Lovemydox

Our Visit to the Pumpkin Patch

2008-10-16T21:28:00.002-05:00

On Sunday afternoon, we took a drive down historic Highland Road in Baton Rouge, which is lined with one beautiful old home after another, all the way onto the LSU campus to the University Methodist Church. The church has a "pumpkin patch" every year. They basically arrange tons of pumpkins in front of their church and in the courtyard. It was quite quaint. Jude loved it. He ran around like a chicken with its head cut off yelling "Look at all these pumpkins!" He has a thing for them.

Check out his swagger . . .

We took several photos which my friend put an artistic touch on. I absolutely love these.

I framed them in this frame. This photo is really crappy but it's hard to take a picture of a framed picture without getting that flash glare. You get the idea.

I also had the urge to decorate for Halloween. Postpartum depression left me such an empty shell and now that I am feeling more and more whole, I am beginning to notice the little details in life again. I'm actually changing up my earrings every now and then. I found these little ceramic pieces at a hospital gift shop (of all places) for half off. The pieces on the ends are tealights that I stumbled upon at Walmart. I think it goes together well. Very simple, I know. I'm just so grateful to feel good enough to do things like this.

The Triumphant Return of Veruca Salt

2008-10-12T14:38:00.002-05:00

Back in my "plastic days" where I had a credit card for virtually every store in the mall, including a few "generic" ones (like Visa and Mastercard and Discover, etc. - all of which I possessed) I'd experience what I liked to call the "Veruca Salt" syndrome upon entering a store. I'd be minding my own business, browsing and whatnot, when I would see something - a necklace perhaps . . . and I would touch it, try it on, and proceed to fall madly in love with it. And in the very depths of my mind I would hear that shrieky little British voice:

GOOSES! GEESES! I WANT MY GEESE TO LAY GOLD EGGS FOR EASTER!

See here for reference:

And then I would buy buy buy - Veruca's little tune rambling in my head.

I WANT IT NOW!

This continued on until I was in heaps of debt (which I managed to get out of later on when I was a little more wizened up.) It's funny how these credit card people will set up on college campuses and lure naive little freshman with promises of free t-shirts. At least that's what it was like when I was there in the 90s.

"Would you like to have years and years of crippling debt that will haunt you for life AND get this free tshirt?"

"Excuse me, did you say free tshirt? Sign me up!"

Don't even think I ever wore said t-shirt(s).

But anyhoo - so, yes, I was talking about how Veruca Salt's song from Willy Wonka used to play in my head when I shopped. This stopped after I got out of debt and developed healthier shopping habits. I think that I really used shopping to ease the pain that I had going on in my life during those years. My parent's divorce. My weight gain. My unrequited heartbreaks. My fall from grace. It's not to say that everyone who shops is trying to soothe some sort of heartache - I mean, some people just like shoes, for God's sake. But in my case, it was filling a void. Of course, life went on, I found love, I found God, I found serenity. I didn't really need as much anymore.

And then several weeks ago I was pondering the purchase of an iPhone. (What a glorious thing the iPhone is! Chad got one and I started playing with it and fell in lust.) However, I also wanted black boots. And an argyle sweater for fall. And some sexy pumps. And some new perfume. And lotion. And some cute and trendy jewelry. And some RayBan sunglasses (although I have never NEVER believed in paying a lot for sunglasses) - Wayfarers to be exact. The classic black ones. Oh and I also wanted a Coach purse - a big one.

I was explaining all of this to my coworker and friend Erica - scheming and trying to figure out how to get my precious iPhone in addition to all my other little wants without going completely broke and she suggested that I wait for the iPhone.

"But I want it now!"

And then I paused. Uh oh. Who did that sound like? And then the song began playing in my head all over again.

I WANT THE WORLD! I WANT THE WHOLE WORLD!

It played last week when I cruised DSW shoes. It played yesterday as I shopped the mall snapping up deal after deal. Once the scent of retail hits my nostrils, a signal is sent to my brain and Veruca begins.

I didn't like it. I felt out of control.

And then I went to church this morning. And the sermon was on being financially responsible. And not basing your happiness on material things. And not throwing money around like an idiot. I know it's all very common-sense stuff, but for some reason it hit me in the gut. And I thought about all the things that we should be doing with our money - giving to the church, giving to charity, saving money for emergencies. I was sad and disappointed in myself for letting it get out of hand. And it's not like I spent a whole lot of money. Because most of the things I listed above I didn't buy. But it was that craving that stirred inside of me and wouldn't leave me alone.

I think today's message might have silenced Veruca for the time being. I'll just have to keep working to keep my priorities straight. It's easy to fall into the trap of materialism. But I'm going to try to be content with what I have and use a little more sense when I'm shopping.

Take that, Veruca!

Hey Baby! You Got Hellascrewed!

2008-10-05T15:01:00.010-05:00

So - I recently heard about this new Harajuku Lovers perfume line. It somehow has to do with Gwen Stefani and her bizarre little posse of Japanese chicks that follow her around. I really don't get that at all.

Anyhoo - Gwen released this set of perfumes. I think I saw it in an email from Sephora (a store which I am slowly but surely about to become a slave to). So I stopped by Sephora the same afternoon I got my hair cut to sniff them. And there was one I really liked that I thought Chad would like too. I'm really into wearing things that he likes. But - I usually don't buy perfume at the drop of a hat.

Well last night my bro and sis and brother-in-law and stepbrother and sister-in-law went out to dinner and to hang out at this new, very cool outdoor shopping plaza called Perkins Rowe. We had an hour wait for California Pizza Kitchen and so we decided to shop across the street at Urban Outfitters, a store so full of itself it's not even funny. But cool nonetheless. (I'm really just bitter because I'm no longer 24.)

And lo and behold they had the Harajuku Lovers perfume. What a coincidence. So I sniffed some more. And spritzed the one on me that I liked the best - the one I thought Chad would like because of its coconuttiness. The smaller size was only $25.

Hmmm - $25. Not too bad. The box looked like it contained a decent sized bottle.

Behold -

Hmmm - so I'm imagining that the bottle will probably look something like this (and let me also preface by saying that the tester bottle looked a lot like this - only much bigger):

Imagine my surprise when I take the plastic wrap off of the box, open it at the table at CPK and pull this out.

Ummm . . .

Looks like I payed for a plastic doll representation of Gwen Stefani standing on an inch of perfume.

A side view:

Hey jackass - next time read the fine print that says .33 fl. oz on the very front of the box.

It does smell really, really good though. And Chad loves it.

Sadly it may only last the week.

Damn that Gwen Stefani . . .

Flatness

2008-10-04T07:17:00.002-05:00

Okay so here are photos of the hair. Everyone seems to have the same thing to say - "It's cute, but . . ." And then they'll talk about the floppy dog ears part that just hangs there on either side of my head. My hair is pretty thick - so it shouldn't be so flat. So I'm assuming it's the cut. Some said I should cut more layers - but then my cousin told me last night as she examined it that there are actually a ton of layers in there - my hair is just too heavy to show them.

What does that even mean?

Bottom line - I am a narcissistic crazy person who is obssessed with her hair and needs to get a life.

And the truly sad thing is that I totally know what it's like to absolutely have no hair since I had chemotherapy and lost it all. However - if one can find a really cute wig . . .

I am a sick person.

So - picture one. (Yeah, yeah - I know it's fine. I'm an idiot.)

