The Great Debate

Ever have an opportunity come up where you know you should refuse for every practical reason under the sun and yet something is still pulling you in that direction?

I recently stumbled across a pet adoption web site and out of the hundreds of dogs on this site, one seems to be calling my name. Her name is Sadie and she is a little black schnauzer. It looks like she is a few years older than Trent but she's in good health.

Of course, money is tight. We are on a budget. We'd need to buy her own crate, dog bed, collar, leash and toys. It would be two vet bills. We rent the house we're in now.

On the other hand, unconditional love. Trent would have a playmate. It takes Trent four months to eat his food anyway. Her vet visit is taken care of for this year. I'm learning to cut Trent's hair (poor dog). She looks just like him, down to the uncut yet perky ears. We're used to the schnauzerisms of the breed. She won't shed. There's plenty of yard for both. And finally, she's just so danged cute!

Sigh. Sadie is a rescue and her foster family lives 3 hours away. Not a bad drive, not really for us.

DH and I talked last night. Her adoption fee is only $75, which I think is really cheap considering the other ones I've looked at and the medical stuff she's been through.

So we sent an email asking about her. We'll have to see what happens from here.

Adventures in Step-Parenting

Cool. The last post was #100. A pretty significant milestone. If I were a tv show, I'd get a cake. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll probably have cake anyway.

Today began the annual ritual I like to call "Step-Parenting 101." It's a remedial course, namely because you would not believe the things you forget from last year. Now that summer vacation has begun, we have DSS on alternating weeks. Which means we get more day-to-day, real-life time with him, not just the It's-Dad's-Weekend-let's-have-fun stuff.

DSS is certainly his father's son. Translation: he is a complete bear to wake up in the morning. DH leaves for work at 6:15 AM. It really doesn't make much sense to have DSS up at that time, so wake up duties now fall to me. And yes, there are many a time that I've wanted to throw up my hands at the both of them and just let them rot there.

It is a fact of life that there are times when a step-parent will not agree with how the other parent handles certain things. The Ex and I are no exception. Heck, if we ever agree on anything, it'll be a miracle. Ok, to be honest, we both like Yankee Candles, and there is a Sparkling Grapefruit with her name on it too, but I digress (sorry, inside joke). In this instance, we disagree on the proper way to wake a child from a restful night's sleep in order to have them in the best frame of mind to face the coming day. At the ex's house, basically the kids know that once Mom starts yelling, it's time to wake up. I've heard stories about ice being tossed on them and cold water. I vowed to never resort to those tactics.

However, the result is that without the yelling, DSS does not seem to think that it is imperative that he get his rear in gear so I'm not late for work.

I regret to say I had to flick water on DSS in order to wake him up today (head hanging low).

Granted, it wasn't a glass of water. Merely a few drops, just enough to get his attention. That and I had been trying to find some sign of life for forty-five minutes at this point. I was at end of my patience.

I don't want to be a mean step-mom, really. So perhaps that is the reason I came up with the pirate theme of this morning's waking up ceremony. I turned the ceiling fan on high, sprayed him with water, started shaking the mattress, and began yelling, "AHOY, MATIE! HARD TO PORT AND TRIM THOSE SAILS, YOU SCALLY-WAG! ARRRR!"

Ah, yes. The look on his face was priceless.

Perhaps I do exaggerate a bit, but I did receive a really dirty look from DSS once his eyes opened this morning.

Besides, he should know by now that I am the nutty one. If he doesn't want to get up in the morning, I cannot be held responsible for what creative means my brain comes up with to make sure he does.

An Insight Into My Thinking Process: *Warning! Scary Up Ahead!

(CMS, this is for you.)

Ok, so I'm reading this book that I can't even remember the title of and I keep getting distracted by my inner dialogue. Really. That is how little I am absorbed into this story.

First, it is a book I probably would not have picked out for myself. DH got it for me out of a free book bin. It was free. Enough said.

I thought I should probably give it a good shot. So this is how it went:

Hmm. An Indian crosses the desert. Almost sounds like a joke opening. A man walks into the bar and says ... ow! Tee-hee! Always cracks me up.

Ok. We have a snake. The snake is not doing anything. Why is he here? Maybe he'll bite the Indian ... no, still not doing anything. Why do we have the freakin' point of view of a snake in this story? On page two?

Oh, look. The page number says fifteen, but it is really page two of the story. I wonder if there are rules about this. Doesn't that mean that there are about ten blank pages padding the final page count? Are the pages at the end going to be counted too? I wonder if all books do this.

Hold on, maybe something is happening ... nope, still nothing. Oooh, as an added bonus, I now know the scientific name of the diamond back snake. WTH?

Back to the Indian. And back to the snake. And his snakey POV. *Sigh*

Well, it is third omniscient POV. Maybe snakey POV is allowed ... no, not really. I have a really bad feeling about this book.

Great. A western with a prostitute. Why did DH think I'd like this book?

Now don't be so hard on DH. He picked out a perfectly good book for you. He probably saw the words "By the Author of 'Bridges of Madison County'" on the cover and thought it might be a romance. Even if he did forget you hated that book.

Good. No more prostitute. Still not exactly sure what the Indian is doing running through the desert.

Hmm. Now there is a poker player. I wish I knew what was going on.

Ooooh! The smugglers just shot a cop for no reason! Something is happening ... and we're back to nothing again. Apparently they are just going to drive around the desert with the body in the trunk. *sigh*

Talk about your long nights. This book is taking forever. The poker player's mentor was just killed and I don't think my pulse even went up.

Hmm. This book is only one hundred and fifty-eight pages long. Seems a lot longer. Let's see if I can stick this out. Just to see if I can.

I really hope the book with the Titanic-like cover is better than this.

Or, I at least read it better than this. That's right. It's not the book. It's me.

Now I sound like I'm breaking up with the book. "I'm sorry, it's not you. It's me. We just want different things and should probably see other people ..."

***

I did warn you this was a scary place, right?

Popsicles for DH

I tell you, the fun never stops over here.

DH needs to have a medical procedure. He is still having problems with the coughing fits which in turn is causing him to not get any restful sleep. The doctor thinks that he has scar tissue in his throat that food is getting caught on. It is also creating a tickle causing DH to cough even though nothing is there.

Basically they are proposing to do an upper GI scope to assess the damage and then cauterize any pockets or rough spots causing problems.

Yikes. DH still has his tonsils too, so we'll have to see if they stay in or come out.

It looks like we'll have to stock up on popsicles for a while.