Three is a Magic Number

Daisy

Last year's other major theme was the illness of my sweet dog Daisy.

I think it was September when we found a big lump in Daisy's abdomen/pelvic area. I'm lucky enough to have a friend who is some kind of kick ass super duper fancy schmancy veterinary surgeon, so she was the one who took it out and gave us the bad news. Very aggressive form of cancer. Both the pathologist and the oncologist were surprised to see it in such a young and asymptomatic dog. Prognosis: three to five months with treatment, another three to five months with chemo. We decided not to do the chemo; it didn't seem right to put her through that just to wring another three months of life out of her.

So we opted for some diet changes to boost her immune system instead (vitamin supplements, high protein diet) and somehow she thrived. For a while, anyway. She ate less and less and got skinnier and skinnier. We resorted to treats to get her to eat something, anything, but Violet benefitted more than Daisy did, to the point that she got quite overweight. But other than becoming a wraith, Daisy seemed fine. She wasn't in pain. She still jumped up on our bed (something that Violet, who is not quite so close to death, still will not do unless she thinks you're not going to put her up there, but that's another story). We watched for the signs of intestinal blockage or pain and there were none. She slowed down and slept more, but she still lasted many months as a pretty happy dog. She was just Daisy with a lump.

Eventually, by August, we knew things were coming to an end. She started licking herself constantly and we knew she was no longer comfortable, and our highest priority was that she wasn't going to suffer, so that was it.

I did a lot of second-guessing regarding the decision not to do chemo. If we had an unlimited supply of money, I would have done it to give her a few extra months. And if it had a chance of saving her, I would have done it for that chance. And if I had known she was going to live almost a year without the chemo, I would have done it, thinking that we might get another year.

Anyway.

So, now we've got Violet, who has never been an only dog. And this was not what we wanted, so we had to find her a buddy. We tried to find a rescue dog at first. We really wanted another basset hound, we wanted a female, and we wanted one who was close to Violet's age. Turns out these are few and far between, at least in my part of the world. We tried to adopt a basset puppy from a one-person "rescue" who kept a couple of dozen animals in her home, but that failed because apparently we weren't available during the one day when a home visit could be done (I say "apparently" because we were never told when the magical day was. But no, I'm not bitter. Why do you ask?). The last time I checked Petfinder, the dog was still up for adoption. Good luck with that, crazy pet-hoarder lady.

We met another dog who was advertised as full blooded basset, then described as "at least 3/4 basset" over the phone, and turned out to be half basset at best. Oh, and also she's food-aggressive. But that might be because she lives with 11 other dogs. And I think she digs, but I can't be quite sure, because she's in her crate most of the day. Yeah. Pass.

So, we're getting a puppy. Part of me is excited because, you know. Puppy!!! The rest of me is all ugh. Housebreaking.

But still. Puppy!!! Squeeee!!!

I know we'll love her to death. But I'll always miss my Daisy.

 

Endings, beginnings, and Tootsie Rolls

Twenty-seven years ago today my father-in-law died. He wasn't my father-in-law at the time; he was my boyfriend's father. But I had met him and liked him. He wasn't J's biological father, but he'd adopted the kids when he married J's mother, and they were all greatly affected by his sudden loss.

Eleven years ago today my sister-in-law gave birth to her second child. It was a scheduled c-section, and when they offered October 28 as an option, she was glad to have the opportunity to turn a dark day into a cause for celebration. However, since it's All About Me, my response was "shit!" Because that was the day I was scheduled for a pregnancy test after my one-and-only IVF cycle. And of course that meant it would be negative, for a couple of reasons.

First, because we were planning to stop treatment and move on to adoption if the IVF didn't work, and having the test the day her child was born would mean my entire infertility saga had been neatly bookmarked by her own life events. We had decided to start trying right before she got engaged, and we decided we'd wait until after her wedding because I didn't want to try to manage pregnancy and a bridesmaid dress (oh, such naive assumptions). It was only a few months, right? But then they broke up, the wedding was canceled, she met someone else, and they got married. In the meanwhile, we've spent our required "year of trying on your own," have seen one infertility specialist, have run out of money and taken a break, and then have moved to a different specialist and are finally having some luck - I ovulated! It's just a matter of time! Except... it's not working. She, who was "not really trying but not not-trying either and we'll just see what happens," was having her second child. So it seemed fitting that my entire attempt would start with her engagement and end with her last child. Fitting in a "the universe has a mean sense of humor" kind of way.

Second, I knew from experience that if anyone I knew had any kind of pregnancy or childbirth event during one of my cycles, my cycle would fail. Yes, I know this is ridiculous. But it really seemed that every time I had a breakthrough, everytime an IUI seemed promising, someone else got knocked up instead. For example, when I started seeing the second doctor and finally ovulated? Someone got pregnant that month, but it wasn't me. It was my sister-in-law.

So, for these ridiculous reasons, and for other more logical reasons, I was convinced I'd be getting a negative test result that day. I was so convinced that I wouldn't even let the doctor's office call me at work. They called J instead. And the answer was... "possibly." The test was positive, but the numbers were so low that they were reluctant to put a whole lot of faith in the outcome. It took two more tests (and six agonizing days) to upgrade to "probably," and then "posivitely" pregnant.

So... eleven years ago today, we found out we were "possibly" expecting a child. It was the closest we'd ever been.

We were having a Halloween party at work that day, and someone left a handful of Tootsie Rolls on my desk. I ate them over the next few days until I suddenly realized that they must have some kind of significance, and I couldn't let them all go. This one has been sitting in my desk since October 28, 1998. It's an odd little talisman, but one does not pick these things out - they make themselves known to you.

My sister-in-law's second child is her last child. So she got engaged, broke off that engagement, met someone else, fell in love, got engaged, got married and had all of her children during the entire time we were trying to conceive our one child. Almost to the day. Like I said, neatly bookmarked.

Things I love

I was inspired by a post on Pioneer Woman to gush about some of my favorite things in the beauty product category.

I have to start with Bare Escentuals. I use the Bare Minerals foundation (original; I'm not a big fan of the new matte version) and Mineral Veil powder and it would be exaggerating a tiny bit to say this has changed my life... or would it? I am vampire-pale and BE Fair is one of the few shades on earth that's a good match for my complexion. It lasts all day and doesn't turn orange or pink, doesn't feel greasy or heavy, doesn't run off when I break into a sweat ladylike glow. It's just there and it's perfect and I love it.

Like PW, I am a huge fan of Stila's Barefoot Contessa eye shadow, but it doesn't stop there - I love all Stila shadows (the one shown here is called Kitten, other favorites include Cloud and Golightly). Before I tried Stila I was one of those people who says "You don't neeeeed to spend a lot of money on eye shadow. L'Oreal is just as good as anything you'd buy in a drugstore." And then I tried Stila and realized how truly wrong I was. If you've tried Clinique and Estee Lauder and they've convinced you that department store eyeshadow is simply not all that, try Stila and watch your mind be changed. Or, if you're afraid to get hooked on a slightly pricey beauty product, don't. That L'Oreal looks great on you. Really.

On the other hand, when I don't want a beautiful soft natural color, I go straight to Urban Decay. Everyone needs a little Mildew in their toolbox. (True story... when Boo had her first dance recital, we received instructions that she was to wear "metallic forest green" eyeshadow. Since every girl at this studio was supposed to wear it, Savvy Experienced Dance Moms had already snapped up every speck of it in Mayberry. Another new dance mom was lamenting that she would never find any. "Seriously? Metallic forest green? Why don't they just let you use what you already have? Who has metallic forest green eye shadow at home?" Um, me.)

Here's Boo in her Mildew eyeshadow. Gorgeous.

On top of this beautiful shadow I put the only eyeliner I can wear... Bobbi Brown Long-Wearing Gel Eyeliner. Oh my God, people, you just don't know. This stuff is amazing. Every other eyeliner ends up all over my lids by midday, but this wears like iron. I own... (counting in my head now) ... nine shades, but I mostly stick to the shimmers. Black Mauve is my current favorite, but I also love Sapphire, Chocolate, and Graphite. I see Bobbi has a long-wearing cream shimmer eyeshadow now, and I will have to get my hands on that.

