D.P. Davidson's Blog, page 9
October 7, 2014
Epic Fail...
Disclaimer *Gross things will be discussed. Those with weak constitutions are hereby warned in advance*
My youngest daughter, Minney, hasn't had much luck with her ear piercings. Her ears get infected in part because she requires quality earrings, but also because she tends to push the backs of her earring so close to the ear that hair and other grossness gets caught around the post, creating more grossness.
We've taken her earrings out several times, we've cleaned them thoroughly, but when she's left to her own devices they are neglected. It been a circus.
This last round of infection occurred after she lost the back of her earring.
Mr. D. and I were out, trekking through the wilderness while wearing pioneer garb and pulling a handcart with eight tired teens, a story for another day, and left the children with a friend who noticed that Minney's ear lobe was red and swollen. She removed the earring, with some difficulty, and set about cleaning the wound.
She cleaned Minney's ear two days in a row with antiseptic, and then would squeeze her lobe to try and clean out the infection. When we got home on the third day, my friend gave me the 411. I studied my child's earlobe and then gave it a squeeze (it's the little things that make life great) and she howled in pain. I noticed something in the piercing but didn't want to dig any further because gross.
The next morning I checked her ear confused as to why her ear lobe was so hard. So I squeezed her ear again and out popped...the missing back of the earring. I warned you at the beginning.
She's done with earrings for now, but has learned a valuable lesson.
There is such a thing as too tight.
Happy Tail Syndrome...
Doesn't that sound just wonderful? I mean, how can something so auditorily pleasing be bad?
I'll tell you how...
Sufferers of Happy Tail Syndrome are commonly dogs and their owners. I love Gus' tail. He swings that thing with nary a care which is where the problem lies. Gus suffers (though he doesn't seem to notice) because he somehow hurts the tip of his tail and makes it bleed.
I suffer because he leaves a bloody trail in his wake. Seriously.
Saturday morning, Mr. D informed me Gus had hurt himself. "Somehow your dog caught his tail on something," he told me as he held my pup in his arms. "There's blood everywhere."
My first thought? "Drama queen."
And then I went to the front room. Blood was EVERYWHERE.
It was a good day to clean the walls.
I spent half the morning cleaning up the crime scene and then the rest of the day trying to figure out how to bandage his tail while hindering his ability to smack it against the wall. A finger splint worked for a minute, until he got his tail going good and steady which disengaged the splint and sent it sailing across the room into my face.
After that I used a bandage which helped, but the glue pulls the lovely white hair out of his sit upon. One more application and the tip of his tail will be bald.
The only cure for Happy Tail is amputation so I guess we'll be keeping the bandage industry afloat.
In the meantime, call before you come over.
I'll tell you how...
Sufferers of Happy Tail Syndrome are commonly dogs and their owners. I love Gus' tail. He swings that thing with nary a care which is where the problem lies. Gus suffers (though he doesn't seem to notice) because he somehow hurts the tip of his tail and makes it bleed.
I suffer because he leaves a bloody trail in his wake. Seriously.
Saturday morning, Mr. D informed me Gus had hurt himself. "Somehow your dog caught his tail on something," he told me as he held my pup in his arms. "There's blood everywhere."
My first thought? "Drama queen."
And then I went to the front room. Blood was EVERYWHERE.
It was a good day to clean the walls.
I spent half the morning cleaning up the crime scene and then the rest of the day trying to figure out how to bandage his tail while hindering his ability to smack it against the wall. A finger splint worked for a minute, until he got his tail going good and steady which disengaged the splint and sent it sailing across the room into my face.
After that I used a bandage which helped, but the glue pulls the lovely white hair out of his sit upon. One more application and the tip of his tail will be bald.
The only cure for Happy Tail is amputation so I guess we'll be keeping the bandage industry afloat.
In the meantime, call before you come over.
Irony Thy Name Is...
Gus.
Let me begin by stating I hate dogs. I know those words fly in the face of the fact that I have them, but I hate them nonetheless. We've had five in the fifteen years we've been married. Why do we have dogs if I don't like them? I also have kids.
