Feeding Our Dog - or - Dozer Deserves an A!

Now that Dozer is a member of the family, I've stepped up my research and learning about all things dog. Prior to bringing him home, I became a fan of "It's Me or The Dog" on TV, learning about proper socialization and training. I lurked all over the AKC and other websites learning the major differences in temperament and breed standards for the large working breed dogs. But when Dozer came home, I started researching Bull Mastiffs and Boxers in particular (he is a mix of the two), and paying particular attention to the best foods for him.

At the website GoliathMastiffs.com, I found a page that gave TONS of information about the ingredients in commercial, vet, and holistic dog foods. Some of the information turned my stomach, to be honest. I learned that almost all commercial dog foods are made of ingredients that I don't want my dog to eat!

At the end of the page, the author provided a way to grade your dog's food from A to F. I found out that Dozer's food is only a C or C- and may possibly be contributing to skin issues and a probable reason for his stinkiness. Since then I've found a food that we'll be starting him on this week - it grade an A+ and doesn't have any corn or wheat - common allergens for dogs. Who knows - maybe cats, too.

Because I've learned so much from this, I give to you the Dog Food Grader. I encourage you to check out the web page where I found it, and then grab your dog's bag of food and check out the ingredients against the score card. Who knows? You may find yourself heading to the local feed store sooner than you think!


How to grade your dog's food

Start with a grade of 100:

1. For every listing of "by-product", subtract 10 points
2. For every non-specific animal source ("meat" or "poultry", meat, meal or fat) reference, subtract 10 points
3. If the food contains BHA, BHT, or ethoxyquin, subtract 10 points
4. For every grain "mill run" or non-specific grain source, subtract 5 points
5. If the same grain ingredient is used 2 or more times in the first five ingredients (i.e. "ground brown rice", "brewer's rice", "rice flour" are all the same grain), subtract 5 points
6. If the protein sources are not meat meal and there are less than 2 meats in the top 3 ingredients, subtract 3 points
7. If it contains any artificial colorants, subtract 3 points
8. If it contains ground corn or whole grain corn, subtract 3points
9. If corn is listed in the top 5 ingredients, subtract 2 more points
10. If the food contains any animal fat other than fish oil, subtract 2 points
11. If lamb is the only animal protein source (unless your dog is allergic to other protein sources), subtract 2 points
12. If it contains soy or soybeans, subtract 2 points
13. If it contains wheat (unless you know that your dog isn't allergic to wheat), subtract 2 points
14. If it contains beef (unless you know that your dog isn't allergic to beef), subtract 1 point
15. If it contains salt, subtract 1 point

Extra Credit:

1. If any of the meat sources are organic, add 5 points
2. If the food is endorsed by any major breed group or nutritionist, add 5 points
3. If the food is baked not extruded, add 5 points
4. If the food contains probiotics, add 3 points
5. If the food contains fruit, add 3 points
6. If the food contains vegetables (NOT corn or other grains), add 3 points
7. If the animal sources are hormone-free and antibiotic-free, add 2 points
8. If the food contains barley, add 2 points
9. If the food contains flax seed oil (not just the seeds), add 2 points
10. If the food contains oats or oatmeal, add 1 point
11. If the food contains sunflower oil, add 1 point
12. For every different specific animal protein source (other than the first one; count "chicken" and "chicken meal" as only one protein source, but "chicken" and "" as 2 different sources), add 1 point
13. If it contains glucosamine and chondroitin, add 1 point
14. If the vegetables have been tested for pesticides and are pesticide-free, add 1 point

94-100+ = A
86-93 = B
78-85 = C
70-77 = D
69 = F

The newest member of the family

Family Expansion on a Weeknight

Champs has wanted a dog pretty much since the day we got married almost 11 years ago. Due to varying circumstances - most of them revolving around rental agreements or long employment hours, it just couldn't happen.

However, when we bought our home in March, the door opened for us to finally get a dog. We determined that we wanted a large dog; a Great Dane, preferably, or a mastiff.


We were lined up to adopt a Great Dane in we found in Indiana on Petfinder, but that fell through, breaking our hearts. After that, we tried to adopt a bull dog and then a Great Dane on Craig's List, but the owners were not upright in their business dealings. It was beginning to look like we may never find a dog for our family. Until this last Tuesday.

On Tuesday night, Champs was looking on Petfinder again when he saw these sad eyes looking out from the screen. He immediately wrote to the woman, who responded a few minutes later, giving us the go ahead to call her the next day after noon and discuss meeting the dog. Champs had Wednesday off, so he anxiously awaited noon and then gave Kristine at Eye on the Sparrow Dog Rescue a call. He explained our situation and asked about the dog. Then he agreed to come that evening - if she promised that she wasn't going to back out at the last minute. He explained that we couldn't handle that kind of pain again.

After hearing our story, she promised that the only way we would leave without the dog was if it was our choice. After I got off work, we drove 2.5 hours to northern IL and met the dog she called Andre. He was such a quiet, gentle love. Being a special needs rescue, we knew he may have some issues. He is about 5 years old and is already showing the beginnings of hip displaysia. But even when he was obviously uncomfortable, he was gentle, loving, obedient and calm - exactly the kind of dog I wanted for my introduction back into dog owning, and just what we needed for our daughter and my work-at-home-on-the-phone job. So we brought him home. We didn't get home until after 10:30 on Wednesday, and John needed to be up by 3:45 the next morning. Champs didn't think about the lost sleep; he only thought about the dog.

Bringing a new dog home at 10:30 the night before you have to work, the kid has to go to school, and the cats are expecting another average day is, to say the least, a possibly foolhardy proposition. It worked well though. Well, other than the cats. They were unimpressed, to say the least. Now, four days later, they are beginning to calm down.

By Thursday evening, we had to bathe our new Bull Mastiff, and we were still working on a name for him. When we tried to get him in the tub, he would have none of it - living up to the bull part of his breed, and we couldn't budge him, living up to the mastiff part of his breed. We finally threw up our hands in defeat and took him outside and bathed him on the sidewalk.

By Friday, after entertaining a lot of name options (Chief, Apollo, Fred, Ed, Duncan, Duke, etc.), we decided on his new name: Dozer. As in bulldozer. As in dozes all day (and he DOES!), as in "wow, that's a doozie of the dog!"). It fits him. We've been giving him treats and saying his name to socialize him to it. We've been taking him on walks and teaching him to heal. We've been talking about getting him to the vet to look at his hips and elbows (from laying on a concrete shelter floor). We've been feeding, walking, and teaching the cats to accept him.

And somehow I've gotten past the slobber and the dog stink to the heart of this beautiful, gentle giant. When the other adoptions fell through, I kept telling Champs that we just had to have faith that God knew the desires of his heart and would bring us the right dog at the right time. Dozer may not be a young puppy, and he may need extra support from us sooner rather then later, but he is family now, and we will do what is needed.

Because I love my husband. And when I saw him laying on the floor next to his dog, asleep and content, I fell in love with Dozer. The newest member of our family.

