Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. What a dreary week, weatherwise and otherwise. The sun has finally come out though. Hubby got a call today for an interview. And I have decided to take an introduction to massage course and start to follow a dream I've had for a long time.
You see, I'm pretty good at giving massages (not that kind; get your mind out of the gutter). I think it's because I've had so much physical therapy myself, I know where to go to find the source of pain and how to relieve it. I myself have been in pretty constant pain with my back since I don't know when. I'm on the waiting list for physio (four months and counting) and finally broke down last week and went to see a physio privately. She was OK, confirmed my self-diagnosis, and showed me some stretches that I had already found on the internet. She hasn't relieved my pain though.
I have piriformis syndrome. For those of you unfamiliar with this, it's a pain in the butt, literally. The piriformis is a muscle to the side of the sacroiliac joint. In either one-third (what the internet says) or two-thirds (what the physio said) of the population, the sciatic nerve travels through that muscle. When that muscle is overused and contracted too much, it irritates the sciatic nerve and produces a sciatica-type pain down the leg and pins and needles in the feet. But it's not true sciatica because it doesn't originate in the lumbar region of the back.
The other night I was out celebrating a friend's 50th (oh yes!) birthday. She complained of shoulder pain, so I rubbed her shoulders. She knows I've thought about this massage course idea before and she said I should go ahead with it. I woke up the next morning and thought "Why not? Let's go for it." I'll start with the introduction and move on. I could go the sports massage route or stick to the beauty therapy-type massage route. Either way, in about a year's time I should be able to set up my own business.
I can't tell you how wonderful it is to have a goal again. Hubby has been so depressed lately. We went out for son's 13th birthday last Tuesday, and hubby was very quiet. We went out for Father's Day yesterday, and he was so glum. He turns 50 on Wednesday, and I think I know what's going on with him. He's afraid he'll never be able to get himself out of this jobless situation. Since we called off trying to buy the last business, he's really been so down. It was the right thing to do, though.
The night we went out for my son's birthday, I learned more about my daughter's drunk and disorderly evening. She apparently got into trouble for "pulling" (snogging) all the boys at the disco. She turned herself in for the drinking, she says, because she doesn't get enough attention at home. I took great exception to this. Her brother is in the middle of exams. He has wasted the entire year, and hubby has been doing remedial study with him in all subjects for the past two-three weeks. We didn't bother with daughter because she's usually so good in all her subjects. We have promised big-time bribes -- I mean incentives -- if they do well this year. Daughter does get attention; it's just not what she wants when she wants it all the time.
I mentioned before how happy the cats are since Jake was put down. Well, so are the birds. They're cheeky buggers too. Yesterday, I looked outside and saw one of the cats lying on the lawn, surrounded by four Magpies. They circled her, taunting her by running towards her and then away again. She just lay there and stretched a paw out towards one of them every now and then. If it happens again, I'll video it. It is very funny to watch.
And now I must go and finish some articles I'm writing for Powder Room Graffiti (www.powderroomgraffiti.com).
Monday, 22 June 2009
Monday, 15 June 2009
Just When I Thought I Could Breathe
How was your weekend? Peaceful? Full of activity? Here's how mine went:
Daughter planned to go to a disco with some friends. I don't particularly like her hanging out with these girls because alcohol always seems to be involved somewhere. Daughter dyed her hair (why???) and put on fake tan (very badly) Friday night. We were out with friends, the parents of the one of the other girls in fact. Son decided that he'd like to have a party the next night for his birthday. Nothing like leaving it to the last minute. He managed to get four positive responses. The rest were going to the disco.
Saturday arrived calmly and serenely. Daughter spent most of the day at dancing, which suits me as she's been a complete bitch to me lately. When she got home, she hopped into the shower. But wait. I'm already taking a shower. No matter. I screamed out as the water went ice cold. Later I asked how she's getting home. She bit my head off and said she'll find out when the other girls get there. The other girls arrived, but took an hour to finish getting ready. Meanwhile, I took Son and his friend to pick out some DVDs for this great party he's having. Hubby went to the store for some food for these hungry guys. The girls finished getting ready and I drove them to the disco, stopping off at one girl's house to drop off their gear for they are all going there after the disco. The mother came out and asked if I mind them coming home in a taxi. I said I've been told the other girl's mother is driving them home. "Oh, OK," the mother says.
