Stress Management

March 31, 2011

It's true. As you might have gathered from this week's Things that Piss Us Off Thursday post, I'm a complete stress case over here. And I'm mad at myself for spending so much energy worrying about something, that's in the grand scheme of things, very very minor. So yeah, the fact that I can't let this roll of my back? That's stressing me out even more.

Don't you wish you could hang out with me right now? Don't I just seem so fun?

I've been trying so hard to push my feelings out of the way and be my normal old funny self, but, as evidenced by the complete lack of humorous posts for the past one zillion weeks, that approach has clearly been a massive fail.

D- on the stress management, Amy! D-.

Now before you get yourself all worked up, rest assured that this is really nothing huge. The fact is, we own our own business, and when you own your own business, crappy little problems creep up...and then they steal your happiness and stomp on your soul while you innocently sleep in the night.

Oh wait, was that dramatic?

It's just a business-related blip, that's really (truly, honestly) all it is. I just wish my feelings would act accordingly. And I wish these feelings would get out of my damn way and let me blog the way I like to.

You see, I want to tell you guys that it's a horrible idea to let an almost six-year-old chose his own party supplies from the dollar store--really, take my word on that. From the inflatable hats that won't hold air, to the strange-ass-eighty-year-old-woman cat figurine that he wants to use as a cake topper--it's a terrible, meltdown inducing idea for so. many. reasons.

And I want to tell you about the morning I looked at the ten teenagers and two Mormon missionaries sitting in my basement at 6:27, felt like my poor innocent house was being completely violated, and I couldn't stop myself from screaming this:

I'M NOT A YELLER! I HATE YELLING! I LIKE SWEARING A WHOLE LOT MORE! BUT JESUS IS WATCHING THIS CLASS, SO I HAVE TO YELL AT YOU ALL INSTEAD! JUST IMAGINE ME SWEARING RIGHT NOW.....THE BAAAAAAD ONES!

Or yesterday, when a disgustingly smelly hippy showed up at my door asking me to sign his petition--it had something to do with the evils of BPA in our plastic products. I nodded in agreement, damned BPA to hell, and left him with my emotional testimony of how desperately I long to protect my children from the toxic chemicals of our fallen world.

Yeah, well, it turns out Maggie was standing behind me the entire time--sippy cup in one hand, 99 cent pitcher from WalMart in the other, begging for a sip of orange juice. You could pretty much smell the BPA wafting out from under our front door. Whoops!

Hey. Guess what? I'm already feeling better. Like much, much better--maybe even like my good old normal self....

Man I love you guys!

Things That Piss Us Off Thursday: Volume Three

March 31, 2010

I'll start.

Getting a foot of snow in April.

People who beep at you THE SECOND the light turns green.

Not feeling even the teensiest bit funny for over a month because of a stupid, stressful situation that I can't do anything about.

When I let life get to me.

There......and go!

Piper Jane

March 27, 2011

I hate to be bossy, but....read this post, about this fabulous little girl:

If you happen to be royalty, or a Kennedy, or a Clinton, or God, maybe you could fix this?

And Gracie, Too

March 22, 2011

Speaking of dogs, here's a recent picture of my Gracie:

Not only does she hate wagging her tail, walking around, being pet, or making eye contact--she also hates having her picture taken. I honestly had to sneak this one in before she could look away. Sometimes, I swear she'll just close her eyes and pretend I'm not in her vicinity with a camera.

My kind of dog.

This morning, we had a really unfortunate incident:

(See? She's totally pretending that she doesn't notice the camera. LOVE this dog!)

I've never actually measured it, but if I had to estimate, I'd say that Gracie's tail is somewhere between two and three feet long. Fine, maybe it's not that long, but it's about an inch away from dragging on the ground when she walks.

Somehow, we've always managed quite well with this monstrosoty of a tail--probably because she only wags it bi-annually. But today was a completely different story. This morning I had Maggie on one hip, Gracie's leash in the other hand, and I was rushing out the door before she peed a lake in our mudroom. I'm sure you can see where this is going....

I accidentally slammed Gracie's tail right in our mudroom door.

She yelped, and honestly, I thought nothing else of it. That is, not until I saw a trail of blood in the snow (six new #$%^*! inches of snow, by the way). I picked up her tail to see what I had done, and that's the moment I: 1) yelped, 2) cried, 3) almost dropped Maggie, and 4) hyperventilated all at the very same time.

I'll spare you the really intimate details, but I will tell you that I now know exactly what dog ligaments look like.

I rushed Gracie into the vet, where I promptly proceeded to close her front, right paw in the door--this time with a waiting room full of dogs, cats, people, and one parrot watching. The lady at the front desk was like, "Is this the dog with the severed tail emergency?"

And I was all, "Yes. While you have it open,  can you put a dislocated toenail on her chart, too? Thanks a mill!"

Thankfully, after an examination and a whole mess of deliberation, the vets decided not to amputate the end of Gracie's tail. It's not that she wouldn't have had enough tail left to go around, I just didn't want her to have to go through anesthesia and surgery. And I also, possibly, didn't want to have to pay for dog surgery either.

Am I a bad person?

Either way, they did a procedure in the office, and Gracie's not good as new, but she's as good as any other anti-social, eldery greyhound. And to that I say, "Phew."

The Other Woman

March 21, 2011

I just realized that I haven't written about Coach in a while--and some of you guys are dog people.



In case you don't know about Coach, he's our ten-month old German Shorthaired Pointer. His full kennel name is Heeza Royal Coachman, but I like to call him AAHHHHHNOYOUDIDN'TJUSTDOTHAT!!!!!

He's up to seventy pounds, he's got brown and white polka dots, and that's totally not his toy:

This wasn't his toy either. It was mine. From 1980:

And let me tell you, Maggie was ready to bite a tail when she came across this one:

Now that I've gotten all of that out of the way, I've got to admit that Coach is an exceptional dog.

When he's around Jared.

Because they're in love.

Romantically, I mean.

Two or so months ago, Coach and I hit our limit. I don't remember what he chewed up or pooped in, but it must have been unbelievably important, because I hefted all seventy pounds of that dog, carried him into the living room, and dropped him onto Jared's lap. "Him or me, Jared. Him. Or me."

Since Jared couldn't make that hard decision--you know, between his beautiful wife, or the dog who licks the inside of the trash cans at highway rest stops--he vowed to help Coach become a better dog. And honestly, I'm blown away by the progress they've made.

Jared's been taking Coach to a special training clinic for hunting dogs every single Wednesday night. Being a wise and loving woman, I decided a long time ago that I'd never ever ask how much these classes costs--but if I had to guess, it's gotta be at least a date night and a cute pair of ballet flats from Target every week.

But who's counting? I hate new shoes.

These days, Coach can do all kinds of fancy things. He'll heel all the way to the bus stop and back with no leash. He'll sit, stay, and let you skip around the block without moving a muscle until you say it's okay. He poops in a designated spot behind the wood pile, and he does this force fetch thing with a rope covered dowel.

I don't know what the last one means, but I pretend to think it's cool while Jared makes me watch the routine for a million minutes in a row.

He's so good at his tricks....when Jared's around.

My days with Coach are more about chasing him into the yard next door, while he stands on top of my neighbor's snow covered RV and takes a long, slow pee. I've totally become the woman who's standing braless, in the middle of the street screaming, STOP! STAY! COME!!!!!!!!!! COME, COME, COMMMMMMEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dogs really bring out the best in me.