And one more thing about pet adoption...

I always knew we wanted to adopt an adult pet, and that it would be the right action for us. This article convinced me even more that we made the right choice. I found it at www.neomastiffrescue.com while looking for information on the sleeping habits of mastiffs:

My Name Is Sam
After I was discharged from the Navy, Jim and I moved back to Detroit to use our GI bill benefits to get some schooling. Jim was going for a degree in Electronics and I, after much debating, decided to get mine in Computer Science.
One of the classes that was a requirement was Speech. Like many people, I had no fondness for getting up in front of people for any reason, let alone to be the center of attention as I stuttered my way through some unfamiliar subject. But I couldn't get out of the requirement, and so I found myself in my last semester before graduation with Speech as one of my classes.
On the first day of class our professor explained to us that he was going to leave the subject matter of our talks up to us, but he was going to provide the motivation of the speech. We would be responsible for six speeches, each with a different motivation. For instance, our first speech's purpose was to inform. He advised us to pick subjects that we were interested in and knowledgeable about. I decided to center my six speeches around animals, especially dogs.
For my first speech to inform, I talked about the equestrian art of dressage. For my speech to demonstrate, I brought my German Shepherd, Bodger, to class and demonstrated obedience commands. Finally the semester was almost over and I had but one more speech to give. This speech was to take the place of a written final exam and was to count for fifty percent of our grade. The speeches motivation was to persuade. After agonizing over a subject matter, and keeping with my animal theme, I decided on the topic of spaying and neutering pets. My goal was to try to persuade my classmates to neuter their pets, so I started researching the topic. There was plenty of material, articles that told of the millions of dogs and cats that were euthanized every year; of supposedly beloved pets that were turned in to various animal control facilities for the lamest of reasons, or worse, dropped off far from home, bewildered and scared. Death was usually a blessing. The final speech was looming closer, but I felt well prepared. My notes were full of facts and statistics that I felt sure would motivate even the most naive of pet owners to succumb to my plea.
A couple of days before our speeches were due, I had the bright idea of going to the local branch of the Humane Society and borrowing a puppy to use as a sort of a visual aid. I called the Humane Society and explained what I wanted. They were very happy to accommodate me. I made arrangements to pick up a puppy the day before my speech. The day before my speech, I went to pick up the puppy. I was feeling very confident. I could quote all the statistics and numbers without ever looking at my notes. The puppy, I felt, would add the final emotional touch.

When I arrived at the Humane Society I was met by a young guy named Ron. He explained that he was the public relations person for the Humane Society. He was very excited about my speech and asked if I would like a tour of the facilities before I picked up the puppy. I enthusiastically agreed. We started out in the reception area, which was the general public's initial encounter with the Humane Society. The lobby was full, mostly with people dropping off various animals that they no longer wanted Ron explained to me that this branch of the Humane Society took in about fifty animals a day and adopted out twenty.
As we stood there I heard snatches of conversation: "I can't keep him, he digs holes in my garden." "They are such cute puppies, I know you will have no trouble finding homes for them." "She is wild, I can't control her." I heard one of the Humane Society's volunteers explain to the lady with the litter of puppies that the Society was filled with puppies and that these puppies, being black, would immediately be put to sleep. Black puppies, she explained, had little chance of being adopted. The woman who brought the puppies in just shrugged, "I can't help it," she whined. "They are getting too big. I don't have room for them."
We left the reception area. Ron led me into the staging area where all the incoming animals were evaluated for adoptability. Over half never even made it to the adoption center. There were just too many. Not only were people bringing in their own animals, but strays were also dropped off. By law the Humane Society had to hold a stray for three days. If the animal was not claimed by then, it was euthanized, since there was no background information on the animal. There were already too many animals that had a known history eagerly provided by their soon to be ex-owners. As we went through the different areas, I felt more and more depressed. No amount of statistics, could take the place of seeing the reality of what this throw-away attitude did to the living, breathing animal. It was over overwhelming.

Finally Ron stopped in front of a closed door. "That's it," he said, "except for this." I read the sign on the door. "Euthanization Area." "Do you want to see one?" he asked. Before I could decline, he interjected, "You really should. You can't tell the whole story unless you experience the end." I reluctantly agreed. "Good." He said " I already cleared it and Peggy is expecting you." He knocked firmly on the door. It was opened immediately by a middle aged woman in a white lab coat. "Here's the girl I was telling you about," Ron explained. Peggy looked me over. "Well I'll leave you here with Peggy and meet you in the reception area in about fifteen minutes. I'll have the puppy ready." With that Ron departed, leaving me standing in front of the stern-looking Peggy.
Peggy motioned me in. As I walked into the room, I gave an audible gasp. The room was small and spartan. There were a couple of cages on the wall and a cabinet with syringes and vials of a clear liquid. In the middle of the room was an examining table with a rubber mat on top. There were two doors other than the one I had entered. Both were closed. One said to incinerator room, and the other had no sign, but I could hear various animals noises coming from behind the closed door.

In the back of the room, near the door that was marked incinerator were the objects that caused my distress: two wheelbarrows, filled with the bodies of dead kittens and puppies. I stared in horror. Nothing had prepared me for this. I felt my legs grow weak and my breathing become rapid and shallow. I wanted to run from that room, screaming.
Peggy seemed not to notice my state of shock. She started talking about the euthanization process, but I wasn't hearing her. I could not tear my gaze away from the wheelbarrows and those dozens of pathetic little bodies. Finally, Peggy seemed to notice that I was not paying attention to her. "Are you listening?" she asked irritably. "I'm only going to go through this once." I tore my gaze from the back of the room and looked at her. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing would come out, so I nodded. She told me that behind the unmarked door were the animals that were scheduled for euthanasia that day. She picked up a chart that was hanging from the wall. "One fifty three is next," she said as she looked at the chart. "I'll go get him." She laid down the chart on the examining table and started for the unmarked door. Before she got to the door she stopped and turned around. "You aren't going to get hysterical, are you?" she asked, "Because that will only upset the animals." I shook my head. I had not said a word since I walked into that room. I still felt unsure if I would be able to without breaking down into tears.

