Confession...I'm Tired...

You may have noticed my entries have dropped off drastically.  I didn't feel I had anything witty enough to contribute.  I was/am so tired I can hardly make it through the day.  I get home from work and collapse on the couch.  Frequently, I fall asleep and then a few hours later Brian will wake me up and tuck me into bed. 

I don't want to go anywhere when I get home. I don't want to talk to anyone.  I don't want to do anything.  I don't want to run anymore.  I don't even want to take Bear for a walk...and that's part of his prescription from his vet for his health, too...

My body hurts.  I have a headache (though not always a migraine) as often as not. 

I honestly was reluctant to try to do anything about how I felt.  What do you make an appointment for? "I don't feel good?"  Well, I didn't, but that seemed silly to me.  I didn't know if I was just super stressed (YES!); after all, my mother had just had a major surgery for a stage one cancer (remission now, no worries).  My grandfather is still healing six months later in a hospital from a staph infection he contracted at Christmas.  This blog exists because of what Brian and I went through with his cancer.  Just a little stress.

Well, I felt silly making a doctor appointment for stress.  Buck up, Buttercup.  Geez.  You are not the only person with problems.  So you are tired.  So is everyone else.  But y'all.  Seriously, I could barely function.  I really hurt. 

So, finally I couldn't stand it anymore.  And rather than say I didn't "feel good" when I made the appointment, I said my headaches had increased.  That wasn't a lie.  It was just only part of it.

My doctor listened patiently as I verbally vomited everything that had happened recently.  I got a little emotional. She sweetly gave me a tissue.  She reassured me that I could have made the appointment for "not feeling good."  That's allowed.  Who knew?  "How do you diagnose that?"  I asked.  "We start with lab work," she said.  It had been years since blood work had been done on me.

I waited for a few days and yesterday the call came with a few answers.  No thyroid problem. Crap. The weight gain is my fault.  Cholestorol is a little high.  Crap.  And pretty anemic.  We just don't know why yet. So, a prescription iron pill.  Crap (or not for those of you who know what taking iron does to a girl.)  And Vitamin D to add a little extra pep. 

I have to go back next Friday for more bloodwork to make sure the iron is working.  To make sure the anemia isn't a symptom of something else.  I'm hoping NOT obviously, but while they are working on those results I'll be in the Caribbean on a cruise so I'll try not to dwell on it and get my Vitamin D the old-fashioned way. 

Protecting, Serving and Celebrating

This week Washington D.C. has been the safest place on the planet.  Or not, depending on how you look at it, I guess.

It's National Police Week.  And they are convening their annual get together there.  Few professions in the world celebrate each other the way police officers do.  Perhaps it's because no one else will.  And this week, it does not bother them.  They do a job that almost no one is willing to do and do well, and almost everyone is willing to criticize.  This week they celebrate the living and they celebrate the dead.  And unfortunately, lately too many have paid the ultimate price. 

My own personal hero skipped out the door Wednesday morning at 5:15 am (that's right, I said AM) to go commune with The Brotherhood for 6 days or so in Washington D.C.  Normally this is a man who hates to fly and certainly won't greet the morning with a smile. 

This year is even more special for countless reasons.  The first being...he is alive to go at all.  A miracle that we are thankful for every day. 

And in addition to meeting up with his friends from New York, New Jersey, Wisconsin, California and Australia, this year, he gets to take along his two best friends from Texas for all the fun and the ceremony. 

I have no doubt that countless toasts will be raised.  I have no doubt that some whoppers will be told.  And nothing rejuvenates Brian like this week with people who understand him like no one else ever can.  And it doesn't matter where they are from.  They make connections that last and it gets them through until next year.

Sammy

Sammy died today.Quite unexpectedly.  He just laid down on my parents' sun porch and went to the Rainbow Bridge.

Sammy was my parents' sheltie.  He was part of a couple.  He leaves behind Liberty Belle, also known as Libby. 

