Yesterday I was afraid...

that my dog didn't love me anymore.

Me, who was a stay at home dog mom when I first started grad school so that I could train him and exercise him, and keep him from being crated all the time.

Me, who has to ice pick his frozen poop out of our backyard in negative temperatures.

Me, who has been late to work countless times because he threw up just as I was about to leave for work, because he ate grass the night before, even as I yelled at him to not eat grass.

Me, who begged and pleaded to keep him when Tim said we should cut our losses and sell him, during his 6-month "I'm going to pee all over myself and my crate every time you leave me" stage.

He was with the wonderful Feezors while we were gone, and had become used to hanging out with his doggy friends Casey and Bella. He acted as though we tore him from his pack. He moped, and yes, dogs can mope.

But then today, when I came in the back door from work, I heard him bounding/falling down the stairs to greet me, and he did his lean-into-me-so-much-it-almost-knocks-me-over, and I knew we were best buds again.

Playing Catch Phrase with the In-Laws

It's Tim's mom's turn, and she doesn't have her glasses on, so she has to squint and bring the words closer, than farther away. Then she starts shouting clues:
"They wear karate clothes! And go hay-yah!"
"A black belt!"
"A kung fu fighter!"
"No, no, and they wear masks!"
"A ninja!"
"Yes! At least I think that's what it said, I couldn't really read it so I just made it up..."
"See what it says...it says, 'audience'."

Merry Christmas to YOU, Mr. President

I know there's a lot of people that have strong feelings about President Bush, and I am one of them right now. I am having a very strong feeling toward him right now:

GRATITUDE.

Many thanks to you, Mr. President, for declaring the day after Christmas a federal holiday. Now I only have to take 4 hours of unpaid time.

George W., you would be welcome at my Christmas table.

Merry Christmas, ustedes.

Sometimes, I just really want to cuss

Pretty much all day I am making a concerted effort to not cuss. But sometimes...it gets difficult. Like when I accidentally bump into a urinal when I'm talking to a patient. And I don't mean a porcelain urinal attached to the bathroom wall, I mean a plastic one, like the picture above. That handle conveniently clips on to the end of patient's bed. The urinal may or may not have pee in it.

I also want to cuss when I step into the bathroom stall and see that the phantom hair-leaver has struck again. There is a sick sick woman (I'm assuming it's a 'she') that feels the need to take strands of her hair and stick them on the stall wall. Why? Why exactly? I'm hoping by their length that I can rule out any other origins other than her head, but that doesn't make me feel any better. You're probably wondering, 'Why don't you just go into another stall?' I can't promise that I have a logical answer for that. But here it is: One time I read a magazine article that said that the bathroom stall nearest the door is the cleanest because most people use the one farthest from the door for privacy. And so I persist, day after day. Even though there are only two stalls in that stupid bathroom.

Who does that?

So on last Tuesday night, my friend Jen and I set out to prove that we are just as young and hip as...other young hipsters. We went to see Death Cab for Cutie, The Ting Tings, and Jack's Mannequin at The Rave, which is the concert venue near Marquette.

I guess we forgot how much we hate secondhand smoke, and dumb sorority girls that screech lyrics in your ear, stomp on your toes, and hit you in the head with their cellphones while they drunkenly attempt to take pictures.

I guess I forgot that I kind of have a temper problem when it comes to that type of girl, who has pushed you, and spilled beer on you, and literally made one of your feet numb because she has stepped on it so many times.

I guess I forgot that I was a peace-lovin' social worker until I yell in Jen's ear, "If she pushes me one more time, I'm putting an elbow out", and then actually shove her, and then suddenly the guys behind me are nodding at me and yelling, "We've got your back." Wait a minute, did I almost get in a fight Tuesday night? The answer is yes. Did Jen try to stop me? No, she only egged me on by miming strangling them with her scarf.

I may never go to another concert again. Apparently I can't control myself. I hope you all still love me.

Ode to the Malleycats

Oh you Malleycats, you make me laugh.

On Thanksgiving, me and Reyna were trying to get the turkey in the oven bag. I was holding the bag open and Reyna was putting the turkey in. The turkey slipped, broke right through the bag, and was on the floor in a matter of seconds. Of course Dirk's slobbery face was there in nanoseconds. No harm, no fowl, and that turkey turned out great.

Thank you for an ideal holiday. Thanks for sharing the twins and Bennett with us - just love those little guys. We can't wait for the day when we can extend the same level of hospitality. Can't wait for next year!