Our first dog, Jean Gray, was just an exercise in aggravation. We had to adopt her out before I killed her to death. No one looks me in the eye as they poop on the carpet and lives to see a new day. The next two, Peanut and Phoenix, were gut wrenching losses. We had to put them down on the same day after they contracted Parvo. Our hearts nearly broke.
I was content to be dog free, but was summarily out voted. To be fair, when Mr. D found the first half of the idiot twins at the shelter they were so cute, as puppies are wont to be, it was my idea to get the second idiot twin, a decision I get to regret for about twenty years. It was a rebound thing, what can I say?!
Those two morons couldn't be any dumber, thus Mr. D and I decided they were the last. For forever. I had no problem agreeing with that. Seriously I'm not a dog fan, but life has a funny way of intervening.
I was having a really rough day on the second of September, and my thoughts were troubled. I went with a friend to the Home Depot to help her with a project, but also to quell the voices in my head. We were looking at flooring when these two women strolled by with a shopping cart full of boxer/pit puppies. Puppies are cute, but they always turn into annoying dogs so I kind of stood back while my friend commented on the cart of cuteness.
Suddenly the only boy sat up and looked at me with the kindest eyes, and all of the troublesome feelings went away. I picked him up and instantly fell in love.
I brought him home.
Mr. D. was understandably unhappy to see the furry baby in my arms and kept waiting for the punchline. To his credit, if he had done the same thing I would have lost my shiz. However, he knows I'm not one to bring an animal home on a whim even though that's exactly what it looks like.
I can hear my sister in law losing her mind right now. She screams at the thought of a dog crossing her yard, but I have no regrets. Anytime I feel the niggle of sadness he's right there. He follows me everywhere, and he's smart. He's learned in three weeks what the idiot twins still can't manage at a year. Mr. D. complains that I spoil Gus, but how often does one find comfort in such an unexpected place?
The Lord works in mysterious ways. Like Gus.
Let me begin by stating I hate dogs. I know those words fly in the face of the fact that I have them, but I hate them nonetheless. We've had five in the fifteen years we've been married. Why do we have dogs if I don't like them? I also have kids.
Our first dog, Jean Gray, was just an exercise in aggravation. We had to adopt her out before I killed her to death. No one looks me in the eye as they poop on the carpet and lives to see a new day. The next two, Peanut and Phoenix, were gut wrenching losses. We had to put them down on the same day after they contracted Parvo. Our hearts nearly broke.
I was content to be dog free, but was summarily out voted. To be fair, when Mr. D found the first half of the idiot twins at the shelter they were so cute, as puppies are wont to be, it was my idea to get the second idiot twin, a decision I get to regret for about twenty years. It was a rebound thing, what can I say?!
Those two morons couldn't be any dumber, thus Mr. D and I decided they were the last. For forever. I had no problem agreeing with that. Seriously I'm not a dog fan, but life has a funny way of intervening.
I was having a really rough day on the second of September, and my thoughts were troubled. I went with a friend to the Home Depot to help her with a project, but also to quell the voices in my head. We were looking at flooring when these two women strolled by with a shopping cart full of boxer/pit puppies. Puppies are cute, but they always turn into annoying dogs so I kind of stood back while my friend commented on the cart of cuteness.
Suddenly the only boy sat up and looked at me with the kindest eyes, and all of the troublesome feelings went away. I picked him up and instantly fell in love.
I brought him home.
Mr. D. was understandably unhappy to see the furry baby in my arms and kept waiting for the punchline. To his credit, if he had done the same thing I would have lost my shiz. However, he knows I'm not one to bring an animal home on a whim even though that's exactly what it looks like.
I can hear my sister in law losing her mind right now. She screams at the thought of a dog crossing her yard, but I have no regrets. Anytime I feel the niggle of sadness he's right there. He follows me everywhere, and he's smart. He's learned in three weeks what the idiot twins still can't manage at a year. Mr. D. complains that I spoil Gus, but how often does one find comfort in such an unexpected place?
The Lord works in mysterious ways. Like Gus.
The Blame Game...
It's a fun game when you're blaming other people, but it starts to get weird when everyone is blaming themselves.