His favorite past times were chasing the frisbee and barking at the pool sweep with Libby as it made its way around the pool.  He never particularly favored actually getting in the pool for a dip, however.  He did tolerate his baths pretty well.

Sammy was a quirky fellow.  He wasn't big on car rides...shelties are known for car sickness, you know.  So we kept those to a minimum.  We even have a mobile vet for he and Libby.  He wasn't big on human sneezes and he really hated it when you had to file your nails with an emery board.  He barked and barked at you.

He loved his toys; he had a whole basketful of babies.  The witch that cackled was always his favorite though I think he was partial to a ribbiting frog, a mooing cow and lively monkey during his short little life as well. 

He never learned to walk on a leash either so he had to stay at the house.  But he didn't want to ride in the car and he had plenty of entertainment in the backyard with the pool sweep and the birds.  And let's not forget the squirrels.  Sammy was so fast he damn near caught one of those birdseed-thieving squirrels one day. 

Sammy didn't mind all of the other dogs in the family coming over for visits (and there are always plenty of them), but he always had to meet them at the door and tell them who was boss of this house.  That always made me laugh because he was so small.  Here he was--this tiny little sheltie bossing around my border collie and my brother's Airedale.  Good stuff. 

I think it was also to say that Libby was to be respected while they were in the house.  He loved his Libby.

He also loved my nephew who will learn another life lesson tonight.  Darn it. 

Sammy had terrible allergies.  He chewed at his paws and often had ugly sores on his foot where he couldn't resist the temptation to scratch the itch.  He had trouble with his ears, too.  He bore all of it with patience.  Including the medicine he had to take.

I write all of this in high praise of the little man, but he never seemed to think much of me...even though adding him to the family was my idea.  That's ok, Sammy.  You loved Mama and Daddy and Libby very much.  You didn't have to like me.  I have a firm belief that all dogs go to heaven so Max, Boots and Gus met you at the Bridge tonight.  Probably with a brand new frisbee. 

Guilty Pleasures

I've been a little lazier than usual...for awhile now.  I have been using the birthday treadmill intermittenly, but I have to say that my TV watching has become a little more regular in recent weeks. 

I guess sometimes you just need some total down time.  I'm really struggling a bit.  The very thought of having to fight my way through another three weeks of school is completely exhausting to me.  But I didn't come here to whine about all that.

I was chuckling to myself about what I've been watching on television lately.  You won't catch me watching Grey's Anatomy.  I have no idea who is still shaking a tail feather on Dancing With the Stars. 

I have a thing for River Monsters. I  especially like River Monsters Unhooked because you get the little blips with the inside story from that particular fishing trip on Unhooked.  The new season has just started...all new fishing excursions looking for scary stuff in rivers all over the world.  I've never been crazy about swimming anywhere but my parents' pool and this show just confirms it for me.  But I love it anyway.

Monday night at 7 pm it's time for Antiques Roadshow, baby.  I love it!  I love to see people's treasures and I love to see their expressions when the appraisers tell them the value of the item.  Tonight I thought they were going to have to get oxygen for some little old ladies in Biloxi, Mississippi when they found out how much their stuff was worth.  Very cool.

Is that too weird? 

I used to love to watch Trick My Truck on CMT.  I don't even know if they make that show anymore, but it was so cute...though the truckers might take exception to being called "cute."  I loved watching this group take a clunker rig for a deserving driver and turn it into something swanky.  I could watch that show all weekend. 

And of course, give me a good Law and Order rerun any time.  Especially the Angie Harmon years. 

And then there are all my favorite DVDs that I fall back on...mainly to fall asleep to.  Britcoms and The Red Green Show.  So there's my tv confession.  When I watch, I crave that familiarity. It usually doesn't matter if I've seen 10 times.  It's more about the company the voices provide than the actual entertainment...well, except for the fish and the antiques. 

Azalea's Day Out

It  began innocently enough.