As Peggy opened the unmarked door I peered into the room beyond. It was a small room, but the walls were lined and stacked with cages. It looked like they were all occupied. Peggy opened the door of one of the lower cages and removed the occupant. From what I could see it looked like a medium-sized dog. She attached a leash and ushered the dog into the room in which I stood. As Peggy brought the dog into the room I could see that the dog was no more than a puppy, maybe five or six months old. The pup looked to be a cross between a Lab and a German shepherd. He was mostly black, with a small amount of tan above his eyes and on his feet. He was very excited and bouncing up and down, trying to sniff everything in this new environment. Peggy lifted the pup onto the table. She had a card in her hand, which she laid on the table next to me. I read the card. It said that number one fifty three was a mixed Shepherd, six months old. He was surrendered two days ago by a family. Reason of surrender was given as "jumps on children." At the bottom was a note that said "Name: Sam."
Peggy was quick and efficient, from lots of practice, I guessed. She laid one fifty three down on his side and tied a rubber tourniquet around his front leg. She turned to fill the syringe from the vial of clear liquid. All this time I was standing at the head of the table. I could see the moment that one fifty three went from a curious puppy to a terrified puppy. He did not like being held down and he started to struggle.
It was then that I finally found my voice. I bent over the struggling puppy and whispered "Sam. Your name is Sam." At the sound of his name Sam quit struggling. He wagged his tail tentatively and his soft pink tongue darted out and licked my hand. And that is how he spent his last moment. I watched his eyes fade from hopefulness to nothingness.
It was over very quickly. I had never even seen Peggy give the lethal shot. The tears could not be contained any longer. I kept my head down so as not to embarrass myself in front of the stoic Peggy. My tears fell onto the still body on the table.
"Now you know," Peggy said softly. Then she turned away. "Ron will be waiting for you." I left the room. Although it seemed like it had been hours, only fifteen minutes had gone by since Ron had left me at the door. I made my way back to the reception area. True to his word, Ron had the puppy all ready to go. After giving me some instructions about what to feed the puppy, he handed the carrying cage over to me and wished me good luck on my speech.
That night I went home and spent many hours playing with the orphan puppy. I went to bed that night but I could not sleep. After a while I got up and looked at my speech notes with their numbers and statistics. Without a second thought, I tore them up and threw them away. I went back to bed. Sometime during the night I finally fell asleep. The next morning I arrived at my Speech class with Puppy Doe. When my turn came to give my speech. I walked up to the front the class with the puppy in my arms. I took a deep breath, and I told the class about the life and death of Sam. When I finished my speech I became aware that I was crying. I apologized to the class and took my seat. After class the teacher handed out a critique with our grades. I got an "A." His comments said "Very moving and persuasive."

Two days later, on the last day of class, one of my classmates came up to me. She was an older lady that I had never spoken to in class. She stopped me on our way out of the class room. "I want you to know that I adopted the puppy you brought to class," she said. "His name is Sam."
Author Unknown

USA IPO creates opportunity - and interest - in the trading sector

Our company has a feature in a weekly newsletter called "The Leek". It is a takeoff on The Onion. Working with equities gives me a bit of a different view of our world. With that world view in mind, I wrote a satirical piece on the government and the stock market for The Leek and submitted it. We'll see if it runs there. But this is my page and my writing, so I will run it here. This is fictional satire! Remember that: FICTIONAL :-)

Enjoy.

USA IPO creates opportunity - and interest - in the trading sector

In an unprecedented move to capitalize on raising economic optimism, increase investor confidence, and end the recession, the US Government announced on Tuesday that it is going public. Stock, that is, trading under the ticker USA. With an initial public offering of 500 million shares expected to be priced in the range of $22.00 - $23.00 per share, the government hopes to raise enough cash to continue funding economic stimulus packages while reducing the national debt. The bill was presented to the house and senate on Monday morning, discussed at noon, and voted into law shortly after 3:00 p.m. Majority Leader Larry Read (D-NV) was quoted as saying, "The bill passed soundly. Then we went to lunch."

While investors are looking forward to the offering, a Gallop Poll completed today indicates there is some concern among citizens wondering if the IPO will be in the best interest of the government. "Yes, this is a bold plan, but we expect it to be highly successful", stated White House Press Secretary Robert Dibs, "the plan here is to price USA in such a way that the average citizen can purchase their own piece of the government. This will allow us to use the money from the people, for the people. It's all very constitional-ish".

The IPO, which is expected to take place next Wednesday, has already garnered excitement in trading circles. Ameriprise Financial, Merrill Lynch and TD Ameritrade have all reported taking hundreds of questions and advanced orders for the stock.. Ameriprise, at least, has stood by it's business practice of non participation in IPOs. "However, as soon as USA is trading on the NASDAQ and third markets, we will be accepting orders", Ameriprise stated in a press release. Interest in the IPO is not limited to American investors. China's Prime Minister When Tiabao has already stated that he plans on buying "at least 20,000 shares of USA", indicating willingness on China's part to help relieve some of the foreign gross national debt currently facing the government.

Questions still remain about the IPO, particularly the formation of a board of directors, the possibility of a hostile takeover by an investor with a greater than 51% ownership, if OFAC-listed nationals will be allowed to purchase shares of USA, as well as concerns for stockholder meeting locations. Without providing particulars, Dibs pointed out that all these questions will be answered prior to the IPO next week, stating, "We're moving fast, but we're moving confidently."

Diesel Isn't Coming Home

Sometimes, when something painful happens, you just don't know how to process it.

Champs has wanted a dog ever since we got married, but it has never been an option for us because we wanted a big dog – bigger than most rental contracts will allow. When we started looking for a house to buy last year, we agreed that the time was finally right for us to bring a dog home. After researching, talking and being honest about what we wanted and could handle in a dog, we decided that the right dog for us was the gentle giant – a male Great Dane. We agreed that we would look for an adult dog to give a home to as soon as we bought a house. On closing day, I don’t think the ink was dry on the deed before Champs was searching PetFinder.com for our new boy.

Finally, Champs found him – the perfect Great Dane for us. For the last two weeks, we’ve been going through the process to adopt Diesel from a rescue in Indiana. We've completed applications, emailed back and forth, and spoke on the phone with the rescue lady. We wanted to go next Friday so that we could have the holiday weekend for him to settle in. Instead, she wanted us to get him this weekend. She said that he is such a great dog that if he stayed any longer she might keep him herself. We made our plans, went shopping to buy new doggy stuff for our big baby, created a poll to decide which one of three carefully chosen names he would be given, emailed everyone we know with our news, and generally let ourselves get wrapped up in the excitement of giving this rescue dog a new, loving home.

So this morning we got up early and drove four hours to Indiana to bring Diesel home. We spent nearly two hours there, getting to know him and falling in love with what a great dog he is, only to have the rescue lady tell us that she couldn't give him away. We'd be great dog owners - just not for this dog, she said.

I think she was concerned by my reaction when I met him, which was "wow, you're beautiful... and BIG!." It took me a couple of moments to be ready to pet him - not because I didn't like him or I was afraid, but mostly because I wanted to be sure he wouldn't jump on me. I had told her that I grew up with Great Danes but hadn't owned one of my own or lived with one in 20 years. I may be wrong, but I think that after that long, it's not unreasonable to expect that I might need a couple of minutes to get reacquainted with the breed.

He was too perfect and she couldn't bear to let him move so far away, she said. Maybe if we lived closer so she could come and see him, then it would have worked, she said. He'd lived a hard life and deserved to be in a home where he would be loved like one of the children with no boundaries, she said. It concerned her that we didn't want him to sleep in our bed, she said. And then she went on to say that she wanted him to be in a home where he would be the only dog, but since she fell in love with him, she was taking him home to live with her four other Great Danes.

