other patrons incredibly skeeved out. She made everyone so uncomfortable, that the customers and staff didn't know how to respond. No one ever said anything to her.

One day it was raining, and she came in and hadn't sat down for 2 minutes before she started up, getting progressively louder:

Ooooh.

(pause)

Oooooh...uuuuuhnnnnn....

(pause)

OOOOOOOOOOHHAAAAUUUUUUUUNNNNNN!!!

I approached her and told her that I would do one of two things: call an ambulance if she was in pain, or call her a cab if she was not - but that her theatrics were making the other diners uncomfortable and she needed to leave if she couldn't be quiet. She was so shocked that I'd addressed her directly, that she stopped mid-wail and begged me not to kick her out. She said she wasn't in any pain and 'would be good from now on'.

That's when one of my co-workers sharply called my name and said, "Come in here at once!" He hauled me off into the walk-in refrigerator and bawled me out, yelling 'how could you turn an old woman out in the rain?!'

I got right up in his face and told him that she needed to take her crazy somewhere else. If she needed medical treatment, that was one thing - but she enjoyed making a scene and making people uncomfortable. Being older or having a disability doesn't give someone the excuse to be a jerk.

The woman still came in regularly, but she acted like a civilized person after that.

Rant-ee

Recently, someone asked if I'd ever lost my cool in public, or if anyone has ever gone off on me. Here is a story a the time someone went off on me:

I was 19-years old and had been recently hired to work at high-end gift store. It was on the main street of our town and very popular with tourists. My first day there, the owner came in to ask me to clarify some numbers on my application and said my writing wasn't 'clear enough'. After I confirmed the information, he re-wrote it next to my handwriting - except that his writing was completely illegible. It was so ironic, that I busted out laughing and made him a little flustered. I wish I could have held onto that feeling. 

My boss was a tyrant from that point forward. A week after I was hired, he brought me outside and screamed at me on the sidewalk, inches away from my face with spittle flying and everything, while people walked past us. It was exactly like a public shaming:

"YOU'RE DOING A SHITTY JOB!! YOUR SIXES LOOKED LIKE CAPITAL C's! YOU NEEDED TO GET OFF THE CHAIR AND HELP CUSTOMERS - AND DUST, AND CLEAN, AND POLISH, AND MAKE SURE THE MONEY IN THE DRAWER IS ALL! FACING! IN! THE! SAME! DIRECTION!  -- SO YOU DON'T ACCIDENTALLY HAND OUT THE INCORRECT CHANGE! IF I'M NOT SATISFIED WITH YOUR PERFORMANCE OVER THE NEXT WEEK...YOU'RE FIRED!!"

I went back inside, trying not to cry in front of my snotty co-workers. A week later, he came back in and told me that I had really improved and to KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK...except it's hard to receive a compliment when it's screamed at you. He pretty much had only one volume.

I worked there for a year and a half and there were dozens of nights I was alone in the gift store after hours, crying because the cash sheet wouldn't balance and dreading calling him with the final numbers for the night. It never occurred to me to quit.

I read a few days ago that he died, and his obituary described him as 'cantankerous'. Yeah. That's one word for it.

ETA: The one good thing that came of this job: It was the first place I laid eyes on Mr Doll :)

Birthday Boy

Today is Boy Doll's birthday. He turned 12-years old.

We are celebrating his birthday at Magic Mountain with two of his friends. Despite the lines, it's been a fun day. Would this have been my first choice? No, but that's what part of being a family is about. Girl Doll's friends have planned a sleepover tonight, trading group texts about what movies they'll watch. While she's disappointed that she can't attend, she isn't arguing or questioning why she can't go. Family is important.

Before I got pregnant, I worried that I wouldn't like another child as much as Girl Doll, or worse - the siblings would hate each other. It was a waste of my energy. Our kids adore each other. And in truth, I could never imagine my life without my son.