Azalea, our cat, has always been curious about open doors to the outside.  After all, Bear found her in my parents' azalea bushes when she was about 5 weeks old...thus her name.  So we always have to watch carefully when we come and go from outside to make sure that she stays put.

And of late, I haven't helped hinder her curiosity.  I purchased a leash and harness for her so that she could go walking in the backyard sometimes....with adult supervision. 

So, I was sad, but not surprised when Brian came home to let the dogs have a potty break today at noon and could not find her. 

Early this morning, I had a difficult time getting Badger to come in the house...in fact, I thought he was gone-- he's not usually that quiet in the yard--and in the hustle and bustle of getting Badger in and dried off, Azalea just slipped right out. 

We never even noticed.  Sneaky little woman.

Brian noticed at noon.  He texted me.  Had I seen her this morning?  Well, she was sleeping on my head this morning...and she was sharpening claws on the carpet in the office while I ran on the treadmill...and then I don't remember seeing her, in fact.

Nuts.

Brian remembered that Badger was paying particular attention to the shed in the back when he was let out this afternoon.  Since I had scoured the house, perhaps I could check out there.

Sure.  I am still wearing my silk shirt and WHITE pants from school (the first time I've worn them, by the way) but every second counts, right?  Missing precious animal, right?  Did I mention it rained today?

Sigh.  Out to the shed I go, calling her name and her nickname.  "Here Mouse, Mouse, Mouse!"  (I cannot explain why my cat has a nickname.  She just does.  And Mouse is short for Mouser.  And I'm pretty sure she's never seen one.  Logic?  Nah.  It's just cute.)

Damned if she didn't stick her face out from under the bottom of the shed.  Holy cow!  Those green eyes just glowed up at me. 

Ok, now how to get her out.  I ran around the entire shed.  The only way it looks to me she could have fit her chubby little boody under there was right where I was standing. I grabbed her and tried to pull her through.  She wasn't fitting. 

Hmmm...Winnie the Pooh Syndrome?  I ran to the garage and grabbed a small digging implement and dug under the shed to make the opening larger.  By then sweet angel had backed up too far for me to grab her again.  She remained just out of reached as I called to her so sweetly. It was like she was taunting me, "Ha ha, you can't get me.  Nyah nyah!"

I called Brian for bright ideas.  "Have you tried coaxing her with her food?"  he asked.  Uh, no.  Not yet.  I picked myself up and ran inside to get the food.  Oooh there is a big glass of wine with my name on it if I ever get this little dear out of here.

I shook the container and then got a little handful, stuck it under the shed.  She inched toward me and the food.  Finally she was close enough to me to grab. 

I stuffed her back under the shed, panting from the effort, Azalea meowing in protest.  Finally I had her on my side of the shed with a firm grip on her.  I grabbed the food, my phone, and the little dear and headed into the house to take stock of the damage to my new white capris.

And now while the Mouser gives herself a bath, I'm enjoying a glass of whine.

Are You Tough Enough?

Ha.  The next person who poo poos my profession and informs me (directly or indirectly) that I am just a glorified baby-sitter, that I just go to work 8:30-4:30 and get summers off, will get the engraved invitation to spend a day with me.  To walk in my shoes. 
Imagine today for example. 
Say, you get to work at 6:45 am. 

At 6:50 am in the middle of answering emails, a colleague needs your help unjamming the stubborn copier. 

At 7:15 am, after convincing the copier to work with your colleague instead of against her, and after a short visit with said colleague, you return to your emails.

At 7:45 am, you attend your staff meeting to discuss an upcoming logistical nightmare.

At 8:20 am, the meeting ends, and the school day is about to begin.

At 8:30 am, the students are in class, and your conference period has begun.  It's your turn to coax the copier into working with you.  Things go smoothly for a change.  Mostly because you don't ask it to staple or punch holes in the copies.

At 9:15 am, you are ready for your first class.  The students are spending their last day on their research papers.  (Thank the Lord.  Because frankly you would rather chew broken glass while walking on hot coals juggling rabid ferrets than teach one more day of research.)