Picture two - I am pointing to the offending area.

Hair Scare, Maybe Baby?

2008-10-02T21:11:00.003-05:00

I decided to get my hair cut today. If you've been reading this blog for a good while, you'll know that I like making spontaneous hair appointments. Gives me a bit of a thrill. Actually, I decided to get it cut on Tuesday but she couldn't see me until today and so I went to surrender my locks to the shears this afternoon.

And boy did she cut it.

She cut a LOT of it off.

To tell you the truth cats, it ain't looking so hot. I really don't know if I should be worried or not at this moment. I mean, whenever she fixes it, I always come out looking like I'm wearing a really bad wig - whether she flat-irons or round brushes the hell out of it or whatever. Always distastrous looking. But I just chuckle to myself because I know when I use my own (much, much cheaper, I might add) shampoo and my (also much cheaper) flat iron and my (free) magic, all will be well. And then I noticed that there are some very short pieces towards the crown of my head. Like - three inches short. And I know that this whole thing is supposed to be layered, but I'm just a tad bit concerned that it will give that "muffin top" effect.

Chad was truly pissed when I walked in tonight. I tried to call ahead and warn him. I told him it would look like a bad wig. I just didn't mention the fact that it would be a short, bad wig. Men are so weird when it comes to women's hair. I know - long = sexy or whatever, but there comes a point when you just get tired of fooling with the crap. When you want something different. He told me I would need to buy a wig. A good wig.

That's not a bad idea, actually. Could spice it up a bit (wink).

I also have bangs - which means regular "bangs maintenance." But I learned that I can go to any location of my salon and get them trimmed for free (by free they mean I hand them a $10 tip when all is said and snipped.)

If my hair comes out okay in the morning, I'll post pics. I really hope I can work my "magic" on it.

In other news - still a little worked up over this hysterical pregnancy business. Was so drained yesterday that I could barely push my buggy through Walmart. My legs felt like giant tree trunks lumbering (get it, ha!) along. I thought I would collapse at any moment.

My sister was also thinking she might be pregnant for more normal and obvious reasons such as a missed period. She bought a pack of tests last night at Walmart when we shopped there. We cruised the baby section, looking at clothes, almost crying over a tiny tiger halloween costume. And then there was the whole "what if we are BOTH pregnant?" conversation. I had visions of us taking pictures of our huge bellies touching - huge smiles on our (most likely huge) faces. A joint shower. Cousins that would be almost like siblings. . .

When we got back to her house, I convinced her that we should both take a test - at the same time. And so we did.

And there were two pink lines . . . but this was the kind of test where you had to have a pink line and a pink cross (these tests are so ridiculous). And so we both tested negative. No baby bump bumping photos in our immediate future.

Sigh.

Of course, there is always a chance that it was a false negative for me. I'm technically 8 days away from being "late" and even the early-detection tests say that they tell you within five days. I'm sure it's all in my head (and not in my uterus).

I guess I will cross that bridge when I get to it. Honestly Chad and I are not trying at all - and I'm still on the pill. We haven't really discussed it too much until I started feeling weird a few weeks ago and began having my suspicions. I think I had mentioned one time about going off the pill a few months ago and being immediately asked if I were insane.

So -we shall see what happens. If ol' Aunt Flow doesn't arrive by Tuesday we may have to do another test.

Stormy

2008-09-26T22:03:00.002-05:00

Reasons why I am so behind on this blog:

Hurricane Gustav - (the most obvious one) - without power for almost a week -mass destruction all around - only lost our fence though and a few shingles. Chad's parents were here for over a week - which was really nice. Mimi (Chad's mom) was awesome. It was like having a nanny - Mimi Poppins, if you will.

Hurricane Twilight - during the Gustav "down time" I began reading the series and became completely (and I mean completely) obsessed with it. So much so that one day I thought I was literally going insane and had to extra-medicate myself. Luckily, after my second reading of the first book (in less than a month) I think I'm almost over it. Sorta. Maybe.

. . .

. . .

TEAM EDWARD!

(gasping)

Okay - I'm fine. (That was the geekiest moment of my new millenium.)

Now what was I saying?

Hurricane Ginormity - have been packing on the pounds like there is no tomorrow. I guess I can blame Hurricane Gustav on that too since we popped Debbie Cakes like Cheez-its during the storm. Am completely out of control. Must get help immediately. Must have jaws wired shut. Really - I just need to get back on Wellbutrin.

Tropical Storm Hysterical Pregnancy - Sore boobs. Weird cravings. Drained. Feeling weird. I don't know you guys . . . of course, I can't test until October 8th - according to my calculations but I'm on the verge of actually believing it might be true. And some may say I'm jinxing something or whatever, but whatever happens, I'll totally be able to share it here. I hide (too) little, ya know. Have the whole "life is an open book" thing going on.

Hopefully I'll write more decent crap soon. I need to go to bed so my imaginary fetus and I can get some Zzzs.

'Cane, 'Cane, Go Away!

2008-08-28T21:23:00.002-05:00

And please don't come again another day.

I'm speaking, of course, of Hurricane (Tropical Storm/Depression/Whatever) Gustav which is currently poised to wreak all sorts of havoc on the gulf coast. At least, that's the vibe everyone's getting given the way our state government is totally preparing (aka panicking). Things are wild at work with preparations. There's nothing like an impending disaster to make public relations interesting.

I've been composing a blog in my head for at least two weeks called "Pooper Trooper" which goes into wondrous (gruesome?) details about Jude's battle with pooping and how he didn't go for five days and he had to go to the doctor and now he's on this fiber treatment program and he's doing great but now he has diarrhea . . .

But - bottom line - he's good. He poops. Life goes on. Blah blah blah.

Hopefully I'll have at least a little time to post any hurricane updates. Please say a prayer that we don't get completely blasted by this.

Garden of Eatin'

2008-08-13T21:41:00.003-05:00

Jimmy Buffet really needs to write a new ode to another fabulous frozen drink. And he needs to call it Pinacoladaland. Because that's where I resided, kids - for four lovely days. Although there was no "wasting away" about it. Quite the contrary . . .

We ate like kings! Like obese, hedonistic, hysterical kings. The food was out of this world. All very tres gourmet. . . but I'll come back to that.

So . . . Cozumel. My first trip to Mexico. My first trip out of the country. My first passport stamp.

It was everything I hoped it would be. Breathtakingly beautiful. Relaxing. And I brought home a little tan.

We spent much of our time swimming and eating and drinking. Ah the drinks. You know, an all-inclusive resort is totally the way to go. I highly recommend it. Makes you feel like you aren't paying for anything (even though your entire stimulus check and then some paid for the trip months ago, jackass.) Of course, the old "I got the next round (snicker snicker)" or "I'll buy you a drink (tee hee)" lines get old real fast. But you don't care too much because you are sipping on the best pina colada you have ever tasted as you stare out into the turquoise waters of the Carribbean, Enya's Carribbean Blue playing in your head.

I miss that place.

The food was incredible. There were three restaurants at the resort - a fancy asian one, an Italian one and a Mexican one. Guess which one the fools from Louisiana didn't eat at?

Yep - you guessed it. I ate no Mexican food in Mexico. I am an idiot.

Granted - there were a few Mexicanish items on the lunch and breakfast buffets every day. But I really wanted to have Mexican food while there. I mean - come on.

The wedding was absolutely beautiful. Hot as hell - but beautiful. The bride and groom looked so perfect together- tan and healthy and radiant. I would have cried had I not been about to spontaneously combust. But it was worth it. The heat was worth it.

I did the whole shopping in the local stores and talking the prices down gig. It was cool. I was a tad bit tipsy when I did it so I was very, very confident.

"Eighty five dollars? For those silver earrings? I'll give you $15"

The shopkeeper is stunned.

I start walking away.

"Senorita! 50 dollars! . . . 20 dollars! . . . FIFTEEN FIFTY!"

I just kept walking. Did I say confident? I meant I was a bit of an ass. Oh well - only in Mexico.

All in all - we had a lovely, relaxing time. Our room was great. Wonderful bed and jacuzzi for two. Some interesting television - The Simpsons and Family Guy en espanol. Quite hilarious.

The only sad thing is that we could not find our camera battery charger the night before we left. We searched the house and just couldn't locate it. So at about 9:30, I rushed to Walmart and bought a little $90 camera off the rack. The pics came out okay, I suppose, but I can't imagine what our very nice camera might have done. Sigh. Here are some pics:

The view from our balcony.

The beach we visited on day two. The sand was crazy coarse and burned the crap out of my feet. But it was lovely to see waves lapping on the shore and swim in the Carribbean.

My sexy man on the beach.

He'd been drinking melon margaritas all day in the blazing hot sun. (Plus one ill-fated shot of tequila.)

Chad's parents and us in the wedding gazebo.

Us in the wedding gazebo. That black dress would have totally drabbed it all down, don't you think?

Chad and I out by the railing.

Me with a little color on my face. (I'm peeling now.) :(

Adios! Bon Voyage! etc..

2008-08-06T21:04:00.003-05:00

Well - tomorrow morning we're off to the beautiful Cozumel for Chad's brother's wedding. Hopefully we'll have a wonderful time in spite of the 60% chance of rain every day we're there. But - I'm pretty jazzed about it.

Should have much to tell - after all, it's all inclusive and that includes the drinks.

Cheers!

Poo Poo Perils of the Potty Pro

2008-07-30T20:24:00.005-05:00

Words really can't express how proud I am of my boy and his potty pro status. He's doing so well that I don't really have too much anxiety about him having accidents. He's been to daycare for two days with no accidents and tonight we went to Walmart where he asked to use the potty and was taken to the public restroom (which is a little gross and makes me think we should start carrying around one of those tiny bottles of Purel.)

I say "not much" anxiety because there is "some." And that's when it comes to Numero Dos.

He'd had one small poopy "encounter" over the weekend which couldn't necessarily be called a success. And then he didn't go on Monday. So I knew that yesterday the bomb would be dropping, so to speak.

(Why am I telling you this? Because I have an obsessive need to overshare about my life. It's called blogging.)

Anycrap - so yesterday afternoon he's pacing and crying and clutching his lower abdomen.

"Do you need to go poo poo?"

"Noooooooooo" he would cry. And then he would pace some more.

A few times he said, "I need to go poo poo." And I would take him and he would sit for a second and then jump up and say that he didn't need to go. And then he would cry some more.

We did our usual nighttime ritual and I put him to bed. He seemed okay. He did his usual thing of crying behind his door while I sat across the hall in the computer room perusing facebook and eBay and etsy and all of that good stuff and every now and again saying, in a stern voice, "Jude . . . go to BED!"

Well his normal crying and whining turned into screams. "MOMMYMOMMYMOMMY!"

I rushed into his room. He was flailing his arms. And then I saw something abnormal about the seat of his underwear.

We hurried to the potty and he had started to poop in his pants but finished there. It was highly disgusting because I had to clean the potty out and clean him up and change his underwear . . .etc. Comes with the territory, I know. He was excited to get two M&Ms instead of one. Both brown. How ironic is that?

So I say, "Are you finished? Do you need to go some more?"

He shakes his head.

So I put him back in bed.

About three minutes later there is more shrieking and wailing. I burst into the room. This time he's sitting up his bed, flailing again. He's not only pooped again - from start to finish - but in the midst of the hysteria he'd managed to pee as well.

Sigh.

"It's okay baby. Accidents happen." I said as I changed the sheets and another pair of undies.

I felt so sorry for him.

So - I believe that he is terrified of pooping on the potty. I did some research about it online today and it basically says that they just get over it with time. But I'm wondering how many nights like last night will we have to endure? I guess I can understand the terror a bit. If you don't really know what's happening to your body, it might freak you out too. Somewhere online it said they might feel like they are losing a part of themselves. A very stinky part, albeit . . .

I bought a poo poo prize tonight. Some Kung Fu Panda stickers. They are propped up on the bathroom windowsill so he can see them when he sits on the potty. He knows that they are his poopy reward.

Hopefully he'll overcome this soon. I mean, I know it's only DAY SIX of this training but I want him to feel okay about his body functions and whatnot.

So that's the scoop on poop.

Sorry if this totally grossed you out.

My Potty or Yours?

2008-07-28T21:00:00.002-05:00

Last Saturday morning we were up at the crack of 8:00 (two hours later than usual, for a change) and I breathed a little prayer to myself before we began the ritual that would start our first day of the Three Day Potty Training boot camp.

First we headed to the diaper stacker hanging on the closet door. I was quite solemn about it.

"Jude - we're going to throw these diapers and pull ups away. You will never have to wear them again. From now on you're going to wear big boy underwear."

He yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Together we reached into the diaper bag and threw out handfuls of pull-ups and diapers. My stomach lurched a little, but I knew it was for the best (or so I hoped.)

And then came the "final diaper removal and pulling on of the big boy underwear" segment. So as I removed his diaper, very seriously I said, "Do you realize that this is the last diaper you will ever wear? This is it." He blinked up at me. He scratched his face. The enormity of the moment was lost on him.

So I perked it up by opening up the underwear drawer and announcing some options.

"Well what do we have here? We've got Cars and Elmo and Nemo and Blues Clues . . ."

"I wanna wear CLOOZE CLOOZE!" (You should hear the way he drags the words out - almost has a French accent when he does it.)

So "Clooze Clooze" it was.

"Wow doesn't that feel great!?!" I exclaimed after we put them on. "BIG BOY underwear."

We stood there in his room admiring the Clooze Clooze. After having the big boy underwear on for, oh, I don't know, maybe EIGHTY seconds, a giant puddle of pee was soon at his feet.

His eyes got a little big and he seemed surprised, but not upset, really.

"Uh oh. You teeteed on Blue. Now we have to change you. Now we have to put Blue in the laundry. Remember, tell Mommy when you need to go potty!"

We removed the undies and he was thrilled to make his next selection.

"Nemo! Nemo! I teetee on Nemo!"

Great - this was literally going to be a pissing contest from the get go. Let's see how many cartoon characters we can whiz on.

So - as the third pair of soaked underwear was removed and only 30 minutes had passed, I felt just a tad weary. But, if there is one thing God has blessed me with - it's patience. I know that's crazy to say - but I think I'm pretty good with the patience thing. I'm very grateful to have the patience that I do.

I continued with the program. As advised, I loaded (LOADED!) him up with liquids - as much as he wanted to drink. And he loves that V-Fusion V8 juice. We get the light which has much less sugar than the original. He drank like I'd never seen him drink before. This was part of the way it worked. You fill them with liquid so that it has to come out. And the more it comes out, the more chances they have to learn what the urge feels like and how to control it and how it feels to pee on the potty.