I'm kind of meh about my mascara, which (like Pioneer Woman) is Maybelline The Colossal Volum Express. I haven't found anything else (high end or low) that I like better, but there's got to be something out there that will lengthen my stubby lashes!

Perfume-wise, I am crazy about Trish McEvoy #9 (Blackberry and Vanilla Musk). It's a beautiful, soft, fruity-but-not-too-fruity and sweet-but-not-too-sweet scent. Luckily, cheaper knock-offs abound, such as Pink Fruity and Light.

However, another scent I love (and J's favorite) is Opium, which is pretty much the exact opposite (read these reviews and tell me you don't want to try it). Honestly, if I were going to wear a spicy oriental on a daily basis, I might be more likely to pick Estee Lauder's Cinnabar, which is a lighter and sweeter version that is less insanely sexy. But Opium is the perfume version of those black pumps that never leave the house, and it will always be in my arsenal because every once in while I need to bring the man to his knees Just Because I Can.

Awkward

J and I recently had to explain to Boo that she needed to stop using her favorite word, "awkward," to describe anything and everything that was not perfection. Stubbed toe? Awkward. Dogs barking and howling and generally being annoying? Awk-ward! DVR gets stuck and displays a single pixelated image for 30 seconds? Oooh, that's aaaawkward! No, darling, it's not. It's just a bummer (hey, Alannis Morisette, there's a lesson for you too - the difference between "ironic" and "bummer"). But it was kind of difficult to explain what is awkward.

Today, I am a perfect example of What Is Awkward. My left shoulder is locked into some kind of muscle spasm and I cannot move my arm more than 45 degrees away from my body. Which made it pretty difficult to wash my hair (I ended up not using shampoo on the left side at all), get dressed, put on my seatbelt, etc. Oh, and I also can't move my arm behind my back at all. Have you ever tried to put on underwear without putting your hand behind your back? Give it a whirl. It's harder than you'd expect. And the bra? Good lord. Anyway, I keep forgetting I can't move my arm, and I go to push my bangs out of my eyes or tuck my hair behind my ear to see my pretty new earrings and "SHIT! That hurts! Oh, yeah."

So. Awkward.

Anyway, I made the earrings and I really love them. Now that I've discovered the wonder of titanium French wires, I can wear earrings daily (yay) and make them to match any outfit (double yay). If I were The Pioneer Woman, these photos would be beautifully sharp and bathed in natural light. And my earring would be in focus rather than my hair. But then, if I were The Pioneer Woman, I wouldn't have taken them with my iPhone, so there you go.

 

 

I can, at least, use a couple of her Photoshop Actions to make them look purty. If I remember right, these are Fresh and Colorful (first) and Lovely and Ethereal (second). I love these actions and plan to use them on some real photos soon. Oh, and don't worry, it's the right side of my head, so it's my clean hair. Dirty hair would be so awkward.

 

 

Being Daisy, part 1

Daisy is my watchdog. If something happens to us and the girls have to make it on their own, Daisy will be the one who can get a job. Violet will have to get by on her looks. When the dog next door barks, Daisy is the one who walks up to the fence and barks back, while Violet stands on the patio and says "Yeah! You tell him!" When I hear barking outside, Daisy will be the one who noticed the frog and is telling him to get the hell out of her yard. Violet will be the one behind her going "Let me see! Let me see!"

So, when I heard barking this weekend, I assumed Daisy had discovered another frog and was giving him what for. Instead, I found this really weird bird sitting on our grill.

Seriously, what is this bird? I've never seen anything like it. Look at its eye. Doesn't it just look... wrong?

I thought the bird must be injured, since it sat there with Daisy barking her fool head off a couple of feet away, but when I tried to get a closer shot it flew off. Unfortunately, Daisy didn't see it fly away.

It's up there! Right up there! Come look!

I swear, it was right here! But I can't see it any more. Maybe if I get up there...

No, I can't see it from here... where did it go?

Having stumpy legs really sucks.

Sigh. Sometimes it's hard being Daisy.