It took her nearly 20 minutes to go from "I'm not sure if I can give him up. I told myself this morning that I could, that I was ready, but now that you're here, I don't think I can do it" to "No, you can't have him." Champs finally had to leave because he was so upset, but I stayed behind to see if there was anything I could say to ally her concerns. I mean, we had passed the application process and we loved the dog. Sweet Girl, who has been nervous around big dogs before, but had no fear of him, had spent the hour hugging him, stroking him, and falling in love. We knew that Diesel was the perfect dog for our family; sweet, calm, loving, and gentle.

But I realized that nothing I could say meant anything to her. I don't think it was really about us - she just fell in love with the dog herself, which I can understand. What I can’t understand is why she didn't have the nerve or the courtesy to call and tell us how she felt beforehand so that we didn't take the long trip only to have our hearts broken. I think she was hoping that either we wouldn't want him and then she'd have an out, or that she could find something horribly wrong with us so that she could justify keeping him. But we came and loved him, and other than the fact that I want him to sleep in a doggy bed on the floor (which we'd already bought for him), and that I didn't fall over myself adoring him (which just isn’t something I would do, no matter how much I love an animal), she had no other reason to turn us away.

And when my daughter stood crying by the dog's kennel because she couldn't understand why Diesel wasn't coming home with us, the rescue lady's business partner leaned down and told my daughter, "Face it, you're not getting the dog.", then straightened, smiled at me and said, "I'm a grandma. I know how to handle them." That's when I picked up my daughter, picked up my purse, and walked out.

And just like that, we drove home 253 miles with our daughter crying for the first two hours of the trip. No dog. No new family member to love. Only pain, and the indefinable question, "why was I not good enough?"

Maybe a gift card?

My husband used to be so easy to buy gifts for; get him a tool. He loves it. He's happy. I'm happy. End of story.

Until this spring.

I decided to get Champs this really righteous set of steak knives for Father's Day; the perfect accessory to his grill and smoker and the luscious meats that issue forth from them. The only problem is that he intercepted the box at the door and I couldn't think of a suitable lie, so I ended up telling him that they were his present. I warned him that now he wasn't going to get any present at all except maybe a few good steaks to toss on his grill. That was the story anyway; all this had occurred a good month before the big day, so I figured I would try again.

I went back to my tool theory. Champs has been wanting a power washer. Now, this is a substantial purchase, so I decided to get him one that would be for both Father's Day and his birthday, which is on July 7. He was given to searching for models on the web, so I had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. When he printed one out, I figured I had him nabbed. Until the next day, when he was on his way to help his brothers do some work at his Mom's house. That's when he unvieled his plan; he was going to Home Depot to buy a power washer that he agreed to buy with his brother. Yeup; half ownership on his Father's Day/birthday gift. I sighed, handed him a 10% off coupon and wrote a check for our half.

I told him the next day that I had planned to buy him one of his own in about 3 more weeks.

OK... so we're getting close to the big day and I still need to get a gift for my hubby. I mean, yeah, he's got two great gifts already, but I have to have something for him, right? Right.

I went to Walmart and decided on a new DVD player. Ours just up and died in February, which means that every movie we've watched has been shown on a portable DVD player temporarily hooked up to the TV. Yeah, that's the ticket; the movie ticket! I got him a box of raisenettes to go along with it and tossed the machine in the trunk of the car.

When I got home from Walmart, Champs struck again.

He showed me what he had found on PetFinder.com - a beautiful 4 year-old male purebred Great Dane in need of a home. Now, we just bought our home in March and this is the first time since we've been married that we're able to consider buying a dog. I don't think the ink on the deed was dry before Champs started looking for a Great Dane for us. And this boy is perfect. He's house trained, gentle and beautiful. And he's in Indiana. And his adoption fee is $200.00. And we have nothing. at. all. to take care of a dog. No brush, bowls, food, toys, shampoo, dog bed, AnyThing.

Now, I'm happy to get the dog (and all the attendant paraphernalia), in fact, we went out on Sunday afternoon and spent a good $80.00 just picking out starter dog stuff. But it did get me to thinking that he should be Champs' Father's Day and Birthday present. All told, we'll put more into that dog than I would have for the steak knives and the power washer combined. I explained this to Champs and he agreed. The DVD player hasn't been opened yet. We might return it... who knows?

But I wonder if it wouldn't have been easier from the get-go if I hadn't just gotten him a gift card?

Backhanded Compliment

Yesterday Champs and I went to Walmart to get ready for our housewarming/birthday party. While we were there we got some beer and wine coolers. The lady asked for my ID and said they have to card for anyone under 40. I said, "well, then, I'm 43, so I'll take that as a compliment. Must mean I look under 40."

She smiled and nodded and was ahead until she said, "well, not that much under 40."

Sigh

Why didn't I think of that?

I am a Pampered Chef consultant and April was our Kit Enhancement Month, when we can buy any product at all for 40% off; no limits. Well, of course, I entered my order at 11:55 p.m. on the last day of April. The same day I closed a party, placed a paperwork order, and finalized a number of returns for customers. As you can imagine, I have been getting packages from Pampered Chef every day for the last week.

So this morning when I was in the bathroom, the doorbell rang. Champs went to the door to find that UPS had brought another box. I walked out of the bathroom to find him going through it. He let me know that the pineapple wedger is on back order, but everything else had arrived. The salt & pepper grinder stand was there. The crinkle cutter, the forged steak knife set, the silicone whisk... it was all there. About then, I had a heart attack and said, "NO!!! You're not supposed to open that box!"

Champs looked at me, the fordged steak knife set in his hand and asked why. "Because", I informed him, "those knives you're holding are your Father's Day present!" I had intended to put the (extremely nice and pretty darn expensive life-time guaranteed) knives together with a couple of very expensive steaks, some nice smoking wood, and a new BBQ mitt for the Grill Master. Yes, I know he would have wanted to grill them that day, and yes, I know it would be Father's Day and he shouldn't have to grill, but you have to understand. For Champs, this would not be work. This would be a great gift. A wonderful gift which he was currenly holding the cheif compenent of in his hands.

Champs has a great sense of humor and says I don't need to get him another Father's Day present. I will, but it won't be as grand as I had originally planned.

So later I was on the phone with my sister who lives in Phoenix. I told her the whole sad story. To which she replied, "well, why didn't you just tell him it was for a customer who asked you to order it special for them?"

Lie? Uh, yeah... I didn't think of that!

Ah, so that's why!

We're coming off a crazy month. We bought our new house in early March and moved in on March 21. I took a week off of work and painted two rooms. I got most everything settled and we're down to the last few boxes and small fix-it jobs before I'm ready to call us settled. New stove and dishwasher, free piano - this place has been a hothouse of activity for 5 weeks.

But not just here. 8 year-old Sweet Girl has been busy as well. After seeing a our local park district's production of "Beauty and the Beast Jr.", she had to give it a shot. We signed her up for the next production, "Annie, Jr.", a production of 50 children ranging in age from 7 to17. She (and Mom's taxi) went straight into 6 weeks of rehearsals - yes, the same time as our move and settling in. Hey, if you're going to go for a bit of stress, do it right, no?