See, what had happened was...
My family went to Utah this summer to see my brother, J.D. and his family. It was awesome. We slept in the living room on our fat air mattress. It was like a week long sleep over. We went hiking up a mountain, and hiking up another mountain and then to add a little variety, we went hiking up a mountain that led to a cave. A very narrow cave, I might add. A very narrow cave with a fault line running through the middle. It gives me chills just to remember it. Also, for the first time in my life I actually did walk uphill both ways. It was so very, very wrong.
Anyway, I digress.
Whilst on our trip we had the opportunity to spend time with some dear friends who decided to head for higher ground and left the great state of Texas leaving us all alone, but we're not bitter (maybe we're still a little bitter). This has what to do with the Blame Game you ask? Hold on I'm gettin' there.
We spent one evening with my friend Montie who was watching her sister's three kids so she could go out with her husband for their anniversary. The evening was going along nicely, Sharknado II was in my very near future and all was right with the world when we heard the soul piercing cry of a ruined evening come from the basement.
The youngest boy, barely eighteen months had crawled up in a chair and then promptly fell off. And bit a lovely hole in his tongue.
It bled and bled and bled, and I remembered why I changed my mind about nursing school. So. Much. Blood.
After twenty minutes of blood gushery Montie and I put the boy into the car and took him to the emergency care clinic around the corner. I drove while she comforted (and papertoweled his mouth) in the back seat. As we neared the clinic she declared tat the accident was her fault as she shouldn't have left the chair in the basement. I reminded her it was called an accident for a reason.
Mr. D called while we were waiting for the doctor to tell me that one by one each of the children came to claim responsibility for the accident. That's seven kids. There was a lot of blame floating around the mountains of Utah that night, but do you know who really is at fault? The parents. If they had never gotten married he wouldn't have fallen out of that chair. Happy anniversary Cam and Matt.
By the way, they (Cam and Matt) just added to their brood. Congratulations and welcome to the jungle Mia!
See, what had happened was...
My family went to Utah this summer to see my brother, J.D. and his family. It was awesome. We slept in the living room on our fat air mattress. It was like a week long sleep over. We went hiking up a mountain, and hiking up another mountain and then to add a little variety, we went hiking up a mountain that led to a cave. A very narrow cave, I might add. A very narrow cave with a fault line running through the middle. It gives me chills just to remember it. Also, for the first time in my life I actually did walk uphill both ways. It was so very, very wrong.
Anyway, I digress.
Whilst on our trip we had the opportunity to spend time with some dear friends who decided to head for higher ground and left the great state of Texas leaving us all alone, but we're not bitter (maybe we're still a little bitter). This has what to do with the Blame Game you ask? Hold on I'm gettin' there.
We spent one evening with my friend Montie who was watching her sister's three kids so she could go out with her husband for their anniversary. The evening was going along nicely, Sharknado II was in my very near future and all was right with the world when we heard the soul piercing cry of a ruined evening come from the basement.
The youngest boy, barely eighteen months had crawled up in a chair and then promptly fell off. And bit a lovely hole in his tongue.
It bled and bled and bled, and I remembered why I changed my mind about nursing school. So. Much. Blood.
After twenty minutes of blood gushery Montie and I put the boy into the car and took him to the emergency care clinic around the corner. I drove while she comforted (and papertoweled his mouth) in the back seat. As we neared the clinic she declared tat the accident was her fault as she shouldn't have left the chair in the basement. I reminded her it was called an accident for a reason.
Mr. D called while we were waiting for the doctor to tell me that one by one each of the children came to claim responsibility for the accident. That's seven kids. There was a lot of blame floating around the mountains of Utah that night, but do you know who really is at fault? The parents. If they had never gotten married he wouldn't have fallen out of that chair. Happy anniversary Cam and Matt.
By the way, they (Cam and Matt) just added to their brood. Congratulations and welcome to the jungle Mia!
March 3, 2014
Colonoscopy? I'll Take Two...
Just kidding! One was enough.
So here's the thing. As one ages, ones body ceases to function as it did before. Things that once were easy and regular become painful and...not so regular. Sometimes this happens when one has borne many children, sometimes it's an obstruction. There are many reasons why, but it's a good idea (for the sake of peace of mind) to be able to cross some of those possibilities off the list.
This is my story. I'll spare you the details, and just say that my plumbing isn't working like it should. So I went to a professional. As I had exhausted all over the counter remedies, we skipped to the end and scheduled a colonoscopy.
Prepping for this procedure takes at least twenty four hours. We begin by eating only jello, popsicles (without pulp), broth, and coffee or tea (which I don't drink) and soda. This may sound fun to begin with, but there's only so much blue jello a person can take.
Around noon we take a Dulcolax. If you don't know what that does go Google it. Or ask a parent. Then around six we begin drinking a large jug of a juice called "Golytly" (Ha! That's funny because it's not pleasant at all). We can stop drinking the juice once everything comes out clear. Everything.
The next morning, we head to the hospital where we put on a paper gown, and awesome socks with grabby junk on the bottom so we won't slip and crack our skulls. A disposable heart monitor is taped to our finger, and a disposable hose is fed into our gown to keep us warm. We blow up like the Staypuffed marshmallow man. We find this quite funny. We understand the need for disposable everything, but the hose confuses us because it never touches us. We ask the nurse why and she tells us it's to "cut down on the cooties". We find this comical as well.
We have an I.V. put in our arm where we see we are now sporting a large bruise because apparently we "bruise easily." We remove all of our jewelry and hand it over to our spouse and then we are wheeled into the procedure room. A tube is placed in our nose to help us breathe because that tends to stop when placed under anesthesia. We think the tube smells gross.
We exchange witty banter with the staff until a white, cream looking substance is pushed into our I.V. We see spots and have enough time to exclaim "wow!" before our spouse is waking us up, and asking us nonsensical questions. We ask him when he started speaking French, and he looks at us strangely. We are told by the nurse that we "shouldn't drive or make any legal decisions for the next twenty four hours." This is funny also so we laugh.
We change back into our street clothes then are wheelchaired to the door where our spouse brings the van. We hit Chick-Fil-A on the way home for our first meal in thirty six hours then head home and sleep the medication off.
Congratulations! You have survived your first colonoscopy. And because you have opened that door, even if you are perfectly healthy, you now get to have it done every five years for the rest of your life. You're welcome.
So here's the thing. As one ages, ones body ceases to function as it did before. Things that once were easy and regular become painful and...not so regular. Sometimes this happens when one has borne many children, sometimes it's an obstruction. There are many reasons why, but it's a good idea (for the sake of peace of mind) to be able to cross some of those possibilities off the list.
This is my story. I'll spare you the details, and just say that my plumbing isn't working like it should. So I went to a professional. As I had exhausted all over the counter remedies, we skipped to the end and scheduled a colonoscopy.
Prepping for this procedure takes at least twenty four hours. We begin by eating only jello, popsicles (without pulp), broth, and coffee or tea (which I don't drink) and soda. This may sound fun to begin with, but there's only so much blue jello a person can take.
Around noon we take a Dulcolax. If you don't know what that does go Google it. Or ask a parent. Then around six we begin drinking a large jug of a juice called "Golytly" (Ha! That's funny because it's not pleasant at all). We can stop drinking the juice once everything comes out clear. Everything.
The next morning, we head to the hospital where we put on a paper gown, and awesome socks with grabby junk on the bottom so we won't slip and crack our skulls. A disposable heart monitor is taped to our finger, and a disposable hose is fed into our gown to keep us warm. We blow up like the Staypuffed marshmallow man. We find this quite funny. We understand the need for disposable everything, but the hose confuses us because it never touches us. We ask the nurse why and she tells us it's to "cut down on the cooties". We find this comical as well.
We have an I.V. put in our arm where we see we are now sporting a large bruise because apparently we "bruise easily." We remove all of our jewelry and hand it over to our spouse and then we are wheeled into the procedure room. A tube is placed in our nose to help us breathe because that tends to stop when placed under anesthesia. We think the tube smells gross.
