Almost done feeling sorry for myself
I had another tough week last night, but I think I'm pulling into the home stretch of this whole dark-cloud-hanging-over-me business. Or at least I hope so.
A low point last week involved taking two dogs to the vet - our female Boxer, Gretchen, and our foster Boxer, Kaiser. Gretchen was due for her annual stuff. I also needed to have the doctor take a look at a bunch of scabs on her back. When I was growing up, if one of us had an ailment (typically a skin issue) of some sort and didn't know what it was, my stad would say, "Oh, you've got the creeping epizooties." So, armed with my vast medical knowledge, I diagnosed Gretchen with a case of the creeping epizooties. Dr. S had her doubts about my diagnosis. She did a skin scraping (sent it out to a lab) and prescribed antibiotics and a topical spray. We're keeping our fingers crossed that it's not ringworm, as that would suck. Gretchen did receive one definitive diagnosis, though, which is that she is fat. We kind of knew that. That's why we sing "Oh fat Gretchen" to the tune of "Black Betty" (bamalam). So, her rations are officially reduced.
I brought Kaiser in because I noticed that he had an aural hematoma. This is when the ear flap fills with blood. Typically, a dog shakes his head, more blood flows into the ear, and so on it goes. Just puncturing the pocket doesn't work, because the ear will just fill again. So, I had to leave Kaiser overnight to have surgery the next morning. The surgeon emptied the bloody pocket (which, I think you'll agree, would be an excellent name for a band) and then put random sutures all over the pinna to keep it from filling with blood again. He also added a foam disk to stabilize the ear. So yes, Kaiser essentially has a dessert plate sewn onto his head.
On Friday night, we went to a birthday party for a friend of mine. A bunch of us met up at a bar and hung out there for a while before heading to a restaurant for dinner. The kid was at a sleepover, so we didn't even have to pay for a sitter. Woot! It was a fun evening. Something pretty awful did happen at the bar, though. I went to the jukebox to play a few songs (and, as you know, I have stellar taste in music). However, I realized I needed change and went to negotiate with my husband. When I went back to the jukebox, a man in a striped polo shirt was already there. And worse yet, he was playing Top 40 music. "We have to go!" I told my fellow partygoers. "I know for a fact that 'Red Solo Cup' is about to play." Sadly, we didn't make it out the door before the song played. I died a little inside.
On Saturday morning, I left town. I had to attend the annual meeting for the rescue (about two hours away) and had gotten a hotel room on Priceline. I can't say that I was too sad about leaving my family behind, in as much as I think my daughter had gotten about four hours of sleep at the sleepover. I suspected she was about to redefine the word "cranky."
"Good luck to you," I told my husband as I hopped into my mom-mobile and hit the road.
The meeting was a lot of fun - not the dry affair it probably sounds like it would be. But I cannot lie - I was mostly just excited about sleeping in a hotel room without dogs/kids/husbands in it. I love my family but I get tired of negotiating for the remote control and whatnot. It's nice to have a night away. I locked the door, poured some Merlot, and painted my toenails. Yes, THAT kind of decadence. I watched Saturday Night Live and then drifted off to sleep. Funny thing, though - you know what I dreamed? In my dream, I was at the hotel but my daughter appeared in my bed. I woke up to find her size 12 foot wedged into my armpit. "How did you get here?" I kept asking her in my dream. "Does Daddy know you're here?" I guess some part of me missed the cranky little thing.
I got up this morning and went for a quick swim in the hotel pool (the water was freezing) and then got my act together and hit the road. I had to leave earlier than planned because the weather was supposed to get bad. The weather man was calling for a "wintry mix," which I interpreted to mean, "We think something may - or may not - fall out of the sky. And if something does fall out of the sky, we're not 100% sure of that that something will be."
That's all, folks!
A low point last week involved taking two dogs to the vet - our female Boxer, Gretchen, and our foster Boxer, Kaiser. Gretchen was due for her annual stuff. I also needed to have the doctor take a look at a bunch of scabs on her back. When I was growing up, if one of us had an ailment (typically a skin issue) of some sort and didn't know what it was, my stad would say, "Oh, you've got the creeping epizooties." So, armed with my vast medical knowledge, I diagnosed Gretchen with a case of the creeping epizooties. Dr. S had her doubts about my diagnosis. She did a skin scraping (sent it out to a lab) and prescribed antibiotics and a topical spray. We're keeping our fingers crossed that it's not ringworm, as that would suck. Gretchen did receive one definitive diagnosis, though, which is that she is fat. We kind of knew that. That's why we sing "Oh fat Gretchen" to the tune of "Black Betty" (bamalam). So, her rations are officially reduced.
On Friday night, we went to a birthday party for a friend of mine. A bunch of us met up at a bar and hung out there for a while before heading to a restaurant for dinner. The kid was at a sleepover, so we didn't even have to pay for a sitter. Woot! It was a fun evening. Something pretty awful did happen at the bar, though. I went to the jukebox to play a few songs (and, as you know, I have stellar taste in music). However, I realized I needed change and went to negotiate with my husband. When I went back to the jukebox, a man in a striped polo shirt was already there. And worse yet, he was playing Top 40 music. "We have to go!" I told my fellow partygoers. "I know for a fact that 'Red Solo Cup' is about to play." Sadly, we didn't make it out the door before the song played. I died a little inside.
On Saturday morning, I left town. I had to attend the annual meeting for the rescue (about two hours away) and had gotten a hotel room on Priceline. I can't say that I was too sad about leaving my family behind, in as much as I think my daughter had gotten about four hours of sleep at the sleepover. I suspected she was about to redefine the word "cranky."
"Good luck to you," I told my husband as I hopped into my mom-mobile and hit the road.
I got up this morning and went for a quick swim in the hotel pool (the water was freezing) and then got my act together and hit the road. I had to leave earlier than planned because the weather was supposed to get bad. The weather man was calling for a "wintry mix," which I interpreted to mean, "We think something may - or may not - fall out of the sky. And if something does fall out of the sky, we're not 100% sure of that that something will be."
That's all, folks!
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