So anyway, this being her first foray into the theatrical world, Sweet Girl was, appropriately, in the orphan chorus. She wasn't in a lot of numbers, but she was as cute as can be and did a great job. The play wrapped up last week and she has been feeling a bit as though the wind has been been let out of her sails. To congratulate her on a job well done, I bought both versions of "Annie" at Amazon; the one with Carol Burnett and then the 1999 Disney version starring Victor Garbor and Kathy Bates. It was the second version we decided to watch tonight, as the story line is closer to the original play.

As we watched the movie, we compared it to the play Sweet Girl had been in; songs changed, lines missing, different dance steps. During the song, "NYC", there is a large ensemble dance, telling the story of a hopeful star-to-be who has just arrived in New York. The number crescendos to this big routine with some 30 tap dancers, each beating a perfect rhythm to the song, while carrying a small suitcase. In the midst of the highly choreographed showstopper, Champs commented to our daughter, "you didn't do that in your show".

Without missing a beat, Sweet Girl turned to her dad and said, "of course not. We didn't have enough suitcases".

Maybe I'm Crazy.... Probably

It's been awhile since I've posted; partly because I've been so busy and partly because I recently "discovered" Facebook. I goaded one of my friends to join (Hi, GW!) but she wouldn't do it until I explained what she could get there that she can't get via email or her blog. After an explanation, she jumped in and quickly learned what I meant about the ease of catching up with friends, aquaintances and such.

But I have to admit that there is one thing about Facebook that I'm not fond of, and that is my inability to rant, rave, and reveal myself. I miss the journaling factor of it; that thing that allows me to sit in front of a white page and just let go - regardless of the length, unfettered by the need to be cute and quick about it, too. If you think about it, it's the text message of the journaling world. I think of Facebook as being more of an autograph book than a journal.

OK, so enough about that. I was about to explain that I may be crazy - and that, in fact, I probably am. Why, you ask? Because of my to-do list. I'm not sure how much more I can cram in there, but knowing me, I will try.

Let's see. We just bought a house and closed on Tuesday. We're not moving until the 21st, but that leaves us from now till then to finish packing up everything in this house (about 1/2 done), and get the new house all cleaned and ready to be moved into. Then there is the settling to be done at the new house, and the required cleaning before we vacate this rental at the end of the month.

Next, there is Sweet Girl's schedule. She's in Girl Scouts, so we've been running around like mad trying to deliver cookies. Also, she's in the park district's theater production of Annie Jr as an orphan. She has practice 4 days a week.

Next, there is my Pampered Chef business. I did a show last week and I have one this Sunday - 6 days before we move.

Also, I accepted a role as a team lead at work for a project. I'm loving it, but it is keeping me at work about an extra 1-2 hours a week (love the OT though!).

All of this stuff needs to be organized, scheduled, fit together. Somehow, I'm doing it (as is my hubby). The only question remains, "Are you crazy?!?"

Undoubtedly.

OMG!!!!

Yes, yes, YES... I know I have to write part two of my revelation/reclamation/resolution post. But I haven't been there lately.

I've been focusing on something else. The roots of it all.

After 2 1/2 years here in Champaign (has it been that long already?!?!)

we

bought

a

house!!!!!


AAUGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!

OK. I'm going to bed now to continue my freaking out in the privacy of my room. I wonder when/if I'll ever fall asleep?

We interupt our normally scheduled ranting for a meme

Yes, I know I'm in the process of mentally sorting out my revolution/resolution quandary and I will be back to that soon. In the meantime, I found this at Geekwif's blog. Though Christmas is over (and I am relieved), I love a good meme and this will be a nice reflection of the season we just enjoyed.

Thanks, GW!. Here you go:

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
I went through an all bag phase, but now I use both. It depends on the gift and the giftee. Is it a weird shape? Go for the tissue and the bag. Will they peek? Then only paper will do. I tend to use paper for "impressive" gifts as I can bling it out a bit more.

2. Real tree or Artificial?
Artificial. Not by choice, really, but by executive demand. We had a real tree in 1998 which was pulled down by our two cats. I lost a lot of lovely crystal decorations. Then, during the Christmas of 2003, our live tree didn't fit the stand, so we bought a new one. That stand quickly broke. We bought another one. By now, the tree was decorated, so my husband held the tree up while my father lay beneath, cutting the trunk so water could get into the tree. The stand, which horrendously expensive, was no better than the other two. We ended up wiring the tree to the curtain rod. Before the new year, the decorations were removed, the tree was on the sidewalk and our trash sported three three stands representing about a $150.00 investment. Champs declared (with much rancor, as I remember) that we would NEVER have another live tree. So far, he's held to that decree.

3. When do you put up the tree?
Generally the first or second week of December. That is one nice thing about a fake tree - no worries that if it is up too soon it will be dried out by Christmas Day.

4. When do you take the tree down?
Generally the weekend after New Year's Day. We have 4 Christmas celebrations to take part in, so the tree can't come down until all are attended.

5. Do you like eggnog?
No, not really. I used to pretend I did for the sake of the season, but I'm pretty much over that now.

6. Favorite gift received as a child?
It was either my Holly Hobbie sewing machine (that thing was cool!!) or my Barbie Dream House (a 3-story condo with an elevator) or my Cinnamon doll (push a button on her tummy and her hair grows!). I used the sewing machine to make cloths for Cinnamon. My mom is still bewildered that I didn't become a designer or seamstress.

7. Hardest person to buy for?
Gotta be the brothers-in-law when the large family drawing comes into play. If they don't give an idea list, then I have to punt.

8. Easiest person to buy for?
Our daughter, Erin. Although she threw us for a loop this year. In short, she changed her wishlist at the last moment. I think that needs to be a post of its own. My sister-in-law, Princsiss Sister, is also pretty easy to shop for. I bought her two shirts at Ann Taylor, then went shopping with her and showed her the other two I considered buying - she liked them so much that she bought them for herself. That means I was 4 for 4 on her taste. I felt pretty good about that!

9. Do you have a nativity scene?
Yes. Years ago - long before I met Champs, I went to a string of Christmas Around the World parties and bought a three piece white nativity. I like it. I wish I had my parent's hand-painted nativity scene, though. It is a one of a kind and irreplaceable. They gave it to my nephew along with the stable my father built years ago with the support for the angel to hang from. It is beautiful. I don't covet it so much as wistfully dream of it.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards?
Mail, though they don't go out often enough. We're in the midst of too much change right now, so I am planning either a Valentines Day or Easter letter, as it's about time I send out pictures and update the world on our lives. Oh, that sounds so narcissist!

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
A purse. That is all I will say. Thankfully it was years ago and I can move on from every awful memory of that time in my life.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie?
Either Its a Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th Street (the Natalie Wood version) for the classics and the Santa Clause series starring Tim Allen for the contemporary movies.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Black Friday is when the real effort starts, though I hoard a few through the year.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Only twice and they were for white elephant gift exchanges for two completely unrelated groups of people. I think that is the only socially acceptable re-gifting venue, isn't it?

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Pretty much everything/anything. I do miss my family's love of scalloped corn and sweet potato casserole. Neither are much appreciated by my husband's family. They'll eat a few bites, but it is recognized that I am making them pretty much for myself.

16. Lights on the tree?
Absolutely required. The more white bulbs that can be on the tree, the better. I like to position each ornament on or near a light for the best showcase effect.

17. Favorite Christmas song?
Traditional: Oh Holy Night. Contemporary: Anything from Micheal W Smith's "Christmas" album. In the end, though, I love almost all of it.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay at home?
Some of each. Now that we live in Champaign and Mom is in Phoenix, not so much MN travel. More traveling around town here for various family celebrations. My brother Marty and his wife, Liz, have said that they are coming to Champaign for next Thanksgiving, however. Woo Hoo!!!! Can't wait!!!! I think I might see if Mom and Mary and Pat can come and maybe we can even have an early family Christmas... oh, the creative juices are flowing now!

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's?
As the mother of an 8-year old, it's required, though I've known them for years: Dasher, Dancer, Donner, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Prancer, Blitzen, Rudulf and now, thanks to Tim Allen, the baby reindeer, Chet. hehe

20...
...seems to have gotten lost somewhere along the way.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
We have a big extended family dinner and gift exhange on Christmas Eve, then the three of us have a private family Christmas on Christmas Day and then there are two other versions (one for each mother-in-law) somewhere in there. When I was a kid, it was always late on Christmas Eve, after church. I miss those days.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year?
"Xmas" Man, I hate that! And the fact that almost all Christmas music played on the radio is about gifts, Santa, etc and all to rarely about the amazing gift of Jesus.

23. What theme or color are you using?
No theme... I guess, family, as I have a wonderful mish-mash of ornaments compiled through the years and added to each year. I could no sooner lay them aside for some decorator-inspired theme than cut off my hands. I did, however, buy some great "Jingle Bells" serving and decor items on clearance this year that I'm sure will be featured in my entertainment and wrapping next year... right next to our old Christmas ornaments.

24. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
Ham, Turkey... some classic.

25. What do you want for Christmas this year?
I wanted the movie "Get Smart" but I didn't tell anyone, so I'll buy it myself later on. I wanted some perfume, which my wonderful husband bought for me - Pleasures Intense by Estee Lauder. It is such a nice scent - reminiscent of lilacs and peonies, two of my favorites. Bring on the datenight - I'll smell wonderful!

2009... Resolution? Revolution? I'm working on it!

So here it is, 2009. I have been spending a lot of time thinking about 2009. I haven't yet gotten to the action of it all, but I am thinking. There are two main paths around which my thoughts have repeatedly circled.

My first circular pattern is hope. Working in finance, I've had every possible bad news thrown my way. Stocks are down, the Fed is frozen, jobs are scarce... the end of 2008 seemed to have the nation exhaling a collective sigh of relief and looking forward for some hope. Hope for a better future, a better life, a better... something. Hope is a very nebulous thing. Merriam Webster defines hope "to wish for something with expectation of its fulfillment". Even when I looked to see how hope is defined in light of the Bible, I found "the anticipation of a favorable outcome under God's guidance". Not real exact, is it? And yet it seems, to me anyway, that the general populace is hoping things will get better but not defining how, or where. My dad used to say "wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which fills up first." Forgive the crassness; it was his, not mine. And yet, he had a point. Wishing without action is pointless. I've decided, then, that if I want to have some sense of hope for 2009, then I need to take action - with God's guidance.

My second circular pattern of thought is change. Not Obama vs. McCain change. Personal change. I heard recently that New Year's Resolutions are down; something like 60% less people make resolutions than did 20 years ago. It basically comes down to two reasons - first, people fear failure. Second, they don't feel the need to change. While I do certainly fear change, I also equally recognize the need for change. Clearly, I need to make some resolutions. Or is that a personal revolution?

Now the only questions I haven't answered are - what am I hoping for? What will I change? And how do I go about it without falling straight into failure?

Yeah, that's another post. Stay tuned.

Dead in the kitchen

As I sit here to write this, I am listening to my husband put laundry away. Laundry that I washed, but not at home. Laundry that I washed at our local SuperSudz. All I want - and NOT for Christmas (I can't wait that long!) is a reliable washer and dryer. I want my kitchen to be a place where things get clean, not where things die. I've been trying, really...

You see, it goes like this:

In 2006, just after we sold our house in preperation for moving to IL, we purchased a used Maytag washer and dryer for $50.00 from my co-worker at The Big Company. It was a great deal and the machines worked great. We used them at the rental where we lived for 8 months until the big move to Illinois and we've used them since we got here.

Until recently.

A couple of months ago, the washer begin walking. Now, you expect a child to start walking. You
do not expect your washer to walk. Loudly. And shake. Extensively. Like Elvis on the Ed Sullivan show, shaking his hips and walking across the stage on his toes, holding the mike stand for balance. Rythmic entertainment aside, I knew this couldn't be good.

I called out a local appliance repairman and paid him $28.00 for the privelege of learning the machine was terminally ill and would die; it was only a matter of time. He did tell me that I could continue to use it until the end. It was listening. The machine died a watery death on our kitchen floor just two days later. Champs quickly pulled the washer out of the laundry closet so we could clean. OK, hw pulled out the washer, the dryer and the fridge so we could clean water up from every corner of that kitchen. Snaps to the ShopVac!

After a week of laundromat lingo, We went to Craigslist, where we found a washer listed for $75.00. The seller was offering a money back guarantee for 30 days, so we went for it. Champs brought it home on August 10th, hooked it up and I started washing. The first load was good. The second was a bit, um, noisy. By the next day, it was apparent this machine was just not spinning or draining properly. The third day, Champs opened the machine to find out that the water pump was shot. You got it - another machine died a watery death on our kitchen floor. Helllooooo ShopVac!

It took some time, but we did get our $75.00 back from the seller. Meanwhile, we went back to Craigslist, where we found a full set - the washer and dryer - for $75.00 but with no guarantee. We tried one more time and brought them home on August 17th. We're having a garage sale in a couple of weeks, so we figured on selling the dryer to hopefully help get some of our money back. I also found out that we can take the dead washers to the local metal scrap yard and get paid for the steel in the machine. Even in death, a Maytag is worth something. Anyway, Champs hooked up the third machine to be in our kitchen in less than a month.

I did laundry in this Maytag for 4 days and all was well except for the tiniest little leak. On day 5, however, in the middle of dinner, the machine began to squeal. To whine. To loudly scream that it would not go quietly into that good night. It smoked, rattled and came to a dead stop. That was on August 21 and since then I have spent every Saturday at the laundromat washing my clothes and wishing I was home.

We're done trying Craigslist. We're done with used machines. We can't afford new ones right now. I'll report back in about a week though - we've got something in the works. I hope so, anyway.

I don't think I can take another Saturday listening to people argue with themselves over the rinse cycle.

Will he ever learn?

I swear I do not understand the male of the species.

What is it that gives them such boundless optimism that they will get their way regardless of how their woman feels about it? Why is it that they will push and push, trying repeatedly to get what they want but you don't want to give, especially in the bedroom? Never mind the fact that from the very first time you share your bed with them, you make it clear what is your space and what is their space.

I did. I made it clear: "I will give you all the lovin' you crave when I'm awake, but don't go waking me up just to meet your needs, buster." And most of all, I made it abundantly, consistently, clear that he would never be welcomed there.

And yet the male persists. Optimistic and pesky, he looks to his woman for the attention and gratification he seeks, regardless of how she may feel about it.

And so, at four o'clock this morning, after trying to fend off his advances, I finally had enough and just kicked him out of my bed.

Stupid cat. When will Gus learn that I am never going to share my pillow?

Will the real Blond Girl please stand up?

Have you ever gone so far from who you were previously that you have trouble finding the old person in the midst of the new? That is me. I've been walking through a two year identity crises that began when I packed up everything I ever knew of life in Minnesota, quit the job I loved and moved here to Illinois. I haven't written much lately because I keep thinking about the gaps - how much I've missed writing and how to bridge the Blond Girl who wrote everyday to the Blond Girl who spent the first 18 months in a new state putting out fires to this new Blond Girl who is finally setting out to create a new, permanent identity here.

So, instead I'll put it up for a vote. If I am still on any blog rolls or Typepads, I guess someone will see that I've finally written. And if they do see it, it should be someone who used to faithfully read my rants, ravings, and revelations and who I used to read in return. In anycase, I will leave it to your comments. I've been gone awhile. I'm interested in starting again, but I don't know where to start. So, if you have any suggestions on where to start or any questions on where to begin, then please leave me a comment. I will listen.

I promise.

Baby, I need to tell you something....

If you are a Veggie-Tales fan, then you know the next line: "I ain't got a belly button. Belly button no, no, no... No belly button." If you're not into Veggie-Tales, then you think I am merely quoting a child's song.

Here's the thing: It's not just a song. It's reality. I no longer have a belly button - a fact that I am still trying to come to terms with that. You see, when I had my fourth hernia repair on March 11, the doctor did a relatively new procedure called a "component separation" that is designed to remove the mid-line tendon from the abdomen (because
it just keeps shredding over and over). In my case, however, I already had gore-tex mesh over a previous hernia repair. During the last surgery, I also had abdominal reconstruction to remove all the skin left over from my weight loss. As part of the operation, the surgeon moved and tightened my belly button. I began calling it my "$25,000 belly button."

This time, I had a hernia above and below the umbilicus. With the removal of the mesh and the herniation, the surgeon couldn't save the belly button and sewed up over it. He explained that if he had left it there, it would have died from reduced blood supply. Just call me Eve. Both my mom and my M-I-L have said that I should just have a new one tattooed on. I've thought it might be funny to have it pierced. I'll probably just leave it there. If you had asked me when I was younger what my last expectation of my life would be, I wouldn't have even said, "to end my life without a belly button." The thought was pretty much inconceivable to me. And though a belly button isn't really necessary to life and happiness, I still wish I had one. Can't tell you why - just wish I did.

And that's my song.

That rare day...

A really nice, unexpected thing happened today.

I had lunch with my husband.

A long, unfettered lunch where we laughed and enjoyed pizza, salad and each other's company.

I'm sure this sounds like no thing, but you must understand that in the course of our "normal" lives, this just doesn't happen hardly ever. Champs is a route sales driver and leaves the house around 4:30 a.m. every day, then drives 45 minutes to Bloomington/Normal to complete his route. Then he heads back to Champaign to unload the product he's picked up and reload his van for the next day. Lunch is always on the road and the stopping part of it lasts only long enough to drag out his wallet and pay for it. I, on the other hand, am normally on the phone from 7:00 a.m. to 3:30 each day with a scant half-hour for lunch around 10:45 in the morning. If we go to lunch on the weekend, it is a family affair sandwiched in between errands. You can see that our schedules are more conducive to the occasional phone call rather than lunch.

Today, however, two things were different. First, I am on medical leave. I didn't have to be on the phone nor did I have any appointments to go to, and surprisingly I wasn't filled with the pressing need to frantically clean everything in sight (tomorrow is Saturday, after all). Champs, on the other hand, had made good time and was heading back to our town around 11:45 in the morning. The truck that brings each day's product to load was running late, so Champs decided to take a rare break and stop for a lunch that lasted longer than 5 minutes.

We decided to meet at our favorite local pizza parlor for this unexpected treat. We talked about soccer, coaching, Sweet Girl, customers and who knows what else. To be honest, I barely remember what we talked about and none of it was all that important. What was important is that we ate, talked, laughed and... connected. We sat for more than an hour. No fancy clothes, no high-priced bill, no after-dinner drink and no baby sitter bill, but I have to say that it was a rare day...

And one of the best dates I've been on in ages.

13 Things about Blond Girl Lately

Yeah, I've been away for awhile. So, here's 13 things to catch you up on all things blond...

1. I surprised myself by really falling for my car. I really wanted to buy an import, but financially, we chose to go with a 2007 Chevrolet Malibu executive lease return. It had about 7000 miles on it when we got it and we've put about 1000 on it since then. Enough for me to find out that while you don't need a V6 engine or bells and whistles such as steering wheel mounted stereo controls or a moon roof, they sure do make the trip fun. Oh yeah, I like my car.

2. On March 10, I had two appointments to prep for surgery the next day. I found out that the anemia I have ignored for the last 5 years had finally gotten bad. So bad that the surgeon refused to operate the next day unless I agreed to spend the night in the hospital getting two blood transfusions. Well, after everything I had done to prep for the operation and medical leave authorization, I wasn't about to miss my surgery. I left the emergency room at 3:30 a.m. and reported to the surgery center at 7:30 a.m. After all that, they sent me to a hematologist to get to the bottom of the anemia. Well, here's something I didn't know: if you've had a gastric bypass like mine, the portion of your body that absorbs iron is gone. All the doctors who had told me to take iron weren't helping at all. So, a week after surgery, I went in for another all day IV infusion, this time of iron instead of blood. Not exactly fun, but this will replenish my body's iron stores for 12-18 months before I need another treatment. I can already tell that I'm beginning to make more red blood cells. I have more energy and I'm not as cold as I have been for the last two years. And... I've stopped chewing on ice. So, that's all good. Nice to leave anemia behind.

3. And that leaves the surgery I mentioned. On March 11 I had my fourth (yes, fourth) ventral hernia repair. I think this one may be a (hopefully) permanent repair. The long explanation would take too long and be too boring to give, but basically, the plastic surgeon removed the mid-line tendon from my abdomen, joining the muscle bodies together. You might say that, instead of a six pack, I now have a three pack!

4. So, due to the surgery, I've been on medical leave and I will be until April 21. The funny thing about medical leave is, you think you'll do all this cool stuff. The reality is, it's medical leave. You pretty much commune with your sofa. That's about it. Wow, I forgot how comfortable this throw pillow and blanket are....

5. Which, of course, means that I've seen more TV than a person should. I really hate network daytime TV, so that means that I have seen just about every design show ever made by HGTV - and I can pretty much quote all the commercials word for word, ad nauseam. I think I'm glad I'm going back to work soon.

6. Not that I haven't gotten anything done. I have done our taxes and dropped them in the mail. It is interesting earning money in one state and living in another, but I got it all figured out. All hail Turbo-tax. Huzzah (pbbblllt).

7. It's about time, I guess. I'm 42 so I finally signed up for the Big Boob Squeeze. The TaTa Tango. Yes, I went in last week for my ma-ma-mammograb! In spite of my jocular attitude, I do feel strongly that it is an important test for all women to take. My mother-in-law, GranDee, was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, making the test all that more relevant. It wasn't all that bad, really. For all the talk you hear about how much the squeezing hurts, that's not that bad. The part that hurt was the pressure of the machine against my sternum - and it didn't last that long. I got my "happy letter" today; I'm good for another year and I can focus on helping GranDee with her fight. I'll be back at Boobie-central next year for another test and every year after that. Yes, it's that important.

8. Tomorrow I'm taking my kitten, Jack, in for a very overdue neuter appointment. In fact, the way he's been acting lately, I don't think we can call him a kitten any longer. I should have had him neutered when he was around six months old, but I didn't have the money at that time. Now he follows Gus around, smelling his butt and hoping that he has somehow miraculously transformed from a tom into a queen since the last time he checked. It has, understandably, ticked off Gus to the breaking point. It will be nice to have them stop fighting, though I'm sure it will take awhile for the testosterone to leave Jack's body.

8. Speaking of testosterone leaving the cat's body, have you ever tried to explain neutering to a 7 year-old girl? It's a trip that goes something like this: "what's neuter, Mom?" "Well, honey, Jack's body has some glands in it that cause him to fight with Gus and defend his territory like he does. So, the doctor will make Jack go to sleep for a little while and take those glands out so that he behaves better. It is called neutering the cat." "Oh. OK. Where are the glands?" "See the little puffballs under his tail? Right there." "OOoooohhhhh. Ug!"
End of conversation.

9. I am desperate to get my hair cut. Instead, I'm having the cat's, um, puffballs cut. I can only afford one or the other right now. Oh well, I may look shaggy, but I am sure my carpets and Gus will thank me for my sacrifice.

10. I think my 7 year-old daughter has been hanging around the boys in her class too much. Why, you ask? Because she's been taking much joy in passing gas lately - and then demurely, delicately saying "excuse me!" all the time she has a gleam in her eye. She's having a hard time understanding that excusing herself is negated when she breaks wind on purpose. Tonight when she did it and excused herself I said, "I guess so, Miss Tootie Brain!" - and that's how Sweet Girl has come up with another nickname.

11. Has anyone else watched "Step it Up and Dance"? I like the show, but I cannot wait until Miguel goes home... he's just too full of himself!

12. Why are the last two items for the Thursday Thirteen the hardest to write? Auugh! I could write about my on-going identity crisis, but I've alluded to it for months and managed not to write about it, so why break a streak now?

13. Oh! I saved the best piece of news for last. When I met Champs, he was a soccer coach for the park district here in town, which he loved. He was with the same team for 6 or 7 seasons and he really loved coaching. He gave it up to move to Minneapolis and marry me. Once we started working and making a family, there just wasn't time for him to coach again. When we moved here, we had to focus on finding jobs and getting ourselves situated here. Now that things are more settled with jobs and finances, Champs has decided to return to coaching. The season has started, so it was too late for him to start as a head coach. He is assistant coaching a team, but will bid for head coach next season. It is so wonderful to see him back in the thick of what he loves. I am happy for him and proud of him and that's why this is my best update.

Blond Girl out. Night night!

Jack finds his voice

We have a new cat in our family, named Jack. He was born on Mother's day and I got him in August when he was a tiny ball of fluff, thinking that he would make a great companion for our 1.5 year-old cat, Gus. Jack was a very quiet little guy. When I was staying with my mom, I hardly ever heard him meow. The day I took him to the vet for his vaccinations and travel papers, he didn't make a peep.

When we got home from the vet, his back was sticky with lidocaine gel they used to numb his skin to implant his microchip so I decided to give him a bath. It turned out to be the only time he ever got loud. I have NEVER heard a cat scream like that! It was obvious he was saying that he did not like water. I gave him his bath in the apartment building's laundry room. My mom could hear it in her apartment. A neighbor came to see what the ruckus was. He was LOUD. After the bath, he went back to silence. In fact, the day we came home, he meowed once when we got in the car and didn't make another sound through the airport, the plane and the shuttle ride.

And then we got home.

And Jack met Gus.

And Jack found his voice.

Right away when we got home, I put Jack, still in his carrier, on my bed. I thought I had safely closed the door, but Champs followed me into the room and, without realizing what was at stake, left the door open. I didn't realize until it was too late. Gus came into our room, jumped up onto the bed and walked directly to the cat carrier. Remember the scream I described when I bathed Jack? Yeah, he did that. Terrifyingly. Loudly. Repeatedly. Pressed to translate, I think it meant something along the lines of "hey, no one told me there was going to be a huge cat here! I'm stuck in a bag! I can't defend myself! Get rid of it!"

We quickly separated the cats and got Jack calmed down. That night we kept Jack in our room and Gus had the run of the entire house. You would have thought they would have wanted to stay apart, but instead they spent the night just 8 inches apart with only our door between them. And they discussed the situation. Loudly. In detail. All. Night. Long. Both cats meowed and hissed until I was ready to give them away. Determined not to go through another night like that, we introduced them the next day.

The next night, both cats were banned from our room and had the run of the house. Didn't help. They went from hissing and yelling at each other through the door to doing it outside our door. Loudly.

Now, almost a month after we came home, Jack and Gus have made friends. Things have calmed down. And Jack, amazingly enough, is still talking.

My formerly quiet kitten has turned into a lippy teen. Believe it or not, I know what he is saying most of the time. Here is a short list of Jack speak:

• A quiet "mmmm. mmmm. mmmm." means "here I am Mommy."
• A quiet "mmmm? mmmm? mmmm?" means "will you pretty please scratch my tummy?"
• A medium "meeeeraow?" means "where are you Gus?"
• A loud "Meeraow!" means "please make Sweet Girl put me down!"
• A really loud "Mawl! MawL!" means "I'm gonna take you down, Gus!"

And, oh yeah: An ear-splitting scream still means "I TOLD YOU ONCE I DON'T LIKE BATHS!"