Small Thumbs, Big World

 I've been told I write emails longer than what people normally expect or that they have a certain 'Dear Diary' quality to them.  Maybe that's a sign I should return to blogging?  Where would I even begin?

For now, just a quick update:

• Tuck is still alive.

• Sadly, Toby the cat is not.

• We have a second dog because a) Big A wanted a Blue Heeler and wouldn't shuddup up about it and b) he said he never wants another cat because their death hurts too much.   Needless to say, Blue the nearly 5 year old Blue Heeler that we've had since he was 11 weeks old is blog worthy all on his own.  He say's it's the second biggest mistake of his life.  I don't dare ask what the first one is. :-)
  

• Big A is still around and putting up with me.  It will be 17 years this Friday.  Wha?!?

 

More to come....

 

For some, today is Valentine's Day.  For others, it might be 'Happy Glad To Be Single Day'.  For me, it is Tuck's 3rd birthday.  At least according to the humane society that I got him from so we will stick with that.

The first 6 months of living with Tuck was quite a lesson in perseverance and patience for both he and I...but mostly for me.  I didn't notice at the time but his piece of paper on his kennel didn't not say that he was housebroken.  Initially, his sweet little face must have made me skim all of that information.  I read it later when he was urinating on the side of the couch.  I did know that he came from a questionable life somewhere in Ohio (and probably most Ohioans have a questionable life...I keed, I keed...as a Michigander, it is mandatory to always talk poorly about Ohio).   He was probably in a kennel the whole time.  He had no hair on his 'elbows' which indicated to the humane society people that he slept on hard surfaces.  He was saved via PetSmart's Rescue Waggin' which moves animals from shelters that have low adoption rates (which means the animals are more liable to be put down) to ones with a higher adoption rates such as my nearby humane society.

All of this was mostly my fault, I think.  Besides not reading the information, I was still working on the assumption he was Hooch, basically.  I still feel really bad for the occasions he would do things like urinate on the couch (thankfully poop was always outside) or chewing on the remote control when he just didn't know and I was in another room and not watching him.   I'm sure he has forgotten those times but I haven't and I wish I could redo them.  Luckily, he and I stuck it out along with Big A who offered to return him back to the humane society if necessary.  It was talked about a couple of times but I couldn't do that to him after seeing how much he hated it there and I did not want to give up.

It has been about a year now since his last 'episode'.   I went back and did what I thought one would do with a puppy - if you go into another room, he comes with you.  When you come home, take him right outside.  We still do the latter.  The former Tuck now does on his own as he follows me around.  I'm not sure if I trust him inside someone else's home though.  That would be another test.

On his 3rd birthday, I look back at how much he has learned, especially learning to play.  At the beginning, he didn't seem to know what to do with a ball.  Now he loves to play with a tennis ball, especially if the ball is low to the ground in a more soccer-type of play.  He still loves his rawhide which I learned at the humane society when I had taken him out for a walk prior to adoption and he 'carpe diem'ed a rawhide laying in the grass.  I've taking him to a beginning obediance class last winter where he finetuned his sitting and laying down.  He HATED all of the fireworks last June and July and hated thunder but at least with thunder, he has settled down a bit.  This June and July will be an interesting test as well.  He is a really, really smart dog.  Big A says he is way smarter than we are and I have to agree.  I feel like I'm doing him a disservice if I don't do things like maybe the agility class the humane society offers every so often.

When I see how much he has grown since we adopted him, it almost offsets the guilt I feel for that initial few months.  It has been fun to watch him bloom and knowing that I had a hand in it.  I'm glad he still has that same sweet face that drew me in on that fateful day in 2013. 

Someone is getting sleepy

The cat is taking advantage of my pillow-topped lap.

After 15 years of working for my current employer, I was finally able to use one of their amazing benefits:  extended sick leave - full pay.  I believe this perk only kicks in when you have been there at least 3 years full-time.  I was 12 years overdue!  Alas, I was only approved for 8 weeks out of the 26 weeks that make up the full pay part of it but who am I to complain?

And as luck would have it, I've snuck this in at the last minute:  as of probably late April, I could possibly be unemployed.  Oh all the stories I have been meaning to share (but this one will wait for next time)!

I've been lucky to never have needed surgery before.  The one and only 'medical emergency' was in 4th grade when a girl named Jamie pushed an empty swing and the metal part that connected the seat to the chain hit me right near my ear.  There went my afternoon field trip with the class.  My trip consisted of going to get stitches and then having my head wrapped in gauze like I had a toothache in the 18th century.  Luckily I made it back in time to partake in lunch at the nearby Burger Chef (having a toppings bar where one could add their own hamburger toppings is ingenious and should be brought back!).   But as you can see, I've never forgotten (or forgiven?) Jamie.  Luckily, I never saw her much after that.  I'm assuming her family must have moved.