I drove back, settled down to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall, became very engrossed in it when the phone rang. I didn't understand at first, then I thought it was a prank. Could I come pick my daughter up at the disco because she's been drinking? I had to go because hubby had polished off a bottle and half of wine by himself. I flew there practically. She was the only one still there. Immediately, she began to explain herself. The Serial Text Dumper had dumped her two nights before because he didn't like her anymore. She didn't want to tell me because she thought I'd say I told you so. She held it in till the disco. The alcohol was a bottle of whisky provided by one of the girls I took to the disco. She sobbed and apologised and threw herself into hubby's arms when she got home. I gave her two paracetamol and a glass of water. Son watched the whole drama with not-so-quiet amusement.
The next morning the story had changed. It wasn't whisky; it was vodka and they found it outside. What were they doing outside? One of the boys they knew was out taking a pee and they went out too. I wondered why I hadn't heard from any of the parents that day. Finally, I texted my friend to find out if her daughter had gotten home all right. "Oh, yes," she replied, "they took a taxi." I then told her what had happened. I didn't hear back from her for a while. Then she texted that her daughter had told her some boys were outside drinking. So she obviously thinks her daughter wasn't with them.
My daughter is grounded till the end of the school year in five weeks' time. She is not allowed to go out with those girls or anyone else unless I give my approval, which I won't. I'm really disappointed and disgusted.
And it looks like we won't be buying the second business we've looked at even though we're pretty far down the road.
SIGH!
Have I mentioned that I hate my life?
Daughter planned to go to a disco with some friends. I don't particularly like her hanging out with these girls because alcohol always seems to be involved somewhere. Daughter dyed her hair (why???) and put on fake tan (very badly) Friday night. We were out with friends, the parents of the one of the other girls in fact. Son decided that he'd like to have a party the next night for his birthday. Nothing like leaving it to the last minute. He managed to get four positive responses. The rest were going to the disco.
Saturday arrived calmly and serenely. Daughter spent most of the day at dancing, which suits me as she's been a complete bitch to me lately. When she got home, she hopped into the shower. But wait. I'm already taking a shower. No matter. I screamed out as the water went ice cold. Later I asked how she's getting home. She bit my head off and said she'll find out when the other girls get there. The other girls arrived, but took an hour to finish getting ready. Meanwhile, I took Son and his friend to pick out some DVDs for this great party he's having. Hubby went to the store for some food for these hungry guys. The girls finished getting ready and I drove them to the disco, stopping off at one girl's house to drop off their gear for they are all going there after the disco. The mother came out and asked if I mind them coming home in a taxi. I said I've been told the other girl's mother is driving them home. "Oh, OK," the mother says.
I drove back, settled down to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall, became very engrossed in it when the phone rang. I didn't understand at first, then I thought it was a prank. Could I come pick my daughter up at the disco because she's been drinking? I had to go because hubby had polished off a bottle and half of wine by himself. I flew there practically. She was the only one still there. Immediately, she began to explain herself. The Serial Text Dumper had dumped her two nights before because he didn't like her anymore. She didn't want to tell me because she thought I'd say I told you so. She held it in till the disco. The alcohol was a bottle of whisky provided by one of the girls I took to the disco. She sobbed and apologised and threw herself into hubby's arms when she got home. I gave her two paracetamol and a glass of water. Son watched the whole drama with not-so-quiet amusement.
The next morning the story had changed. It wasn't whisky; it was vodka and they found it outside. What were they doing outside? One of the boys they knew was out taking a pee and they went out too. I wondered why I hadn't heard from any of the parents that day. Finally, I texted my friend to find out if her daughter had gotten home all right. "Oh, yes," she replied, "they took a taxi." I then told her what had happened. I didn't hear back from her for a while. Then she texted that her daughter had told her some boys were outside drinking. So she obviously thinks her daughter wasn't with them.
My daughter is grounded till the end of the school year in five weeks' time. She is not allowed to go out with those girls or anyone else unless I give my approval, which I won't. I'm really disappointed and disgusted.
And it looks like we won't be buying the second business we've looked at even though we're pretty far down the road.
SIGH!
Have I mentioned that I hate my life?
Friday, 12 June 2009
Looking Up the Past
The modern age of the internet means you never have to say goodbye. At least it does for me. Since I went on Facebook, I have rediscovered old friends and old enemies. I have become a cyber researcher (some might say stalker) of ex-colleagues, bosses, and boyfriends.
Here is what I found: Ex-husband has left journalism and has a 7-year-old daughter. He wrote what was hailed on one website as the perfect leaving note. I found it pretentious and self-absorbed, just like himself. And just like a lot of journalists. In what other profession do people make a big deal about writing a leaving note? My hubby didn't, and he worked in his profession for 20-plus years.
One ex-boss was sent to the journalistic equivalent of Siberia after his ego and ambition for a Pulitzer overtook his common sense. He oversaw the writing of a huge expose of a large fruit company. Unfortunately, a felony was committed by one of the reporters, a former colleague of mine, during the investigation, which negated the entire project, ruined ex-boss' career, and very nearly sent the reporter to jail. This all happened more than 10 years ago, but it's new to me. And thanks to the wonder of the internet, I can read all about it.
I found one ex-boyfriend through Facebook. I have not contacted him, but am able to admire his career from afar. He is married, has two kids, and looks VERY happy in his FB picture. His wife's name has the same first letter as my own. His two children's names start with the same letters as my two. Just mentioning.
One ex-boyfriend and ex-husband live in the same state, and actually not that far from each other. They share the same birthday. Just mentioning.
I have made contact with friends from high school and made friends with people I went to high school with but didn't know too well. My world has opened up, but also closed down. I am relighting old friendships, perhaps because some of the ones I have now are very unfulfilling. Or perhaps it's my age. As I get closer to 50, I look backward and homeward more. My children take up less of my time so I have more time. I choose to spend that time relinking with my past.
But there is also something new in my present. I have started to write for a website, www.powderroomgraffiti.com. Check it out if you have the time.
Here is what I found: Ex-husband has left journalism and has a 7-year-old daughter. He wrote what was hailed on one website as the perfect leaving note. I found it pretentious and self-absorbed, just like himself. And just like a lot of journalists. In what other profession do people make a big deal about writing a leaving note? My hubby didn't, and he worked in his profession for 20-plus years.
One ex-boss was sent to the journalistic equivalent of Siberia after his ego and ambition for a Pulitzer overtook his common sense. He oversaw the writing of a huge expose of a large fruit company. Unfortunately, a felony was committed by one of the reporters, a former colleague of mine, during the investigation, which negated the entire project, ruined ex-boss' career, and very nearly sent the reporter to jail. This all happened more than 10 years ago, but it's new to me. And thanks to the wonder of the internet, I can read all about it.
I found one ex-boyfriend through Facebook. I have not contacted him, but am able to admire his career from afar. He is married, has two kids, and looks VERY happy in his FB picture. His wife's name has the same first letter as my own. His two children's names start with the same letters as my two. Just mentioning.
One ex-boyfriend and ex-husband live in the same state, and actually not that far from each other. They share the same birthday. Just mentioning.
I have made contact with friends from high school and made friends with people I went to high school with but didn't know too well. My world has opened up, but also closed down. I am relighting old friendships, perhaps because some of the ones I have now are very unfulfilling. Or perhaps it's my age. As I get closer to 50, I look backward and homeward more. My children take up less of my time so I have more time. I choose to spend that time relinking with my past.
But there is also something new in my present. I have started to write for a website, www.powderroomgraffiti.com. Check it out if you have the time.
Monday, 8 June 2009
Young Love, First Love
My daughter has a boyfriend. She finally admitted it to me last week when I took her out for lunch after her ballet exam.