We exchange witty banter with the staff until a white, cream looking substance is pushed into our I.V. We see spots and have enough time to exclaim "wow!" before our spouse is waking us up, and asking us nonsensical questions. We ask him when he started speaking French, and he looks at us strangely. We are told by the nurse that we "shouldn't drive or make any legal decisions for the next twenty four hours." This is funny also so we laugh.
We change back into our street clothes then are wheelchaired to the door where our spouse brings the van. We hit Chick-Fil-A on the way home for our first meal in thirty six hours then head home and sleep the medication off.
Congratulations! You have survived your first colonoscopy. And because you have opened that door, even if you are perfectly healthy, you now get to have it done every five years for the rest of your life. You're welcome.
How I Love/ Hate Technology...
For the past couple of months, Mr. D has been dancing around like a nervous puppy in anticipation of our phone upgrades. I, on the other hand, am not so excited. Cell phones and I have this love/hate thing that we just can't get past.
It happens every time. We meet in a crowded store. I cautiously cross the room to get know him better. Promises are made, so many, many promises of how my life will be better, fuller should I let him in. I'm always hesitant, I've been hurt before, but he's so attractive. Pretty things don't ever lie, do they? My fears, while never gone, settle down and I feel like, maybe this time, it will be different.
And for a while it is. Promises made are kept, and I feel more and more at ease. I trust more, so I give more until...
My trust is repaid with a slap to the face. Everything I entrusted to him is gone. He loses everything I gave him, and hides the rest. He lies and tells me he is unable to perform the tasks he had accomplished just weeks, even days before. We go back for help to see if we can repair what we've lost, but all we can do is start over. It's more painful than I can bear. Everything we had is gone. I have to rebuild again, and I decide it just isn't worth it.
I seek comfort in other places, keep dates in other calendars, make notes where he can't get to them, hide contacts where he can never find them. There's no music for us either. We only interact when it's absolutely necessary, and only with contempt. We sleep in different rooms. Eventually, we become comfortable in our dysfunction, we feel we can be happy in spite of our troubles.
Until the day of upgrade.
It happens every time. We meet in a crowded store. I cautiously cross the room to get know him better. Promises are made, so many, many promises of how my life will be better, fuller should I let him in. I'm always hesitant, I've been hurt before, but he's so attractive. Pretty things don't ever lie, do they? My fears, while never gone, settle down and I feel like, maybe this time, it will be different.
And for a while it is. Promises made are kept, and I feel more and more at ease. I trust more, so I give more until...
My trust is repaid with a slap to the face. Everything I entrusted to him is gone. He loses everything I gave him, and hides the rest. He lies and tells me he is unable to perform the tasks he had accomplished just weeks, even days before. We go back for help to see if we can repair what we've lost, but all we can do is start over. It's more painful than I can bear. Everything we had is gone. I have to rebuild again, and I decide it just isn't worth it.
I seek comfort in other places, keep dates in other calendars, make notes where he can't get to them, hide contacts where he can never find them. There's no music for us either. We only interact when it's absolutely necessary, and only with contempt. We sleep in different rooms. Eventually, we become comfortable in our dysfunction, we feel we can be happy in spite of our troubles.
Until the day of upgrade.
D.P.'s (Newest) Near-Death Experience..
My brakes were squeaking. They tend to do that. Apparently, I am rough on my brakes. Mr. D. hasn't had to buy brake pads for almost five years because of some warranty. So when they start to squeak he just takes the old pads off and trades them for new ones. He was "fixin to" change them soon.
Apparently that was also a problem.
I was driving my squeaky wheeled self around town a few weeks ago when, after dropping the kids off at P.E.) I decided to go to my happy place, Bahama Bucks. Best. Snowcones. Ever.
Anyway, as I pulled into the turn lane I heard a loud "pop" and my brake pedal went all the way to the floor. And I was still moving. Realizing I was about to sail into traffic, I went ahead and punched the gas making it into the parking lot before the next wave of cars came by.
I nursed myself to a stop amid the painful groans of metal on metal. I still shudder at the memory of that sound, the sound of money being torn from our hands. I whipped out my handy dandy cell phone and Googled a mechanics shop. Thankfully there was a shop just around the corner about half a mile down.
