Oh yeah. I’m 50 today. I know some women don’t admit to their age, but this one is fine. I embrace that crone. Bring it.
That said, yesterday was a challenge. After teaching all day and an almost 2-hour union meeting, I went to pick up the one dog…she’s limping. My ex was trying to help by playing ball with her, because I was late getting her. OK. I got this. Lift her into the car. She’s not limping a little. She’s limping a lot.
Get home, walk in door, go to get puppy. Oh crap. Seriously. No literally. So there’s just no nice way to talk about bloody explosive diarrhea. Yeah. So I’m looking at this miserable little puppy and a room disaster. Get him outside. He needs a bath. So does the bathroom. OK. Priority? A little worried about blood. Find old towels that need washing anyway. Put on floor. Go to get dog. He’s exploded all over the pavement outside as well. Big dog is still limping. But hey, diarrhea wins. Try to get puppy in, but he’s bitey. And breathing weird. Grab another towel, wrap him up so he can’t bite me or explode on me. Sheesh, this is like when I had babies. Call emergency vet. I have 11 minutes to get there before the exam rates go up. Fuck.
Get in car. Drive. Puppy making weird hiccupy wheezy breaths in the back seat. I put him in a crate so if he explodes again, it’s easier to clean up. I haven’t been a mom for over 21 years for nothing. They take him immediately. I brought my stitching because you never know how long you will have to wait.
Spent all day trying to support girlchild with internship application thing…which, if she gets it, means she’ll be gone all summer. Which makes me cry. But it’s what she’s supposed to do. And it would be an awesome internship. Still makes me cry.
They call me in. Damn puppy is sweet as hell for them. Doesn’t try to bite them. No breathing issues at all. He saves that shit for me. He’s miserable. Yes…he needs meds. Probably giardia…I get there in my head before the vet even suggests it. Rainwater. I probably didn’t dump the water bowl after the last rain…plus honestly, with the amount of water we’ve had, there’s probably a bunch of standing water in the yard that I don’t even know about. I dumped the fountain over trying to get rid of some of it. Damn puppy. So he gets a shot and pills. (note to emergency vet…if I’m supposed to give him halves of a pill that doesn’t halve easily, my other vet halves them for me so I don’t shoot pills all over the kitchen while trying to cut them).
I get home. My dinner plans are ruined (supposed to go to book club). OK. But before that, wash puppy butt. Then wash bathroom floor. Then wash backyard pavement. Finally wash outside water bowl. OK. Dinner.
Well I was supposed to make my own “cake” for my birthday. Had a recipe I wanted to try. So I did that. Yes. I made dessert. Because. Just shut up and remember all the bloody poop.
As I’m putting that in the oven, boychild sends message…do I have time to Skype? Um. OK. Yeah. Thinking there must be something wrong? Or? So I set up Skype on the new iPad (passwords dammit) and there he is! Looks the same. Still no roommate (lucky). It’s a Skype question. He has a Spanish class where he has like a penpal (they have a better name for it)…and they have to talk to each other. She’s in Colombia. Very cool. But he’s trying to test it out beforehand. I barely see this kid in texts when he’s at school, so this is nice. Pretty sure he didn’t plan it for the day before my birthday, but I’ll take it anyway. He’s another one that might not come back this summer. He’s willing to take the explosive poop dog though (he SAYS that, but he might think otherwise if he’d had to deal with the mess today. Actually. No. He’d probably still be OK with it.).
Conversation over, nice long one (he’s procrastinating doing a homework assignment about Beyonce…don’t even ask)…I go back to the bedroom for some reason, considering what I’m going to eat for dinner (at 10 PM now)…Ugh. More diarrhea. Shit. Literally. OK. Got this. Clean it all up. More than one incident. I did take him out and he did nothing. Sigh.
Puppy is not happy.
Finally eat dinner. It was not fancy. It had cheese and bread. And tomato.
And sit down. Finally. Almost 11. Yeah! Some days.
Aw. Poor baby.
Did not do leaves…did that orange/pink thing on the left side. It’s got a name, but hell, I don’t know what it is. Lazy daisies connecting in a zigzag.
And then, with a willpower that is kind of amazing sometimes…I sorted tiny little fucking pieces while watching the end of Victoria. I’m still conflicted about that show. I love it, but I wonder how much of the depiction of her is truthful. It’s a little on the Jane Austen end of the girly spectrum. I have a hard time with that shit.
I don’t doubt that a woman can be strong and needy at the same time, or that she was young and had some typical flights of fancy associated with that. I don’t know much about Queen Vic…so that’s my own failing. Nine kids though. Yeah. She probably had someone to deal with explosive poop episodes. And someone to bring her dinner when it was all done. Lucky.
So the paper doesn’t like to stick on the little tiny pieces, unfortunately. These are the losers that lost their paper. Or that one tiny one I can’t read. Bad old eyes.
I’ll figure out where they go later. All sorted, ready to go. No big pieces in there. Nope. Uh huh.
So it’s my birthday today. You might have heard. I’ve got a few minor plans, but the big one is (Not Grading) coming home and starting to iron this together. I’m excited about that. I’m hoping there’s no poop issues too. But if there are, I already have dessert made.
(Today’s title is me. Because I never do. And that’s been going on for a long time. School really cramps my style.)
*Cars, Let’s Go