I am happy for her, though feel a little bit apprehensive too. I am ecstatic that she told me. He had been going out with a friend of hers, whom he dumped by text. The friend cried on daughter's shoulder. Daughter made her brownies, talked to her, dried her tears. So why is daughter going out with this guy? She likes him, he likes her. Did this guy break up with the friend to go out with her? Yes. Did she know he was going to do that? Yes. So what kind of a friend does that make her? Well, she feels bad about what happened to the friend, but.... I tried to explain that no guy is worth falling out with your friends over. But.... That's a lesson she will have to learn for herself, I guess. At least she feels guilty. The friend is talking to her again, just about.
I knew something was up when she asked me to get tickets for her and the boy (just her "friend" at that point) to see a rap musician in October. I told her the relationship could be over by October. How would I know that? Because I know about young love. How do I know about young love? Because when I was her age (14), I had a 17-year-old boyfriend who drove and had a car. We met in February and by the summer it was all over when he was caught taking another girl out while I was visiting my grandparents.
But, again, these are lessons she will have to learn for herself.
She seems so happy as she skips off to school each day. She studies hard for her exams. She practices her ballet every day. She manages to keep in touch with her many, many friends. She and hubby are getting along better than ever. She is sad about the dog's demise and feels particularly bad for hubby losing his best friend.
I am happy for her too. And a bit apprehensive. I just hope she doesn't become one of those women who steals other women's boyfriends and husbands.
I am happy for her, though feel a little bit apprehensive too. I am ecstatic that she told me. He had been going out with a friend of hers, whom he dumped by text. The friend cried on daughter's shoulder. Daughter made her brownies, talked to her, dried her tears. So why is daughter going out with this guy? She likes him, he likes her. Did this guy break up with the friend to go out with her? Yes. Did she know he was going to do that? Yes. So what kind of a friend does that make her? Well, she feels bad about what happened to the friend, but.... I tried to explain that no guy is worth falling out with your friends over. But.... That's a lesson she will have to learn for herself, I guess. At least she feels guilty. The friend is talking to her again, just about.
I knew something was up when she asked me to get tickets for her and the boy (just her "friend" at that point) to see a rap musician in October. I told her the relationship could be over by October. How would I know that? Because I know about young love. How do I know about young love? Because when I was her age (14), I had a 17-year-old boyfriend who drove and had a car. We met in February and by the summer it was all over when he was caught taking another girl out while I was visiting my grandparents.
But, again, these are lessons she will have to learn for herself.
She seems so happy as she skips off to school each day. She studies hard for her exams. She practices her ballet every day. She manages to keep in touch with her many, many friends. She and hubby are getting along better than ever. She is sad about the dog's demise and feels particularly bad for hubby losing his best friend.
I am happy for her too. And a bit apprehensive. I just hope she doesn't become one of those women who steals other women's boyfriends and husbands.
Saturday, 30 May 2009
The Days After
It's been a difficult week. I thought I was handling the Jake thing so well till we picked his ashes up from the pet crematorium. Hubby and I (the kids didn't want to go) drove out to North Wales to this lovely pet cemetery and even had a laugh that they had a cafe on the premises. Then we went inside to collect the ashes...
They were in a very nice wooden box with a plaque engraved with his name, the date of his death, and his age -- 22 months. Well, he was just shy of 22 months. Then the man gave us a key chain with some of Jake's hair inside. I lost it then. I didn't think I would cry so I didn't bring any tissues or anything.
I had been on painkillers, including diazepam, for most of the week because of my back. While the rest of the family had trouble sleeping, I was snoring away. Then the pain eased and I stopped taking them. And wham! It's hit me that he's gone.
I've put our name down for a Golden Retriever puppy. I'm trying to look ahead, but my memories of Jake are still so strong -- the good and the bad.
Well, I've had a lot of pets in my life. Jake will stand out for all sorts of reasons.
Onto another subject: I have been trying to keep up with everyone's blogs. And I've tried to leave comments, but something is happening with my server or something because it either takes forever or I get a weird message. Just know that I'm with you in spirit.
They were in a very nice wooden box with a plaque engraved with his name, the date of his death, and his age -- 22 months. Well, he was just shy of 22 months. Then the man gave us a key chain with some of Jake's hair inside. I lost it then. I didn't think I would cry so I didn't bring any tissues or anything.