Anyway, so I did some positive reinforcement. I told him to tell me when he needed to go potty over and over again. He'd stand there and look at me and pee right on the floor. So sorry, Spiderman underoos.

At one point we were sitting on the love seat pretty close together. As I was whispering "Remember, tell mommy when you need to go potty" in his ear, I felt a wet and warm sensation on my hand. (Thank GOD for a leather sofa! A little antibacterial wipes and we were all good!)

"AGH!" I screamed and jumped up.

He gasped and started to cry.

"You're teeteeing! You're teeteeing! Hurry - let's get to the potty."

We ran down the hall together leaving behind a trail of urine. He got to the potty but had already finished.

Sigh.

But the next time . . . I caught him as he started and once again we ran to the potty, only this time there was no trail of pee. He actually stopped, held it and finished on the potty. (Trumpets sounds are emanating from his potty - literally, it's this cute Fisher Price one - and I'm clapping and he's clapping.) So I give him an M&M (his choice of color - which is yellow, of course) and then I give him the first "prize."

He reaches in the grab bag and pulls out the miniature 3-D Shrek poster. He is ecstactic. "Shrek poster! Shrek poster!"

This was around 11:00 a.m., I think. We were on pair 7 of underwear.

I continue on with my Tellmommywhenyouneedtogopotty blabber about every three minutes or so. And then - out of the blue he says,

"I need to go potty."

Jaw drops open.

And so I take him and lo and behold, he potties! And trumpets sound again and there is clapping and cheers and an M&M (yellow, please.)

We eat lunch. I'm so paranoid that he's going to pee on the booster seat. It's part cloth. I'm still so nervous and anxious about it. He has one more little accident after lunch before his nap - he starts to pee again in his undies and finishes on the potty.

I put him down for a nap with much trepidation. I say, "Please try to keep dry. If you need to go potty, you get up and tell Mommy."

Two hours later, he awoke with dry sheets.

I was stunned.

After that it was a whirlwind of juice drinking and pottying and trumpets and cheers and M&Ms and Shrek prizes.

He was going about every 20 minutes. And he was letting me know.

But I was worried about bedtime. The book has suggested that you make a little bed for yourself on the floor next to theirs so you could listen in the night for them stirring or whining or acting like they needed to go to the potty. When I read this I was like "Yeah, right" but on Saturday I decided that I needed to do it. And so we blew up the air mattress and I bunked with him.

All night I was tormented with nightmares of urine, urine everywhere. It was cascading down the sides of his bed and puddling onto the floor next to the air mattress. It was all over me. I would wake up every hour or so and feel his sheets. Nothing.

Before I knew it, 6:30 rolled around and we were up.

The sheets were bone dry.

Flabbergasted.

And then he said "I need to go potty." And so I took him and so he did. He got a prize for keeping his sheets dry. A Shrek magnet.

The drinking and the pottying continued without a single snag. And yet I worried about the inevitable BM. I'd made sure to fill him with fiber rich foods so I knew it was coming.

I won't go into details about it - for dignity's sake - I will just say that it sorta happened. It's hard to explain. But - he still needs a bit more practice in that department. Still - it happened in it's own way. And so he got another prize (SHREK STICKERS! OMG! He totally flipped out.)

He went down for his Sunday nap, and once again, 2 hours later, he did not wet the bed. He woke up and promptly used the potty. Yesterday afternoon it was potty central around here. He was going constantly - even if it was just a little dribble - he was running to the potty to do it. It was almost like you could visibly see him learning that urge - maybe something that should take months and months - only everything was so intensified that it only took a few hours really. It was unreal!

And we'd gotten to the point where he would pull down his own undies, sit on the potty, stand up, and pull up his undies. Then I would pour out the pee into the big toilet and he would flush. And then get his M&M of course.

I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn't drop this morning when he woke up with dry sheets AGAIN!

Today, I brought him to Sara since she read the book and knew the whole drill. I knew this would be a big test because he wouldn't have his singing potty and he'd be going on the big potty and he wouldn't be at home, etc. etc.

I was obsessed with his progress while at work. I wanted to call every 30 minutes but restrained myself. At 10 am he still hadn't pottied (the last pee was 6:30 this morning). I was sick about it. I was on the phone with Sara when he finally went. Man, I was so relieved. She was still giving him tons to drink too. But she said that he pottied about once every hour and that the pee times were longer. This was much different than yesterday when he pottied probably 20 times in the time that he was awake. So we came to the conclusion that he must be learning and teaching himself how to hold it longer, to save trips.

THIS IS AMAZING, PEOPLE!

They took him to Granny's today and he pottied there. And when I picked him up - still no accidents. So I decided I'd give an even bigger test and take him out in public. Jimbo and I took him to Raising Cane's for dinner (yummy chicken fingers). He asked to go to the potty after we were there for about 10 minutes. He looked around the restroom and said "I don't need to go potty." I think he was a little scared. Five minutes later he was back in the john - only he was shaking his head no again. And then five minutes passed and he was holding himself and telling me he needed to go potty. So we went back to the women's bathroom and got into a stall and I sat him on the potty and he peed. He smiled. "I did it, Mommy! I'm a big boy!"

I was/am bursting with pride.

So tonight, here we are. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I hate to jump the gun, but I really think my son is potty trained.

After three days.

Unbelievable!

It's Potty Time!

2008-07-25T20:47:00.002-05:00

Well, after much thought and careful consideration (and the fact that I'm just fed up with this whole training or lack thereof) I have decided to embark on the terrifying journey of the infamous Three Day Potty Training (click here for the lowdown.)

My friend Kristen did it with her son Myles (who is Jude's age) and had astounding success. And then her friend did it and had the same results. I was pretty excited about it until I actually read the e-book. And then I realized that this was a joke - and yet no joke at all. This was a serious boot camp, crazy, fanatical sort of training.

Jude hasn't been doing so hot in potty land. Oh he uses it at daycare here and there. But he just won't go at home. In the last month I have witnessed him going about two times. I'll ask him if he needs to go and he'll say "No. No. I don't need to potty." He'll say this whilst taking a crap right there in his pants. He doesn't care. He's gotten to the point where he likes his diapers and damn the fool who tries to separate him from their cottony (is it cotton?) goodness.

The training seems daunting.

Step one - ceremonially throw all of your diapers and pull-ups in the garbage.

Say what?!?

Then put on the big boy undies and let the fun begin. Oh - and say "Tell me when you need to go potty" at least a hundred times per day. Oh yeah and you can't let them out of your sight - not even for a minute or they'll sneak off and soil themselves in the nearest corner.

But supposedly it clicks. Sometimes not until the end of day three. But it clicks. Supposedly.

There are all sorts of other little rules you're supposed to follow but I'm not going to rewrite the whole thing here because I'm tired and I really need to mentally prepare myself for tomorrow.

Otherwise we are physically prepared. We have 21 pairs of underwear. And the book said you may go through 20 pairs a day! But we're prepared. I have the mop on standby. I have four sets of sheets for his bed and a rubber sheet underneath. I also have "poo poo prizes" although I think I will just turn them into general potty prizes. My sister went to Dollar Tree today and found a jackpot of little Shrek items - magnets and stickers and figurines. So I put them all in a big gift bag and I'm going to play the grab bag game with him tomorrow. For his first successful potty trip, he'll get to close his eyes and reach in and pull out a prize. I'm thinking he'll love that. Especially when he sees that it's a Shrek prize. Then I'll give out the prizes as I see fit.

I really have a lot of hope. You know, after I read the book, I was all "Shyyeah. Rrright." (OMG that is so Wayne's World circa 1992. So old it's not even funny.) So I decided I would google this method and read all the negative things I was hoping to find on message boards across the internet. Strangely there weren't that many negative comments. In fact, most of the comments said that it was a miracle and that it worked so well people were stunned.

And then there was the whole issue of daycare. How was I going to explain to his teacher that I was planning to train him in three days without seeming like and absolute freak. So I asked her on Wednesday morning if she'd ever heard of this wacky three day thing. And, much to my shock (and chagrin) she informed me that not only had she heard of it, but that one of Jude's classmates just did it and she is working with him on a daily basis and he's doing great. How's that for a crazy omen?

So tomorrow morning we begin a new chapter in the quest for Big Boydom. I hope I can stay consistent and positive and not go completely insane (again.)

There will be plenty of gory details after all is said and done. I'm sure I'll have an interesting blog to share.

Wish me luck!

Dress Success

2008-07-22T21:11:00.003-05:00

You know - as I was looking over my Spanx packaging a few weeks ago, I noticed that I was just ten pounds away from the next size down. Just ten pounds. I mean - how easy is that to lose? (HA!) So I returned them a few days later and got the next size down. How much smaller could it be, right?

Double HA!

Last Saturday was THE day that Sara and I had decided to go shopping for the dress that I would wear to Brandon's wedding in Cozumel. And so I knew that before we met at the mall it would be Spanx time. I began the process of putting them on and quickly came to realize that they were very tight. Very, very tight. And, frankly, there is no quiet way to put on these things. I was panting and grunting and gasping and struggling. And of course there was a lot of hopping. I think it must have sounded like I was trying to give birth (or worse) because Chad called out from the living room:

"What in the hell are you doing in there?"

"I'm trying to put on these SPANX!" - I sputtered and spat out the word.

Somehow, I managed to get them above my navel. And then I shimmied quite a bit more to pull them all the way up. With more stretching and adjusting, I finally had them at the place I think they needed to be. Only there was no redo of the awestruck moment I had in the Lane Bryant dressing room. It did not look very good. It was smoother all right. And I guess I was smaller. It just didn't look too appealing. And it was FRICKING tight. I knew there was no way I was going to be going to the bathroom that day. Not unless there was a totally private stall that I could grunt and struggle and make birth sounds all day long in without fear of disgusting other "guests."

I sighed. (It was more like a heaving sigh with the Spanx.)

My clothes didn't really fit any looser either. Although, I guess anything would feel tight with these things on - because they themselves are so tight.

I still had a little hope as I ventured to the mall. Sara brought her camera so we could take pictures of each dress that I tried on (with me in it) and then look over the pictures before making the final decision. I'm one of those very, very annoying shoppers that has to make sure she has seen ALL the options before making a choice.

Hilariously enough, before we got started, we stopped in at Gap Kids to look around for Jude stuff and they were playing the Shrek 2 soundtrack. I was like "I just cannot get away from this ogre!" But I digress . . .

So I came, I saw, I tried on dresses. I must say that although I was a little out-of-love with the Spanx they did do the job quite well. I mean, I wasn't going to be buying any strapless, skin-tight tube dresses or anything but who wears that crap anyway?

We ended up going to two malls, of course. And I found a dress I liked in the last store we went to. I had a budget of $70, which I think is relatively reasonable. In principle, I don't pay a lot for my clothes. So - the dress was originally $90 and I got it for $53. Not bad! Here is the lovely creation. Now, granted, this wasn't the dress that made me look the absolute skinniest (or I should I say less-rotundish) but I was so charmed with it's sassy-ness that I just couldn't resist.

PLUS - I now have a SHRUG - which is so 2006, right? Or maybe not. Who cares because having the shrug means that I can buy any sleeveless dress that I want, as long as it has a little black in it, and wear the shrug over my horrific fat arms! Hurrah!

I decided to post a pic of the dress I looked best in. Alas it was $90, but I think I may go back and get it once I get paid. I'm not sure. Every girl needs a little black dress, right?

Props to the Almighty

2008-07-14T20:52:00.002-05:00

Three little words for you.

God is good.

I am just overwhelmed by the love and mercy of God. I can't even believe it. Some exciting things happened today, which I don't really think I can share yet, but I am just floored at how God knows exactly how to take care of us. And it doesn't mean that storms don't come. But it's how we weather them.

We are going through such a storm right now. It's been an interesting and stressful time, but I've been very reflective. I was thinking about how differently I handled two crisis situations in my life when I chose to involve God and then later turned my back on him.

When I was diagnosed with cancer at 20, I completely fell into the arms of God, so to speak. I wasn't angry. I wasn't very afraid. It was literally an amazing time. I look back on it and cannot believe the grace God had on me. I could have chosen to respond in so many negative ways, but I leaned on the Lord and he saw me through it. There's just no other explanation. (And this was BEFORE prozac - so you know it was supernatural!)

When my parents divorced after 26 years, I was out of relationship with God and very angry with him. I was angry with myself. I was reading over some old journal entries from back then and the pages are just filled with hatred and bitterness. I just spewed hatred constantly. I blamed God. I was a miserable individual. By his grace I dealt with it. By his grace I was able to forgive.

And then four years ago after I hit rock bottom, I surrendered my life to him again. And things haven't been the same since. There have been struggles (obviously) and a lot of pain and a lot of grief, but God has always sustained me. I just can't say enough about how God has changed me and molded me and turned all the bad around for good. I just can't wait to see what comes next. And through it all, no matter what, I know that he is with me, taking care of me and watching over me.

I know I don't talk much about spirituality in this blog because I know it freaks a lot of people out - turns them off, whatever. But I just wanted to give some props to the Almighty for changing my life and for never giving up on me.

Can't wait until I can tell you about the exciting news!

Now Preaching the Gospel of Spanx

2008-07-09T21:15:00.004-05:00

I had a religious experience in the dressing room at Lane Bryant today.

Usually the only kind of religious experience one might have in such a place is a semi-sincere repentence for having so many dietary indiscretions.

Today I found "Foundation Salvation." My flab-ulanche was introduced to the magnificent Spanx!

And I have to give a huge shout out to Gina whose comment yesterday convinced me to give them a shot. Even though I thought they were just some glorified, footless, control top pantyhose that my stomach would laugh in defiance at (think Jabba's laugh).

But no.

I called Lane Bryant earlier in the day because I knew they sold them but I only saw them in packages. So I figured it was just a buy and try situation. But they said you could actually try them on in the store. So I headed over to the nearest LB on my lunchbreak and grabbed a pair off the shelf.

"Oh sister!"

A lady in the store approached.

"Oh girl I wear my Spanx every day! You are going to LOVE them."

I had my doubts but I laughed and played a long like I believed.

I entered the dressing room with three dresses in my left hand - all made of a material that was sure to cling to every roll on my body and in every bakery within a six mile radius. And the Spanx in my right hand, of course.

So I took out the Spanx. Certainly didn't look too promising. Looked like pantyhose - only a little thicker.