So I carefully left the parking lot (goodbye Bahama Bucks) and practically crawled down the road to my destination. I pulled into the lot amidst another metal protest from my busted brakes. As I handed the keys over I could have sworn I saw dollar signs pop out of the guys eyes.
Sure enough, he comes out forty minutes later, giddy with excitement as he led me back to the shop to show me all of the things that needed to be replaced.
I'm not super educated in mechanical jargon, but I know enough to understand the difference between "need" and "greed". Even still this adventure was going to cost us an arm and a leg. Which I guess I don't mind because the van is paid off, and I only need one arm.
I was promised my van would be repaired by the evening, so after I made sure my kids had a way home, I embarked on the three mile walk back to the house. Now, let me just stop all of the gasps of protest right now. I have many friends who love my guts, and I know that anyone of them would have dropped whatever they were doing to come and get me, but I needed that walk. I needed to contemplate my life, the vastness of the universe, and the depth of my belly button. Also, my aft end is growing wider so I needed the exercise.
It was a fun walk, except for the rig that flew past and salted me with enough gravel to remove the top layer of my epidermis. That wasn't very nice.
I made it home in one piece, and my van was ready by the evening, as promised. Hopefully, we won't have to replace anything else for a while. Since we've already repaired the A.C., and replaced the battery.
Is that naïve?
Apparently that was also a problem.
I was driving my squeaky wheeled self around town a few weeks ago when, after dropping the kids off at P.E.) I decided to go to my happy place, Bahama Bucks. Best. Snowcones. Ever.
Anyway, as I pulled into the turn lane I heard a loud "pop" and my brake pedal went all the way to the floor. And I was still moving. Realizing I was about to sail into traffic, I went ahead and punched the gas making it into the parking lot before the next wave of cars came by.
I nursed myself to a stop amid the painful groans of metal on metal. I still shudder at the memory of that sound, the sound of money being torn from our hands. I whipped out my handy dandy cell phone and Googled a mechanics shop. Thankfully there was a shop just around the corner about half a mile down.
So I carefully left the parking lot (goodbye Bahama Bucks) and practically crawled down the road to my destination. I pulled into the lot amidst another metal protest from my busted brakes. As I handed the keys over I could have sworn I saw dollar signs pop out of the guys eyes.
Sure enough, he comes out forty minutes later, giddy with excitement as he led me back to the shop to show me all of the things that needed to be replaced.
I'm not super educated in mechanical jargon, but I know enough to understand the difference between "need" and "greed". Even still this adventure was going to cost us an arm and a leg. Which I guess I don't mind because the van is paid off, and I only need one arm.
I was promised my van would be repaired by the evening, so after I made sure my kids had a way home, I embarked on the three mile walk back to the house. Now, let me just stop all of the gasps of protest right now. I have many friends who love my guts, and I know that anyone of them would have dropped whatever they were doing to come and get me, but I needed that walk. I needed to contemplate my life, the vastness of the universe, and the depth of my belly button. Also, my aft end is growing wider so I needed the exercise.
It was a fun walk, except for the rig that flew past and salted me with enough gravel to remove the top layer of my epidermis. That wasn't very nice.
I made it home in one piece, and my van was ready by the evening, as promised. Hopefully, we won't have to replace anything else for a while. Since we've already repaired the A.C., and replaced the battery.
Is that naïve?
November 11, 2013
Monday Morning...
It's Monday again. Hallelujah!
I plan to get a lot of things done this week like
Clean out the garage: check
Send texts of love to far off friends: check
Laundry: check
Educate the offspring: check
Write a novel:.....
See what had happened was Nano is having their annual write-a-thon and I signed up. Why? Because the wheels have stopped turning and I feel myself rusting up again. So I'll write a novel in a month tentatively titled Stan.
I can do this.
I plan to get a lot of things done this week like
Clean out the garage: check
Send texts of love to far off friends: check
Laundry: check
Educate the offspring: check
Write a novel:.....
See what had happened was Nano is having their annual write-a-thon and I signed up. Why? Because the wheels have stopped turning and I feel myself rusting up again. So I'll write a novel in a month tentatively titled Stan.