I had been on painkillers, including diazepam, for most of the week because of my back. While the rest of the family had trouble sleeping, I was snoring away. Then the pain eased and I stopped taking them. And wham! It's hit me that he's gone.
I've put our name down for a Golden Retriever puppy. I'm trying to look ahead, but my memories of Jake are still so strong -- the good and the bad.
Well, I've had a lot of pets in my life. Jake will stand out for all sorts of reasons.
Onto another subject: I have been trying to keep up with everyone's blogs. And I've tried to leave comments, but something is happening with my server or something because it either takes forever or I get a weird message. Just know that I'm with you in spirit.
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
He's Gone
Yesterday was Jake's last day on this planet. It didn't start off too well. He attacked hubby when he tried to put his halter on. Hubby's jeans were ripped, his leg bitten in two places (though not as badly as mine). When I heard the yells, my heart sank. Since Jake bit me so badly a week ago (entailing a tetanus shot and antibiotics), I knew if he did it again that would be the end.
I phoned the animal behaviourist, who of course wasn't there. If I can blame anyone for this mess, I blame her. While her assessment of Jake was accurate, her solutions were next to impossible. She was always late returning phone calls. It was always £200 here, £90 there. And at the end of it, Jake was worse than when we first saw her. Hubby also phoned the vet and left a message.
And we waited for these people to call back. And waited. And waited. Jake dragged the lead and halter around all day because we were too frightened to take them off. Finally, the behaviourist phoned back and said that these situations take a long time and there's no guarantee of a solution. Wish she'd told me that about £500 ago. The message hadn't been passed to the vet so hubby rang again. We were told to pick up sedatives and bring him in when he'd passed out. So we fed him six pills. And waited. Nothing happened. So hubby went back to the vet's and got eight more pills. And we waited. He did calm down enough to allow me to stroke him. I felt his body relax for the first time ever, I think. He was how he used to be before all the operations, etc. I am so glad I got that time with him.
He still was awake but we loaded him into the car. He gave one last growl. Our vet, who is the best vet alive, took him in, gave him a shot, then brought him out to us. Jake fell asleep, then the vet administered the final shot. We all cried. We asked to get his ashes back, and the crematorium rang last night to say they'd be ready today. I tried to pay the vet last night, but he said to come back later in the week.
Goodbye, Jake. I hope you're in a better place now.
Being the superstitious person I am, I hope all our luck changes for the better now. Does this sound callous? I don't mean to sound like Jake was the source of all our woes, but he certainly was ONE of our woes. For a week I've known he would have to go. I hoped he could go to a rescue place, but his unpredictability and violence meant he couldn't. I thought how we'd feel once he'd gone. Relief is what I thought we'd feel. I knew I had to clear his stuff as soon as possible and did so as soon as we got back from the vet's despite being blinded by tears. I know we will get a new puppy one day, one from a proper breeder. A Golden Retriever perhaps.
I want to remember Jake as he was -- the happy-go-lucky puppy with the little tail that spun round in circles when he was excited. That was a lovely dog.
I phoned the animal behaviourist, who of course wasn't there. If I can blame anyone for this mess, I blame her. While her assessment of Jake was accurate, her solutions were next to impossible. She was always late returning phone calls. It was always £200 here, £90 there. And at the end of it, Jake was worse than when we first saw her. Hubby also phoned the vet and left a message.
And we waited for these people to call back. And waited. And waited. Jake dragged the lead and halter around all day because we were too frightened to take them off. Finally, the behaviourist phoned back and said that these situations take a long time and there's no guarantee of a solution. Wish she'd told me that about £500 ago. The message hadn't been passed to the vet so hubby rang again. We were told to pick up sedatives and bring him in when he'd passed out. So we fed him six pills. And waited. Nothing happened. So hubby went back to the vet's and got eight more pills. And we waited. He did calm down enough to allow me to stroke him. I felt his body relax for the first time ever, I think. He was how he used to be before all the operations, etc. I am so glad I got that time with him.
He still was awake but we loaded him into the car. He gave one last growl. Our vet, who is the best vet alive, took him in, gave him a shot, then brought him out to us. Jake fell asleep, then the vet administered the final shot. We all cried. We asked to get his ashes back, and the crematorium rang last night to say they'd be ready today. I tried to pay the vet last night, but he said to come back later in the week.