I sat down to try them on. And thus began that cockeyed waltz we do with girdles and such. I flopped. I jumped and flopped. I twisted and gasped. I laughed a little as I watched this go down in the mirror.

And then they were on. I chose the Higher Power ones that rise all the way up to just under the "girls." And they also go down to the mid-thigh.

Hmmm . . . I studied myself. I did look smaller. I did look smoother. I did have a much nicer silhouette. But the true test would come with the dresses.

I tried on the first one.

It looked . . . great! I was stunned. I just turned and looked at myself and couldn't believe it. Not a roll in sight.

The second dress was way too Mama Cass so the Spanx were lost on that one.

But the third dress looked really good as well. I was ecstatic. I immediately called Chad from the dressing room to tell him of my amazing good fortune. He was really thrilled, let me tell you. (ha ha)

And so I plunked down the money and bought those suckers. They were a little pricey, but totally worth it. I didn't buy a dress yet but I plan to go shopping very soon. I'm so excited. I can finally wear dresses again. I mean, I haven't worn a dress since my wedding day!

All thanx to Spanx!

(Sorry - I tend to get a little corny when I'm excited.)

Shrektacular

2008-07-08T21:12:00.002-05:00

Well it looks like we've traded in the fur of a little red squeaky-voiced beast (also known as Elmo) for the waxy (I suppose) green skin of one grouchy but lovable ogre with a Scottish accent (also known as Shrek).

I really think my sister is to blame for this. She introduced him to the lovely Dreamworks franchise - and now my son is hooked. He wants to watch Shrek constantly. All we have are 1 and 2 so I asked Chad to please buy Shrek the Third soon so we can add it to the rotation.

I've been bunking with him on a quite a few nights here lately - usually from around 4:00 AM to 6:30 when I have to get up and get ready for work. He'll wake up crying in the middle of the night and he'll say "Mommy sleep, Mommy sleep" -and pat the small space of bed next to him (and I stress the word small because it's a twin bed we're snuggled on - only it doesn't feel too much like snuggling when you wake up with a tiny foot in your face). Annnnnyway - so I would oblige. And so the other morning he was still asleep and I was trying to sneak out when he shot up in bed and said "I wanna watch Shrek!" Half asleep, mind you.

On Saturday morning I was awakened to the subtle pokings of a cold, plastic DVD case in my face. You can guess what the movie was.

"I wanna watch Shrek!"

On Sunday he went into a fit over Shrek when I told him we would watch it later.

"I wanna watch Shrek NOW! SHREK IS THE ONLY THING I WANT TO WATCH!"

Whoa! That's a nine word sentence spoken by a 2 1/2 year old! Pretty impressive - so I guess I can thank Shrek for that.

Tonight as we were pulling up little random Shrek clips on Youtube, he said:

"There's Shreky!"

He's become so emotionally attached that he's actually formed a pet name for the ogre.

The strangest, weirdest, most peculiar part of all of this is that I am NOT yet tired of Shrek. (KNOCKING AND BANGING ON WOOD AS HARD AS I POSSIBLY CAN.)

In fact - I find myself thinking about Shrek during the day - browsing the web for Shrek items, visiting eBay, etc. I even did some research about throwing a Shrek birthday party - and I know, I know - I should probably stop with all of the theme madness and just pick birthday colors or something instead of an involved theme - but I just keep thinking about how excited he would be.

I asked Chad to find and download the Shrek soundtracks. I find myself humming the songs throughout the day. And as a bonus, my child will know Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" by heart in a little while - and I love that aspect.

The end is near, though. I'll hear Donkey say "I'm gonna make waffles!" one more time and then I will snap. And then I'll want to reach for my own torch and pitchfork and attack the DVD player.

So I'm trying to keep him at bay on most days and save the Shrek fests for the weekend only. That's why I found some clips on Youtube to show him tonight - to sooth my little ogre's Shrek jones.

In other news - I am in desperate need of a dress to wear to Chad's brother's wedding which is officially (as of today) less than a month away! And I can't go sleeveless because my arms are so fat - even though it will be in Mexico and probably everyone will be going sleeveless and the bride will probably be strapless - since that seems to be what every bride wears these days (except for fat girls with mediport scars - but that was five years ago and I'm so over it - rolling eyes).

I'll start the shopping soon and I'm just not looking forward to it. This roo pouch that I have is out of control. It appears that I have, not one, but at least five baby roos stuffed in there. It's a very, very horrific site. And a dress may emphasize the problem. In fact, my stomach is why I haven't worn a dress since my wedding day. Which means one thing - foundation garment time. And we all know how horrible that can be. Well - at least some of us do. I've had some pretty comical moments in a dressing room flopping and squirming and trying to wriggle my way into a good girdle. My sister helped me on one occasion. It was a very grotesque Lucy and Ethel sort of moment. If video tapes of those moments were to ever surface, I seriously might consider killing myself.

It's just that bad.

So I did a little online shopping and I've seen a few things but I just don't know. The "body shaper" will be the key thing - so I probably need to get it first and bring it with me to the try-ons. Those things can be so expensive - a good one anyway. I don't know if I'll try Spanx or not. I mean, they look as thin as panty-hose. I'm thinking - uh - I need more than pantyhose with a little muscle for this disaster. I need like a flesh toned scuba suit to wear under this thing.

So I'm sure there will be some antics to report on after all of that mess goes down. Otherwise all is well.

New Hair!

2008-07-06T21:20:00.003-05:00

So - here are the promised pics of the new hair. Took these on Fourth. We had a great day and Jude really really noticed the fireworks for the first time. For some reason he called them "firechips." We can't seem to decipher that one. Anyhoo - here's a few pics.

Hair Hurrah!

2008-07-02T20:06:00.001-05:00

Well - I made a hair appointment for tomorrow so this shiz is totally getting chopped off. I knew it was time when, at a recent family reunion, I saw a pic of myself when I was 16 and my hair pretty much looked exactly the same (just not flat-ironed). And my aunt said "You look JUST like you did in high school!" - I know she meant it as a compliment, but I was thinking - Good Lord - I do. This hair situation is ridonkulous.

And so - tomorrow we chop!

Hope to post pictures soon - if they are decent.

A Mental Note

2008-07-01T20:49:00.003-05:00

I really need to force myself to blog more.

Actually, it shouldn't really be forced, should it? Maybe I'm coming to the end of an "era", so to speak. Maybe I'm ready to give up blogging. Actually - I don't really want to give it up altogether. It's been such a part of my life. But since time escapes me night after night - the days pass and I don't blog. I do tweet quite a bit though on Twitter - which I mentioned in my last post. It's just so easy.

In any case, I saw my shrink two weeks ago. I knew something had to give because I was really struggling with slowed thinking and I was having trouble writing things at work - writing anything at all, really (like, uh, this blog, maybe).

I decided that I needed to not be on one of my medicines. I came to the conclusion that it was the culprit and that I would announce to the doctor that I really no longer needed to take it and that was that. It's Invega, a mood stabilizer (as he kindly calls it) and an antipsychotic in clinical terms. Just the term antipsychotic makes me cringe and squirm. Me? Psychotic to the point that there should be an antipsychotic in my life? That I need a medicine for schizophrenics?

Oh and I forgot to mention the other nasty little side effect of this anti-psycho wonder pill. It caused me to pile the weight on. I won't disclose how much I gained, but it was quite a bit. And this of course will never ever do. I may go nuts, but God help me if I get super fat again. (Sanity is so overrated, right?)