This time around it will be more substantial:  the removal of a body part, specifically the uterus (and fallopian tubes).  Granted, it didn't really see much action other than its normal monthly process of handling an unfertilized egg but still, it was weird to think that it was created at some point in my zygote stage and has been with me for over 43 years and then just removed.   Thankfully my ovaries are still amazing (my words, not so much my doctor's) and stuck around so I don't need to worry about things like hot flashes and chest hair quite yet.

I remember how I came to realize that something was amiss.  It was during my visit to the 'girly doctor' in September.  Before that, I had just had them done by my primary care doctor who specialized in internal medicine.  I thought it was perfect - one stop shopping.  Alas, the last exam was a little weird so I decided that the next time, I would separate the two and go back to a real gynocologist.  Leading up to it, I could feel my abs were hard in one specific part and I hadn't worked out in awhile so it wasn't a 6 pack forming.  There were also visual changes that, after a quick Google, seemed to sound like an infestation of fibroids (a common problem in childbearing aged women).   

A friend recommended the OB/Gyn she had so after waiting the 2 months for a visit, the day finally came.  Upon doing her exam, she exclaimed "Your uterus is huge!"  I didn't know whether to thank her or kick her.  Either way, I really liked her.  I still laugh at how amazed she was.  Every time I sent to see her, she had to check again.  I'm pretty sure it was in wonderment.  One ultrasound and one MRI (accompanied by one Xanax...I hope to never be shoved into a small tunnel ever again) later, there was a digital image of all the hullabaloo going on inside me.  The term 'hot mess' would describe it perfectly.

Speed forward 3 months and it's the eve of the surgery.  Luckily it coincided with Real Housewives of Beverly Hills so I could not think about it while immersing myself into their mischief.   I stayed up late because I didn't want to go to bed and wake up the day of the surgery even though I had to be there by 5:30 a.m.

Boy, what an experience surgery was.  I had a great pre-surgery nurse who refrains from Facebook due to all the people coming in asking for pre-operation selfies with her (I thought the yahoo I went to high school with that posted that a week before was just cray cray.  I guess there are a lot of people like her out there).   A few minutes later, what does my neighbor on the other side of the curtain ask her:"Can we take a selfie once I get my gown on?"  Nothing like a bit of laughter to ease any stress although by then, I wasn't really stressed.  I was just ready to get it over with and start on the recovery period.

When they wheeled me into the operating room, I remember looking around and seeing how nice and clean and white everything was and then the next thing I know, I'm in the recovery room being told by the male nurse Peter to breathe deeply as he put a oxygen mask on my face (I do remember that smell of plastic from that)!  I don't even remember them knocking me out with the face mask like they do on Grey's Anatomy and making me count backwards from 100.  Whatever they slipped me into my IV on the way to the operating room worked wonders.  My Ukrainian/russian vodka drinking ancestors would be dismayed to hear how much of a lightweight I am. Afterwards, my doctor sent me a couple of pictures of my uterus that she took from her camera phone (how can you not love a doctor that does that?!?)  when it had been removed (Big A had seen the photos when she talked to him right after the surgery).  Amazing.  I'm glad that alien is out!

I remember leading up to the surgery, I really wished I could teleport ahead one week where I knew I would be well on my way to recovering.  It has now been an additional 2 more weeks of recovery and other than having the incision healing which, according to Big A,  makes my abdomen look like a shrimp that needs to be deveined (a great analogy!) and not being quite there comfortably to drive, it's all good!  

There is one scary thing though:  It has been 3 weeks and I have yet to get bored.  I think in my previous life, I must have been a sloth.  I've been mostly reading with a little bit of going out and about with Big A driving.  Thankfully, I have not lowered myself to watching any Maury Povich but I have caught it when channel surfing.  How is he still on the air?!?

Over the past few months, I've had the opportunity to hang out with two young ladies who Big A likes to refer to as my BFFs.  By young, I mean 4 years old and 2 years old.  Our hanging out happens once a month when the parents work schedules overlap by 3 hours.  Last month, we created this masterpiece:

Yes.  It's a large chocolate chip cookie which was suggested by the 4 year old.  She and I had a great time making this while wearing our aprons (her younger sister napped through the whole process).  It was soooo good.  We both had a pizza-like slice and a glass of milk when it was done.  Getting to that part was a bit of a mess.  I had used the whole cookie dough on the pizza stone and as it baked, it expanded over the edge of the stone and down into the bottom of their oven.  I had to stop, clean it out, trim the dough a bit and then continue on.  It was quite tasty. 

For this month's babysitting adventure, I decided to break out my collection of 120 Crayola crayons: