Because You Really Want To Know

You do. You want to hear all about how much better than my husband I was at spinning out the Mustangs. Go. Now. Read all about it. Really. I wouldn't redirect you if it wasn't interesting, and I can't write it up here without violating my BlogHer ad network guidelines. So GO, already!

My Kind Of Town

Chicago is. We're just back from there, and I've just finished loading an obscene number of pictures from our trip, which centered around the non-profit Ford Motor Fund's "Driving Skills For Life" program. Feel free to have a sneak-peek at the photos, if you like, while I finish writing up my post about the experience, which I will link from here as soon as it's done.

For now, I can tell you about a couple of the most-memorable things I heard while traveling. One was just a one-liner from an event organizer in Chicago, who was speaking on her walkie-talkie to another organizer:

"Yes, all the bloggers have been banded!"

I thought that was just delicious. Because really, when you think about it, shouldn't ALL bloggers be banded? You know, like migratory birds? It would be an easy way to keep track of us.

At the Little Rock airport, I witnessed what was a near-perfect parable on how NOT to behave in an airport, post-September 11. The flight before us at our gate was departing for Dallas when we arrived. It was scheduled to depart at 10:10. At about that time, after the plane had been boarded, and just as the gate person was calling stand-by fliers, two men and a woman with a toddler came ambling up to the counter, indicating that they were booked on that flight. The gate attendant said, "OK, you can board if you go right now--go!"

So the would-be passengers told her that they had one more person in their party, and needed to wait on her. To which the gate attendant replied, "Well, the rest of you can either go without her, or you can all wait, and we'll book you on a later flight, but this flight is leaving, so if any of you want on it, you have to go right now."

There was some further discussion, which was getting heated, between the "big guy" of this party and the gate attendant. She called for backup, which came in the form of a fellow in a jumpsuit and orange safety vest, with a shaved head and a very no-nonsense demeanor. Big Guy launched into his tale of woe, which was basically that, as his party was going through the security checkpoint (which, on this day, at the same time, had taken Alex and I exactly 3 minutes from start to finish), the missing woman had had some liquid product, makeup or something, confiscated because it was over 3 ounces. Rather than relinquish the product and make it to the gate on time, she'd gone back down to the baggage counter to check her bag. The rest of them had come on ahead to the gate to get the airline to HOLD THE PLANE. You know, like holding a taxi. It's the same thing, right?

Well, when Mr. No-Nonsense reiterated what they'd already been told by the gate attendant, Big Guy's frustration just boiled over, and he uttered an expletive and removed his backpack and flung it so that it hit the counter and slid to the floor. Mistake number one. Mr. No-Nonsense said evenly, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." At this point, did Big Guy realize he'd crossed a line, and apologize? Nooooo. He replied, "Well, you're ****ing us up!" quite loudly. I will never forget what Mr. No-Nonsense said next.

"You just bought yourself a Greyhound Bus ticket."

And then they immediately called out the first four standby fliers and loaded them. And then, while I was making a smartypants comment to Alex about the importance of controlling your temper, I dropped my container of milk on the floor so that it exploded in a most spectacular manner. The end.

Chicago is still one of my favorite places, Giordano's still has the Best Pizza Ever, and I am definitely going to find a way to go back soon with the whole family. Thanks very much to my mom for keeping Bella and one of the poos for us (on Mother's Day, no less), and to Michelle and Mandy for keeping the rest of the dogs. Especially Mandy, who had one of her charges dropped off to her after just having been carsick in her crate. WE ARE GOOD FRIENDS TO HAVE.

Thank The Lord For Recessive Genes

At dinner tonight:

Bella: "May I please be excused?"

Me: "Are you all finished with your dinner?"

Bella: "Well, if there's any more broccoli and cauliflower, I'll eat it!"

Me: *beams*

The Checking Account Is Half Full, Right?

We're not exactly getting ahead, but at least we're not falling behind...not too far, anyway. Back at the end of January, we found out that we were getting an income tax refund. YAAAY, right? But then, this happened. There went every bit of that tax refund, just like that.

Then, more recently, we were anticipating the stupid (yes, I think it's stupid, and yes, I'd happily give it back if the money could be applied to something that benefits the country in some REAL way) "economic stimulus" rebate, partly, to pay for stuff that we had planned on paying for with our tax refund. It arrived in our checking account, directly deposited, yesterday. Which would be great, except that, LAST week, THIS happened:

That's the driver's-side door of Alex's truck. More specifically, that is the driver's side door of Alex's truck after coming out on the losing end of a confrontation with a salt block. MORE specifically, that is over $2,000 worth of damage. Nice. Goodbye, stimulus check.
I'm trying to remind myself to have a good attitude about these unexpected blips on life's radar. Wow, that was a terrible metaphor. Anyway, what I mean is that while I could be saying to myself, "MAN, just when I had a little money coming in to catch up on expenses, THIS happens!" what I'm TRYING to say to myself is, "MAN, it sure is fortunate that just when these bad things happened, I had the money to help pay for them!"

We have, in the past, had an "emergency" fund for things like this, but it got spent on...emergencies, and so far, we've not been able to get it built back up. How do you handle unexpected expenses?

Your Virtual Colonoscopy--You're Welcome

What did you do today? I bet it wasn't as much fun as the way I spent my day! Actually, today, having a colonoscopy, wasn't nearly as bad as yesterday, which I spent mostly in the bathroom. Me and this lovely bowel-prep kit.

For those of you who've never had a colonoscopy, let me walk you through the process. First, you spend the day before your procedure totally cleaning out your lower intestine. I know, right? The last time I did this, I had the option of either drinking the vile atomic laxative solution or taking two little atomic laxative pills and drinking lots of water--I, of course, chose the latter. Unfortunately, this time around, I was informed that the pills are no longer an option with this doctor, because some buzzkill patients had to go and not follow instructions with their water drinking, which resulted in kidney failure. THANKS FOR RUINING IT FOR ALL OF US, PUNKS.

So, you go and get your bowel-prep prescription filled, and you come home with two giant Dulcolax tablets and this big gas-can-shaped plastic jug with powder in the bottom. For some reason, this will cost nearly $50. You add one of the three included "flavor" (I use that term loosely) packets, and reconstitute the powder, filling the jug with water and mixing well. Let me just tell you right now that it does not matter which "flavor" packet you put in that jug, because the taste of that HalfLytely is going to override anything you could add to it. And that taste? That taste is...well, like a saline solution with an oily finish. Sounds GREAT, right? It's a real challenge getting it all down, because your gag reflex will kick in after a few swallows every time. Personally, I recommend having a glass of juice or soda nearby to "chase" every drink of HalfLytely. You're going to be at this a while, because once you've given your Dulcolax tabs a little while to kick in, you'll be drinking 8 ounces of HalfLytely EVERY 10 MINUTES. This brings up an interesting problem, because you'll be going to the bathroom much more often than that, so it gets tricky to time the HalfLytely consumption.

During this day, while you're "cleansing" (And can I just suggest some Tucks medicated pads, here? Trust me.), you're restricted, food-wise, to a "clear liquid" diet. Interestingly enough, "clear liquids" in this case include black coffee and soda and fruit juice and Jell-O and things like that, just as long as they're not red or purple. Of course, none of this matters, because you will be so miserable from the atomic pooping, and so nauseated from the taste of the HalfLytely solution, that being hungry will be waaaay down on your list of priorities. Try to schedule your procedure as early in the day as possible, so that you'll be miserable for as little time as possible.

I've seen television and movie depictions of people having colonoscopies while watching the process on a television monitor, but I've never been conscious during mine. Maybe that's because I've had the esophageal endoscopy at the same time (insert Alex's bad joke about "hoping they rinse off that scope good" before switching from colon to esophagus *here*). Anyway, if your procedure is like mine, you'll be having it at a hospital or clinic's surgery center, and you'll be pleasantly unconscious for the whole thing. This almost lets you forget that strangers are going to be/have been scrutinizing your butthole. Almost. On a related side-note, I have to confess to being uncomfortable with the proliferation of boy-nurses nowadays. Yup, I'm a sexist. Especially when it comes to strangers looking at my hiney.

(I guarantee you my mother just cringed at reading the word "butthole.")

The sooner they get your I.V. Versed going, the better, because you're going to want the "amnesia drug" in full force, due to the whole butthole scrutiny issue. Unless you're OK with that, then you can skip it. Whatever. I think they also give you some IV Demerol/Phenergan, but I never make it past the Versed. This morning, my procedure was supposed to start at 7:00AM, so I was be-gowned, IV'd, hooked up to monitors, and parked alone in the freezing cold surgical suite at 6:50, to wait 45 minutes for the doctor and his team to show up. A note: If you leave a patient alone in a surgical suite, with all the surgical machinery running, you should FULLY expect that patient to play with the butthole camera and monitor. I mean, come on. What am I, made of stone? (By the way--Sony? You make a mean butthole camera monitor. Apparently my colon was viewed in high-def.)