So I'm eating all the time, in a stupor, drool running down my chin, and I have just enough clarity to conclude that I don't need these meds.

So I see the shrink. I tell him about the weight gain. I tell him about the stupor. I say to him, "I thought Lamictal was a bi-polar drug. Shouldn't Lamictal be taking care of whatever this Invega is supposed to be taking care of? Why do I have to be on both?" He told me the lamictal was really only effective on bi-polar depression. Depression? So what's the prozac for? The prozac is a backup.

Great.

So he says that he can reduce the dose of Invega to half and that should help me with the cravings. But he says he can't take me off of it.

"But - I really didn't even have that big of a manic spell. I mean, I was functioning very well. I was . . ."

"Ginger," (you have to imagine this with a thick Indian accent) "You were painting symbols on your bedroom wall."

Pause and sigh.

"But it came out really cute . . ."

"Ginger you need to stay on the mood stabilizer because there is a risk of mania and we don't want that."

"So what you're saying here doc is that I will basically have to be on one of these 'mood stabilizers' for the rest of my life?"

He laughs. "Oh no no no!"

A huge wave of relief floods over me and then - the clencher -

"No no no. We have no idea what medical science will come up with. They could end up shooting lasers into your brain or something." (I kid you not this is what he said. AND he was serious when he said it.)

Dead silence.

Crickets.

Lasers in my brain? Medical science? Did I just hear that I'm going to have to be waiting on fricking medical science before I have to stop taking these pills?

So I agreed to reduce the dose by half. I agreed to follow the advice of "current medical science." I totally understand what he's saying. The brain is a tricky little thing to mess with. The chemistry is so complicated. I don't want to go manic either.

I started feeling better in about three days. And I stopped eating like a pig and have lost 10 pounds so far. I do have more clarity. And I've also noticed that I can type faster. And that I have more energy. But I don't feel like I'm going crazy or anything. And if you've read this blog for any extended amount of time you'll know that I am almost painfully self-aware. Even when I was going manic that first time, I kept stopping and saying "I think I'm going manic. Am I manic? I think I am."

So - so far so good. I'm happy with the reduced dose. Am doing better with my thought processes, etc. Wrote a very snappy letter today as a project for work. Did a good job, I think.

This whole mental illness thing is such a painful process, but I do have a lot of hope. I think that in spite of everything that's happened, I've done surprisingly well. The medicine seems to work (especially the super-fabulous prozac, my prrrrrrrecious). I don't know. I think good things are going to come from all of the mess my life used to be. I think I'm going to be able to reach out to others in my situation. I so want that for my life. I want to help other women going through postpartum depression and psychosis. I definitely need to find a way to give back. Hopefully it will come soon.

Not Dead (Yet)

2008-06-26T20:52:00.004-05:00

Just tired, really. I know it's been forever but things have been pretty crazy here at night. (And since I don't blog at work there's not much time to write.) Jude has been staying up later and we fight with him for at least 45 minutes to stay in his bed. He sneaks out ,oh, every three minutes or so and we have to escort him back to bed over and over again. It's quite tiring. And now we have to stay up until he's fallen asleep.

We had several instances of waking in the morning to find him sleeping on the floor outside of our bedroom door. The hard, dusty, cold wood floor. For whatever reason, he won't knock on the door or come in our bedroom "after hours." And so because we don't want him spending his nights on the floor, we stay up until he falls asleep. And because we've been having to stay up until 10:30 or so, I haven't had much time to write anything. Not that I haven't been thinking of writing anything, because I have.

There's just so much to tell.

Well - there is and there isn't.

But . . . I'm too tired to do any of that right now.

Sorry.

More soon (I hope.)

(P.S. I do update twitter on a daily basis and the feed is on the side to your right so you can keep up with me that way. If you care . . .)

Got Milk?

2008-06-03T20:43:00.002-05:00

I guess it's the price you have to pay when you beg underneath the chair of a two year old who decides to get creative with his cereal spoon.

An Overflow of Cash?

2008-05-23T21:02:00.003-05:00

I've been meaning to take a photo of this ridonculous sign that's in the women's bathroom at work. In every stall. Actually - it's the clip art on the sign that's ridonculous.

Hilarious! I laugh every time I see this. It's on the "feminine product disposal trashbins."

Funny backstory to this one - I was in the bathroom and I happened to have my phone with me when the genius thought occurred that I would take a photo of this little sign to post here. So I took out my phone and someone came into the bathroom. And I thought -well, I don't think it makes a sound when you take a picture, does it?

Hey, Ginger - why don't you just try it out? Just try it while someone else is in here. Don't wait the three or four minutes it might take for them to leave. Just take a chance, sister.

So I did and sure enough it made the loud camera clicky whir noise that a camera would make.

I wanted to die.

I just kept thinking - this person in the other stall must think I am some sort of a freak. I mean, what in the world could I be taking a picture of in a bathroom stall.

Ew!

So I bided my time in there - waiting for the person to leave and hoping they didn't recognize my shoes. They came out of the stall to wash their hands. And then I peeked through the crack in between the stall walls and saw that it was my friend Erica.

I came out and laughed. She was all "Why are you laughing?"

Turns out she didn't hear the little camera sound at all.

I explained the whole thing and all about the blog posting and we had a good laugh.

Nosy Little Neighbor

2008-05-18T20:34:00.003-05:00

Had a great weekend and a great Sunday. Jude had his first picnic ever - we had a Picnic on the Grounds at church and it was wonderful. Jude had a great time. Anyway - thought I would post some pics I took this afternoon of him out and about in the yard.

I caught him sneaking a peek through the fence.

A closer look . . .

Some shots of my beautiful boy. Words just can't express how much I love this kid.

Five Great Years

2008-05-10T08:27:00.002-05:00

Well - five years ago today Chad and I said "I do." It was a pretty hot day. I wasn't too nervous, though. And I know he wasn't. The wedding was - eh. I don't know. I would do it a lot differently now. I mean - I had a miniscule budget - $2000. HELLO! And it was at a Baptist Church so there was no dancing. And I was fat.

I would like to have a "thin wedding" once Chad and I get down to our weight goals. Wouldn't that just be the ultimate vain, sickening thing to do? It would. It's pretty disgusting.

So - Jude went to Daddy and Sara's last night and he's spending the weekend. We went out late for margaritas and chips and queso. It was wonderful. Haven't had a nice little buzz in a long time.

Tonight we are dining at The Melting Pot - a fondue experience restaurant. We've been several times before so we know it's good. It should be nice.

On Sunday we're getting Jude back and then going to Chad's mom's for mother's day. His brother is cooking. That should be really good. I'm looking forward to it. This will be my third mother's day. Wow!

In other news - I did even more research on Cushing's Disease and called the vet on Monday to ask about meds and they are $150 a month. There is no way we can afford that. So I don't know what they're going to tell us when (or if) the test comes out positive. We just can't afford to treat him. But I don't think he's at a point where he's ready to be put down either. He's pretty happy and not in any pain as far as I can tell. I read on some different forums where people couldn't afford treatment either and over time they just had their dogs euthanized when they were suffering. Seems like the obvious thing.