I can do this.
October 21, 2013
Meh....
I'm in a happy/sad kinda place right now. Lots of great things are happening, but just as many not great things are happening also. For example...
My first book, Push, was reviewed on the blog Reading For Sanity. (Happy!)
http://readingforsanity.blogspot.com/2013/10/push-dp-davidson.html
One of my closest friends moved to Georgia. (Sad.)
I entered my books in a self-published writers contest which I didn't win, but it's okay because they sent reviews of my books, and the reviews will be published in Writer's Digest. (Happy!). The reviews were great, though there wasn't much love for the covers, and I could use a good editor (yes, I could), but (Happy!).
The second of my closest friends is moving back to Washington at the end of this week. (Sad.)
I'm teaching the Gospel Doctrine class in my church. (The jury is still out on that one.)
I still have many stories swirling around in my head, and I still love writing. (Happy!), but I'm running low on motivation with the last of my closest friends moving to Utah in about two weeks. (Sad a lot.)
Man, this post is bummin' me out. Here's a picture of some kittens:
Did I say kittens? I meant a big dam bridge and four random kids. Just kidding, they're mine. The kids, not the bridge.
My first book, Push, was reviewed on the blog Reading For Sanity. (Happy!)
http://readingforsanity.blogspot.com/2013/10/push-dp-davidson.html
One of my closest friends moved to Georgia. (Sad.)
I entered my books in a self-published writers contest which I didn't win, but it's okay because they sent reviews of my books, and the reviews will be published in Writer's Digest. (Happy!). The reviews were great, though there wasn't much love for the covers, and I could use a good editor (yes, I could), but (Happy!).
The second of my closest friends is moving back to Washington at the end of this week. (Sad.)
I'm teaching the Gospel Doctrine class in my church. (The jury is still out on that one.)
I still have many stories swirling around in my head, and I still love writing. (Happy!), but I'm running low on motivation with the last of my closest friends moving to Utah in about two weeks. (Sad a lot.)
Man, this post is bummin' me out. Here's a picture of some kittens:
Did I say kittens? I meant a big dam bridge and four random kids. Just kidding, they're mine. The kids, not the bridge.
August 26, 2013
Horror in a Nutshell...
This morning while I was indisposed, I heard an incredible racket coming from the living room. Our two dogs were wrestling as they constantly do, but one of them was shrieking. All of a sudden I heard my girls screaming and crying. Stuck as I was all I could do was ask (as loud as I could) what was going on. My oldest, Eenie, finally ran in and told me that one of the dogs, Luna, had her muzzle caught in her brother, Apollo's collar, and it was strangling him! She couldn't get free because they somehow managed to get the collar twisted. She then ran from the room, and I followed as quickly as possible.
By the time I reached the living room it was all over. I am thankful that though my children were scared, they had the presence of mind to act. Meenie ran to the kitchen for scissors and managed to cut the collar from Apollo's neck. They said he wasn't moving, his mouth was white and his eyes were open and unblinking. Meenie picked him up, which I think gave him just the jolt he needed to start breathing again. He was in shock and it took a few minutes for him to recover, but it took longer for my kids to calm down, so we kneeled down and said a prayer of gratitude that he was okay, and that the kids had just enough calm to know what to do.
My poor babies are traumatized, and I don't know how to help that, short of bunches of hugs and kisses and reminders that they did the right things to save their puppy. I think we're cursed when it comes to pets.
By the time I reached the living room it was all over. I am thankful that though my children were scared, they had the presence of mind to act. Meenie ran to the kitchen for scissors and managed to cut the collar from Apollo's neck. They said he wasn't moving, his mouth was white and his eyes were open and unblinking. Meenie picked him up, which I think gave him just the jolt he needed to start breathing again. He was in shock and it took a few minutes for him to recover, but it took longer for my kids to calm down, so we kneeled down and said a prayer of gratitude that he was okay, and that the kids had just enough calm to know what to do.
My poor babies are traumatized, and I don't know how to help that, short of bunches of hugs and kisses and reminders that they did the right things to save their puppy. I think we're cursed when it comes to pets.
