Jack

Dr P and I have a house guest. A puppy to be exact. And he's about one fry short of a happy meal. Fell straight off The Crazy Train, that dog.

Jack is staying with us for a few weeks while his family (Dr P's brother and his wife and kids) moves into a new house. We've had him for three days now and by golly, the little lunatic is starting to grow on me. Jack is an 18-month-old white lab, and he's breathtakingly gorgeous. And also breathtakingly stinky. He's a wild beast with lots of muscles and not much coordination.

The thing about Jack is that he wants to be touched. AT ALL TIMES. Looking at him adoringly and telling him that he's a beautiful boy is just not enough. But the minute you reach out to rub the fella behind his ears, he's all over you like a big furry blanket. It's not enough to be next to him, no. You must wrap him around your body and wear him around the house.

The other night we went to dinner, and when we came home Dr P changed into some old clothes and got down and dirty with our stinky little houseguest.



It's going to be hard to give him back in a few weeks. Especially when La gets home from Arizona and falls in love with this sweet beast, as I have. I'm thinking we may have to work out some kind of shared custody agreement.

About That 'Yak

Yesterday I went on a little adventure, all by myself. I drove out to the Bass Pro Shop to git me a dang kayak.

You see, Dr P has been talking about getting one for a few weeks now, and when he wants something he eventually reaches a breaking point where he impulsively goes out and pulls the trigger. Usually the period spanning between "wanting" and "getting" is only a few days, which makes it really hard to buy him a suitable gift. But his birthday is July 3rd, and he has not yet purchased a 'yak, so I needed to snatch one up in a gol-darn hurry.

Turns out the best place to purchase one of those things, based on quality and value, is at the Bass Pro Shop. But the Bass Pro Shop is a very scary place. Not because of the sheer volume of Man Stuff that flanks every wall, aisle, nook and cranny of the gargantuan building. No. It's daunting because of the way those Men Who Love Man Stuff treat a woman like me, who just wants to buy a dang kayak.

Like a poor little birdie who fell from her nest.

Probably a little like how Dr P felt when he walked into Gus Mayer to buy me some Tory Burch flats for my birthday. Except he doesn't have pride issues like I do.

I don't like feeling like a poor little birdie. I like feeling like I know what the hell I'm doing, even when I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I've got a lot of Super Dave (my dad) in me, it seems. But when Super Dave walks into the Bass Pro Shop, no one looks at him like a little birdie. They look at him like a MAN who wants to buy some Man Stuff.

So I put on my most serious "Super Dave" face, flung my shoulders back, and waltzed through those doors like I owned the place. I was greeted by a patronizing older man who asked if I needed any help. THE NERVE! He didn't ask the man in the camouflage pants and the construction boots who had walked in just ahead of me!

I confidently replied, "No thanks!" and made a quick visual sweep of the warehouse of MAN. I pointed myself in the direction of "Boating," and confidently strode toward it.

A kayak is a boat, right?

Right????

No. According to Bass Pro Shop, it's a "Camping Equipment." Minus one point for me. Already feeling idiotic, I was escorted aaaaaaall the way across to the other side of the store, where the kayaks are kept. Right next to the tents and the cast iron skillets. Makes sense.

(NOT!)

But the rest of the transaction went fine. Thank goodness I came prepared with a rope and a razor blade to cut the rope ... I was asked those two questions immediately, and was given an approving look when I nonchalantly explained that I had both in the car. Plus two points for me!

Two young men came out to help me load the kayak after I purchased it. Our "plan A" was to fit it into the car, rather than on top, sliding it into the back hatch and up into the front passenger seat. The kayak almost fit inside the car. The glass part of the back hatch had to remain open about 1 inch to allow for the protruding stern. One of the boys helping me tied the glass window shut using the rope I brought, and I was off!

But driving with a kayak in your passenger seat is not an easy task. It covered the back window, the passenger side rearview mirror, the main rearview mirror, and every window on the passenger side of the car. So I had only the windshield and the driver-side window to utilize during the 25-mile drive home on the interstate.

But as long as I drove slowly and stayed in the right lane, all would be fine. Right?

No. Because as soon as I left the entrance ramp and gained a little speed, the back hatch flew open. Yes. Flew open.

ON THE INTERSTATE.

Let me tell you what happens when someone opens a window of a swiftly moving vehicle that I'm riding in. My left eardrum goes absolutely berserk. It turns itself into a REAL drum, and the car's uneven air pressure becomes the drumstick beating on the inside of MY HEAD. People, the PAIN, I am telling you!

So I knew I had a problem as soon as my eardrum became the Hudson High School Marching Band.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the open air behind me, and the kayak teetering on the edge of the gate. I knew it would be very, very bad .... possibly deadly for the person behind me, if that kayak were to somehow fly out of the open back window. So I wrapped my arm inside the cockpit of the kayak, cursed the idiot who had tied the window closed, and prayed that the next exit wasn't too far down the road.

Then it started pouring SHEETS OF RAIN.

This ain't no joke.

I put my flashers on and pulled off at the next exit very slowly. I got out and walked around to the back of the car in the pouring rain, and simply closed the hatch. Something must have shifted while driving, and suddenly the kayak fit into the car without having to re-tie the window shut. Simple as that. Hallelujah.

Then I drove home through the torrential downpour, trying to avoid switching lanes too much. I only had to move to the right lane twice, and both times I honked my "friendly honk" profusely (beep! beep! beep! beep!) as I switched lanes. Yes, I was stared at. (Look! Crazy lady with a boat as her passenger honking like a maniac at 3 o'clock!) But I got home safely, and that's all that matters.

And you guys, Dr P loves this thing. He was so happy when I showed him last night. And this morning he was running late for work, and still found time to go downstairs and stare at the thing for a few minutes.

This morning I went to Walmart and found some proper kayak straps, and tied her to the roof. We're headed to the beach for the weekend this afternoon, and we can't wait to try it out! Wish us luck ...

She's gone to Arizona

Eight days ago, this little peanut boarded a Southwest airplane and took off into the sky, heading westward ... Away from her mama. La has officially left us for the summer. Well, for six weeks anyway. Seems like a gol-darn lifetime to me.

This time was different from last year. Last year I cried for a few minutes, and then pulled myself together and went on with my day. This time I did not so much hold it together. Not one bit, actually. The minute she walked down the airplane tunnel thing with the flight attendant, I unleashed the ocean of tears that I had been damming back with all my might for the previous five days.

And I DID NOT STOP.

We waited in the concourse for La's plane to take off, Dr P holding my hand and telling me it will be ok, and me blubbering loudly, sporting a big red puffy face, snot everywhere.

It was very attractive.

A cute young couple chose to sit down across from us, oblivious to the river of tears and boogers that was raging across the aisle from them. Once their bottoms were firmly planted in the seats, that's when they realized they were directly across from The Thing With The Tears And The Goo, and commenced a series of nervous glances back and forth. With their eyes they said, "Should we get up and move somewhere else?" ... "No, we don't want to make it seem like we left because we're uncomfortable with that much, um, emotion." ... "and mucous." ... "Well, let's just look at the floor and hope she goes away."

But I just sobbed louder and blew my nose.

Dr P was wonderful. He just let me cry and cry while he held his stuff together like a champ. I'm not sure what I would have done without him. He was my rock. And my kleenex, poor chap.

I'm not sure why I was such an emotional basketcase this time. It might be because I'm not leading such a hectic life anymore. Last year I had my job and the hustle and bustle of the City to keep me occupied. I still have the job, but I'm working from home. In Alabama. Which is the exact opposite of working in the financial district of downtown Chicago.

Aunt M says I'm just miserable because I don't live by my sister anymore. She's sassy.

But I think it has a lot to do with the how wonderful things have been for us lately. For the second half of her school year, I've been there every day at 3:00 to pick her up after school. When school was out for three weeks, La and I spent every day together. Even while I worked, she sat right next to me watching cartoons or coloring. In the evening, Dr P would come home and we would have dinner together on the deck, and then go for a walk to the park or down the street to get ice cream. We were settled. Everything was perfect.

La seems to be doing great. She's called once since she's been there, and seems to be having a blast swimming and playing board games and snuggling Jersey The Cat and doing whatever else they've been doing.

I talked to my best friend, Meagan about how bummed out I am without La here. Meagan grew up doing the same thing La does, except she was in Colorado for the summers. She reassured me that although I'm feeling this way, La is surely having a grand ol' time with her dad. Meagan reminded me that even though her summers will be different from most kids', that doesn't mean they won't be every bit as great. One day she'll look back on these summers in Arizona and cherish them, just as Meagan does her summers in Colorado.

And that made me feel better. Thanks Meag.

I took this video the day before she left. It makes me smile. And it reminds me of what I have to look forward to when she returns.

Two Wheels

This past week, La mastered bike riding without training wheels. WOO HOOOOOO! And by "mastered," I mean she finally rode more than 20 feet without falling over. I tell ya, it's something to celebrate.

I know many children ride two-wheelers at much younger ages than seven. I remember a three-year-old kid down the street when I was growing up who had one of those little 12-inch bikes with no training wheels. He would zoom down to our house, his legs spinning so quickly that you couldn't even make out his feet. That crazy little maniac would come barreling down the sidewalk, whip around the corner in front of our house, and turn around in our slanted driveway to gain even more momentum for the ride home.

That ain't my La, no sir.

But I still think it's a big deal that she rides her big ol' 20-inch bike with no training wheels. Check out those mad skills.



Last night she informed us that she really wants a skate board. I'm thinking she'll be coordinated enough to ride it when she's about nineteen.