At 10:05 am, it is your Lifeguard period.  But there is no one to counsel today because it's a new grading period.  So you take advantage of the planning time to work on your Shakespeare lesson plans. 

At 11 am, it's lunch time.  It's mini smokies and macaroni in the cafeteria today and you've always kind of liked that lunch.

From 11:30-3:45 pm you teach research, Shakespeare and the last bit of The Princess Bride.  Hopefully by early next week you can get every back on the same schedule...more or less.  The assembly tomorrow 8th period is still going to throw a monkey wrench in things, but there's nothing you can do.

At 3:50, you are in a meeting to work on the logistical nightmare again.

At 4:15, you and your colleagues are alerted to the fact that there is a child in need of medical attention.  You don't think.  You react.  Immediately.  You know who the child is. You know what he needs.   One person calls 911.  Two of you run on the double to the child.  When you reach him, other adults are already with him.  His friends have stayed close by.  The friend who ran for help is terribly upset.  You comfort him as best you can.  He believes it is his fault that the boy is not well.  You do all you can as he sobs on you to reassure him that he is so brave; his friend will be fine because he got help. 

You stay to comfort the friend, you stay until the father gets the boy loaded up to go to the doctor.  You look at your colleagues and sigh as the friend sets off for home.  He'll need to talk to the counselor in the morning.  Nervous energy makes you tease each other about running as fast as possible in the high heels you wore to work that day.  You still have to get back to your logistical nightmare you were meeting about.  It didn't work itself out while you helped out the boy and his friend. 

Just a regular middle school day. 

It's 5:00 pm now.  Your dogs should have been let out almost an hour ago.  You hope they have their little paws crossed and they aren't doing naughty things to your carpet, but you know they don't have teacher bladders. 

So, it's a tough job. But I love it.  The people and the kids I work with inspire me every day. I certainly witnessed great courage today.  Come to think of it, I witness courage in some form every day.  And I hope I am tough enough to walk those halls for many years to come.

Hello! My Name Is....Toad

Hello!  My Name Is....Toad.

Yeah, I know.  Strange name, but two of the handsomest men I know call me that.  And no one else.

Five years ago, when my nephew was born, my rather mischievous brother thought it would hilarious if Zachary called his aunt Toad, as I am a graduate of Texas Christian University.  Our mascot, for those of you who don't live 'round here or who don't follow college football closely, is the horned lizard or horned frog. 

As soon as Zachary could utter words, Toad just rolled right off of his tongue.  It actually suited me fine because Heather has always been a bit tricky for little ones to pronounce.  Two syllables and the "th" is an added challenge. 

When my best friend Liz had her baby two years ago, it seemed that Toad was going to stick with my nephew. She is also a  proud TCU grad, so when Mason began to talk, I became Aunt Toad to another sweet little boy.

This weekend, we were shopping in Belk together and while Liz's husband and mine were looking for clothes (we don't normally make it such a family outing, but there was a big charity sale), Liz and Mason and I played in the racks of clothes to keep the little man busy. 

"Toad!  Toad!" this little voice would call.  I would pop out from behind a mirror or a rack of clothes and Mason would laugh and laugh and run to his mama.  The other shoppers watched us with curiosity. 

We probably played for a good half hour before everyone in our little shopping party decided they had what they needed and checked out. 

As we waited for Brian to pay, one of the ladies at the charity coupon table near the register said,"I have to ask.  How did you become Toad?"  She wore an amused grin.  Liz and I told her the story while Mason showed off his skills with the alphabet.  She was terribly impressed with Mason and loved the story, too.  She had a story not unlike mine about how her name had become shortened to Aunt Rain.  Turns out she's a former kindergarten teacher. 

We bid farewell to Aunt Rain and the other shoppers and went our separate ways for the weekend, Mason all way saying "Bye Toad!  Bye Toad!"  Ah, melts the heart.

It's good to be a Toad.  I'm just sayin'.