In a hurry to arrive, I labored with Boy Doll only 7 hours, compared to the 31 hours if labor with our daughter. I conservatively guessed that he'd be born in 12-15 hours, and because if this I missed the signs of transition. We barely made it to the hospital. My water broke on our driveway as we made our way out to the car, and I was overwhelmed by the need to bear down.

We got to the hospital, and I was still thinking there was another 3-4 hours of labor ahead of me. Remembering my childbirth training, I wanted to use the bathroom - an empty bladder makes for less painful contractions. This was a mistake; I ended up birthing our son right there on the potty. Thankfully, the nurses responded quickly and caught our Boy Doll. I lucked out, and got the same nurse that helped us when I was in labor with Girl Doll. It was an amazing day.

Twelve years later, Boy Doll is one of the kindest, most easy-going people I know. He has taken drum lessons since he was 7-years old, and is one of the best youth drummers in our area - although he is modest about it, and never brags about his natural ability.

It's bittersweet that he is moving on from grade school and entering junior high next year. We've begun the enrollment process for his 7th grade year. All of this makes me excited but nostalgic. I can't believe our 'baby' is in his last year as a preteen!

ETA: Today was a great day. We are all home now, tired and happy from a long day. I know if I blink - we'll be celebrating your eighteenth birthday, so I am trying to savor these carefree days. I love you, son. Happy birthday!

Nov. 2012 - This photo was taken when Boy
got home from 6th grade camp. Best. Hug. Ever.

Ten

Over the next couple of weeks, I will post some highlights and favorite memories of my 15 year running career. Here is one of those stories:

April, 2007 - This race was a local 10-miler and one of my best distance races ever. I finished in 1:35. 

A racing event - or any running for that matter, is a tricky wicket. There are so many variables (nutrition, hydration, training) that it's almost impossible to duplicate a successful race. I'll be the first to say that running is a fickle little bitch.

But on that day, running was my bitch. I had been pacing a friend who was running her first 10-miler. At five miles in, I got an endorphin rush and told my friend that I'd see her at the finish line. I took off like a shot and I felt like I could run forever. 

Perfection!  

Pier to Puke

Over the next couple of weeks, I will post some highlights and favorite memories of my 15 year running career. Here is one of those stories:

In September 2005, I ran the Pier to Peak half marathon. It is the most difficult race I have run. Ever. The event takes place at sea level and makes a 4,000 foot elevation gain to one of the highest peaks overlooking our town. It is absolutely grueling. So, naturally - I ran it again in 2009 and 2010. 

The first year that I ran Pier to Peak was my best effort out of the three races, finishing with a time of 3:16:53. That doesn't seem too fast - but in 2005 I was running a personal best of 2:05 for a half marathon, if that gives any indication to the intensity of the course. 

Mr Doll was out of town, so I had asked My Best Girl spend the night. The plan was that I would leave at 5am and she would drive up after the run later in the morning, and pick me up the top of the mountain with Boy and Girl Doll. 

The kids worked my friend pretty hard and weaseled a carbonated soda out of her to drink during the ride up. What makes this event so memorable wasn't the run itself, but the ride home when Boy announced that he didn't feel good - and then threw up all over himself and the back seat. Both kids were crying and Girl Doll yelled, "Why did you have to throw up?! IT SMELLS SO BAD!" My Best Girl pulled over to the side of the mountain road and we all fell out of the car from the stench. 

While all the other runners wound their way down the mountain past us and onto parties where they celebrated their nubile bodies and added another notch on their Pier to Peak belt - I stood on the side of the road, quickly stripping Boy Doll out of the vomit clothes and into a dry, spare change of clothes I kept in the car...you know, in case of the apocalypse or times like this. I dumped almost a whole container of baby powder on the floor mats and back seat which seemed like a good idea at the time - because who doesn't like the smell of baby powder? Instead of covering the odor, it just made everything noxious. 

Dude. Nothing kills a runner's high faster than having to deal with vomit. We drove the rest of the way home in silence...punctuated by the occasional dry-heave.