The whole thing can't take very long, because I was waking up in recovery shortly after 8:00AM, talking to my doctor, who wouldn't really tell me much at all, because he kept insisting that due to the Versed, I wouldn't remember anything he was saying at that time. Hey, Doc--guess what? I remember everything. This anesthesia-defying trait runs in my family. He basically said that he didn't see any signs of cancer or polyps, just some mild diverticulosis, no more than would be expected in a person my age, and that while I do have some esophageal damage from reflux, it's no more than was visible at my last endoscopy 5 years ago.

I have shiny new prescriptions for Prilosec (which is OTC now, so I'm sure my insurance will reject it) and Levbid, which are apparently somewhat contra-indicated, but for now that more or less covers the distress at both ends of my digestive tract. We hope. I have an appointment with the specialist again in a month.

No colonoscopies for another 5 years. Try not to let jealousy over my wild, exotic life eat you up inside. You'll get the diverticulosis.

GUESS WHAT?!?

CHICKEN BUTT! HA HA HA HA HAAAAA! *whew*

Remember just a month ago, when we had these teeny-tiny, adorable little baby chickies? Here, I'll jog your memory:

Well, they're a bit bigger, now.

Also, doesn't my husband have nice hands? I love his hands. They're the hands of an artist, I say. I may buy him a lathe and an assortment of exotic hardwoods for Christmas this year, in the hopes that he'll begin crafting gorgeous handmade furniture. I feel certain he has an aptitude for such things.

Speaking of my husband building things, look what he did! He transformed the tacky leftover puppymill artifact (complete with "OB Ward" sign, you'll notice--classy) of a dog pen into a top-notch chicken yard and coop. He tore down the junky parts with his bare hands. Tell me you're not impressed.

Tuxedos and kilts aside, I believe one of the most appealing things that a man can put on is a tool belt. Am I wrong?

You see what he did there? With the help of his eager assistant, he built an 8-foot-tall frame around the entire yard.

Then he put chicken-wire all around, and fastened it in place with a staplegun and approximately forty-leven-thousand staples.

Again--nice hands, no? And it's hard not to do a good job when you have such exuberant encouragement. See her holding the box of staples? That was her job: the holding of the staples.

Of course, we also have assistance of the canine variety. We're all about supporting each other's efforts, around here.

The crowning touch was the way he affixed the bird netting to the top of the structure, making it impenetrable and inescapable, a veritable chicken Alcatraz. What he did was to run a heavy cord all along the top, and then stretch the bird netting over that, so that it overlapped the chicken-wire, leaving no gaps.

If you squint, you can just see the bird netting over the top. So now wild birds can't get into the chicken yard and possibly infect my poultry with any wild bird diseases, and the chickens can't fly out and get eaten by raccoons. Or poodles, for that matter.

He fixed up the inside of the coop, putting up the nesting boxes and such, and cut windows in the sides for cross-ventilation, covering the openings with hardware cloth and making drop-down doors to cover the windows in cold weather. He also made a door for the "doghouse" opening, so we can shut them in at night. All it needs now is paint and a little hardware.

It's a pretty homey little setup, and the chicks love it.

I love opening the doors in the morning and watching to see who'll be brave enough to venture outside first. It's always one of the boys.

Remember the teeny little eyeliner chick? Look how pretty she's getting. She's "fancy" as Araucanas go. I love her.

They're in kind of an awkward, ugly stage right now, shedding baby fuzz while adult feathers come in, but it's easy to see how they're becoming little chickens instead of tiny fuzzballs. Look at that little red comb--isn't he just big and macho?

I feel obliged to tell you that baby chickens eat a LOT. And also poop. A LOT.

This is our "mystery chicken." We have no idea what she is, but we're leaning toward her being an extra Araucana. We had no idea she was even different from the others until the adult feathers began to come in, and hers were white.

I love watching them just cluck and strut and scratch and peck around.

And every so often, there's a tiny little rooster fight! I guess you'd have to call it more of a "cockerel skirmish" at this point. I think I could give up television for this.

Seriously, can you believe how fast these things grow?

Delta, meanwhile, is very, very sad that I won't give her just a couple of minutes alone with all the delicious chickens. Very sad. But she is glad that she at least got a haircut since that last shot.

And speaking of dog haircuts, YES, I am watching the "Groomer Has It" competition on Animal Planet. And I'm cringing at all the things these people don't know, that even I as an amateur know, like the fact that you don't use a slicker brush to de-mat a dog's privates (OUCH!!). And can I just say that MY groomer, Michelle? Here in Arkansas? Is better than ALL of them. I'm totally going to try to get her on that show. She would KICK THEIR BUTTS. But the only groomer from the show who I would allow to touch any of my dogs is, of course, Jonathan. If he doesn't win the thing, I'll eat my hat. I'll have to buy one first, but then I'll eat it. So I'll probably buy an edible hat, just in case. What do you want frome me, BLOOD?

Dear Child: Don't Be A Hater

If you visit here with any regularity, you know that I don't often use this space to report or comment on what's happening in the blogging community. It's not that I'm not out there reading, it's just that that's not what I want for this space. This is, above all, my journal, begun and maintained more than any other reason as something to leave for my daughter years from now--an organic record of how things were at any given time in her life, as well as a history of other times. I view it more or less as a photo album, but with words. It's for us more than anyone else, even though it's publicly shared. That's why sometimes you might come here and get bored out of your skull by dog pictures and dumb regurgitated inside jokes.

That being said, there have been some things going on lately in and around the blogging community that really leave a bad taste in my mouth, and the way I feel about this makes me consider the way I'd like my daughter to learn to approach similar situations in her own life, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to pass along some of the lessons that my own mother taught me.

Don't be a hater. There is just no quarter in it. Not for you, not for your target, not for any observers. When you spew negativity, you're not just running someone else down--you're poisoning yourself--hardening your own heart. The more you do it, the easier it becomes. And energy spent on vitriol, jealousy, resentment, criticism, and mockery is energy you're then unable to invest in kindness, compassion, understanding, charity, helpfulness, and love. It only pays dividends in bitterness. Time you spend spreading discontent is time you can never get back. It's time you'll never have again to spend with your family, play with your pets, lose yourself in a good book.

I want you to know that, in this wide, wide world, there is enough. There is enough success, enough goodness; there are enough blessings to go around. You don't need to take from someone else in order to have something for yourself, and you don't need to diminish anyone else to increase your own stature. In point of fact, those strategies rarely work, at least not in the long run. Conversely, someone else's success does not take anything away from you. Be happy for the good fortune of others. If someone accomplishes something that you haven't yet, something that you want for yourself, don't think, "That should be mine, and I'm angry that it isn't." Instead, think, "How did they do it? How can I learn from what they did? What can I do better, to get where I want to be?" Jealousy is pointless. Not only is there enough goodness to go around, but the stunning fact that most people miss is this: You can make more.

With every choice you make, you're deciding what to add to the world. Ask yourself what you'd rather it be--a snide remark, or a word of encouragement? A slap to the face, or a comforting embrace? The choice is yours. A frustrating fact of life is that you cannot control other people. People in your life will do things that hurt you, upset you, sadden you, and even betray you. You hold no sway over them, so don't waste your effort. You control one thing in this life: Yourself. So while you can't control the actions of others, you are the master of your own actions and reactions. Be quick to think and slow to act, and choose accordingly. The smallest things, good and bad, can have the most lasting impact, a lesson many of us learn far too late in life, and some of us not at all.

Play nicely. Speak kindly. Share. Love others as you would be loved yourself. You won't, nor should you, always agree with others, but please always respect them. Consider the humanity beneath any rough display of ugly or offensive behavior--no matter what, everyone was someone's baby, someone's child once, as you are mine now. And as much as I would make it so that no one in this world ever hurts you, I would also like to send you out into this world living your own personal version of the Hippocratic Oath: First, do no harm. But you know what? I think you can do better. I think that you, or anyone who wants to, can really do better than just holding your tongue, simply not inflicting active damage. I know that you can, as much as you decide to, offer goodness when it would be easier to dole out punishment. "Kill 'em with kindness," as my mother advised me at least a million times.

Do it often enough, and you'll find that kindness becomes the most readily-accessible arrow in your quiver. You'll also find that you're a darn good shot.

In short? Be good.