Noseprints

2008-05-04T20:17:00.004-05:00

Things came to a head with Mr. B again a few weeks ago. First of all, I've written about this before, but things just haven't been the same since Jude was born and that's been over two years now. Something inside of me changed quite drastically, and Mr. B went from being my precious, little child to just a dog. The guilt was smothering but I could not shake the fact that my feelings for the dog just weren't the same. I was terribly disappointed and didn't really know what to do but I figured that I wasn't alone and after doing some internet research, it turned out I was right - not that it made things any better.

And then the feelings turned negative. Suddenly he seemed more like a nuisance than anything - especially when Jude was small and I was so depressed and Chad was out of town all the time. Mr. B pretty much existed in our home. We gave him food and water and a place to lay his head. But as far as attention and affection - it was few and far between.

Now he's never been completely and totally housebroken but his peeing in the house has gone from bad to worse in the last six months. So much so that I began to think he was becoming incontinent. And then a few weeks ago we had this really bad night that just made me snap.

I came home from work and went into my bedroom only to be welcomed by the wonderful aroma of dog urine. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from until I realized that he had peed in his own bed. He's done this several times before. As most people know, dogs usually don't pee where they sleep - especially in their own beds. So I picked up his bed and began the washing process.

Later on I was sitting in the recliner and Jude came into the living room carrying a piece of paper to give to me. He was almost to the recliner when he suddenly slipped - in a puddle of dog pee. I couldn't see it because it was really close to the chair. So he's crying and his clothes are soaked with dog pee. And I'm thinking - My child should not have to go through this. My child should not be soaked in dog urine. Something has to be done.

Strike 2.

I go into the laundry room and he has peed near the dryer.

Strike 3.

And then I go into my bedroom and he is squatting into the blanket that I've laid out for him to sleep on because his bed is in the wash. He's just pissing it up!

Strike 4!

At this point, I am livid. I mentally snap. I think to myself - "This dog gets no attention from us. Chad hates him. I pretty much tolerate him. He'd be better off somewhere else. Plus now he's probably incontinent or something. This is just a bad situation."

As I lay in my bed that night, my head is a stew of guilt and shame and anger and disgust and all sorts of emotions - a lot of sadness thrown in there too.

But the next morning, I still feel the same.

And so I decide to make a move. I contact a Louisiana representative of the Senior Dachshund Rescue. I send her an email telling her that things have changed since we had the baby and that I just don't think we can care for Mr. B anymore and that he would probably be much happier in an environment where he would get more attention (and, oh yeah, he just might possibly maybe be incontinent.)

In the meantime, I talk to several people who all have differing opinions. This is a "hot" issue. It's not an easy decision to come to. Especially when you've had a dog for 12 years. And you got that dog to help you through the pain of chemotherapy. And that dog saw you through the worst years of your life. And at times that dog felt like the only friend you had in the world.

There were so many conflicting voices.

There was one argument that it wasn't fair for us to keep him if we weren't going to pay any attention to him, etc. etc. (not to mention that he hasn't been to the vet in about 3 years - I know - this is a BAD situation.)

Then there was the argument that it wasn't fair to take him out of the home and away from the family (or at least, the master) he has known for 12 years and put him with strangers to live out the rest of his days. That he deserves to live out his days with the one he loves the most - and that is me. That it would probably literally kill him to be separated from us.

The day after I emailed the woman at the rescue about Mr. B, I got a return email saying that she couldn't take any more dogs in but gave me several email addresses and websites. I went to one and you could literally surrender your dachshund online. Just fill out the form and they would call you. I took a deep breath. I started to fill it out, but then I stopped.

How in the hell can I surrender Mr. B online?

I was talking to my friend at work about it and I finally broke down which was such a relief. I was telling her how I just wished someone we knew could take him - so that I could know what happens to him. That I didn't want to just give him away to a stranger and never know how he finished out his days. Never know if he was happy. Never know when he died or how he died. These were things that I felt I needed to know about him.

That afternoon as I drove up in the driveway - there he was waiting for me - his tail wagging - his mouth open, panting - looking like he had the biggest smile. He was so happy to see me. I grimaced with guilt. I had to make a plan.

I decided that it would probably be best for me to surrender Mr. B. And Chad was pushing for it as well. So, I figured that I would need to get him up to date on all of his shots and tests and whatnot and then after I saw the vet, I would surrender him. And so I decided not to think about it anymore until I saw the vet.

Well - on Saturday (yesterday) morning I took Mr. B to the vet. In the days leading up to that visit- I found myself paying more attention to him, petting him more, noticing him more - just not taking him for granted as much as I had. And he'd only peed in the house once - and that was because he needed to go out and I'd gotten busy and hadn't let him out.

I was really nervous about seeing the vet. I felt like I was literally cloaked in guilt and I'm sure they could see it all over my face. I was so afraid of being interrogated about why we hadn't been there in three years that I barely said a thing. I kept thinking - "Can't they arrest you for animal neglect or something? Is that what this is? Am I arrestable? Oh my God."

"So he's been teeteeing all over the place, huh?" the vet said.

"Oh yeah," I said.

"Drinks a lot of water too?" the vet asked.

"Tons." I said.

I was so nervous I could barely look the man or his assistant in the eye. I'm sure they thought I was crazy. I wanted to burst forth with the entire story. To explain that things had changed since the baby was born. To yell that I'd been depressed and that things had been horrible and that the dog hadn't been a priority. To tell them that I wanted to do what was best for my family. To tell them that I was so scared of doing the wrong thing.

And then our eyes met - Mr. B's and mine. The assistant was clutching him on that metal table and he was shaking. They were prodding him - taking blood, etc. Those big brown eyes stared up into mine.

Oh my God. He's not a burden. He's not a nuisance. He's my pet and I love him.

I reached out and stroked his head.

"It's okay, Mr. B. It's okay." I held back my tears.

"Well, he's got all of the classic symptoms."

"I'm sorry, what?" I said - breaking out of my trance.

"I think he has Cushing's Disease." The vet went on to explain a little more about it but I barely heard a word he said. My heart was pounding. This was not what I had expected. He said he wanted to do a blood test and more tests. They wanted me to bring him back next week.

I got an estimate on the blood test. $128.

!!!

I was stunned. I went home and read up on Cushing's disease in canines and from what I gather, you can treat it with medication for about $40 a month in one of the best case scenarios. In the worst case scenarios there is surgery and all sorts of mayhem.

Now I was really in a pickle. After reading up on the disease I was almost positive he had it. He had all the classic symptoms. And all that peeing -he couldn't help it. I just cried.

I lay in bed on Saturday afternoon and thought about the dog and what to do. And then I decided - it is our responsibility to take care of our pet. He needs us. He looks to us for everything and we owe him what we can afford to give him. And so - I'm going to try to find a way for him to get the test done cheaper to find out if it's actually cushing's disease and then if we can do the $40 a month medication, then I think we're going to go for it.

!!!

And to think - only 2 weeks ago I was emailing a dachshund rescue. Now I'm the one who wants to rescue him. (Sappily, I am crying as I type this.)

Unfortunately, if the costs of his treatment are beyond our budget, then we won't be able to continue with treatment. At that point, I don't know how we will proceed. I'm going to do a bit more research. I guess only time will tell.

This afternoon while sitting outside on the deck I looked at my car and saw a sight I hadn't seen in years - noseprints on the windows - from our trip to the vet. They might have annoyed me 48 hours ago, but I smiled when I saw them. I was happy to see them. They used to be a regular fixture of my vehicle when I would take Mr. B for "bye bye" trips all the time. I hope we'll have noseprints for some time to come.