Goodbye, Jake. I hope you're in a better place now.
Being the superstitious person I am, I hope all our luck changes for the better now. Does this sound callous? I don't mean to sound like Jake was the source of all our woes, but he certainly was ONE of our woes. For a week I've known he would have to go. I hoped he could go to a rescue place, but his unpredictability and violence meant he couldn't. I thought how we'd feel once he'd gone. Relief is what I thought we'd feel. I knew I had to clear his stuff as soon as possible and did so as soon as we got back from the vet's despite being blinded by tears. I know we will get a new puppy one day, one from a proper breeder. A Golden Retriever perhaps.
I want to remember Jake as he was -- the happy-go-lucky puppy with the little tail that spun round in circles when he was excited. That was a lovely dog.
Monday, 18 May 2009
His Bite is Worse Than His Bark
What can I say? Jake earned a reprieve from Death Row, the trainer came to the house twice, suggesting all sorts of things, many of which I've been doing. We have spent in excess of £300 over the last two weeks what with the trainer and the pain specialist. And Jake seemed a lot better.
But yesterday he bit me. Badly. On the thigh, thank God, though he could have gotten me on the face if I hadn't moved. I ran out of the room screaming because he looked like he was going to go for me again despite my turning away from him. He followed me to the stairs, where I collapsed. My daughter came running down to see what had happened and hubby ran in from the kitchen where the attack had occurred. I sobbed and sobbed. He ripped a great big hole in my trousers. My thigh is black and blue all over. Daughter started to cry too and threw up because she was so distressed by it all. She came home early from school today because she's still upset.
I blame myself again. He'd exhibited all the signs of anxiety and yet I persisted in trying to remove his halter. The trouble is Jake always exhibits all the signs of anxiety. He always smacks his lips, yawns, has half-moon eyes, scratches when there's no itch, chews on his paws. He only ever stops doing that about 5 percent of the day. He's a challenging dog, at least for us.
I've emailed the animal behaviourist yet again. I can't relax around this dog because some small thing I do might start him up again. So I'm avoiding him at the moment. If he comes up to me, I'll give him a quick pat on the head, no touching below the ears. Hubby handles him most of the time. He gets the halter on and off. He takes him on his walks. And Jake seems OK with him for the most part. But this isn't why we got a dog. We got a dog for companionship and protection. Instead, I need protection from him. I'm going to wait a day or two before I try to work with him again with the clicker and treats. He and I both need a break.
I understand him though. He feels that we haven't done our job as pack leaders in protecting him and keeping him safe and pain-free so he's taken matters into his own jaws. With disastrous results. We're afraid to walk him off the lead now. And he actually seemed better for it. The pain specialist thinks there still is some residual pain. He's on yet another pain killer. I'm in need of a few myself. But even Daughter is beginning to think the unthinkable.
Can this doggy be saved?
But yesterday he bit me. Badly. On the thigh, thank God, though he could have gotten me on the face if I hadn't moved. I ran out of the room screaming because he looked like he was going to go for me again despite my turning away from him. He followed me to the stairs, where I collapsed. My daughter came running down to see what had happened and hubby ran in from the kitchen where the attack had occurred. I sobbed and sobbed. He ripped a great big hole in my trousers. My thigh is black and blue all over. Daughter started to cry too and threw up because she was so distressed by it all. She came home early from school today because she's still upset.
I blame myself again. He'd exhibited all the signs of anxiety and yet I persisted in trying to remove his halter. The trouble is Jake always exhibits all the signs of anxiety. He always smacks his lips, yawns, has half-moon eyes, scratches when there's no itch, chews on his paws. He only ever stops doing that about 5 percent of the day. He's a challenging dog, at least for us.
I've emailed the animal behaviourist yet again. I can't relax around this dog because some small thing I do might start him up again. So I'm avoiding him at the moment. If he comes up to me, I'll give him a quick pat on the head, no touching below the ears. Hubby handles him most of the time. He gets the halter on and off. He takes him on his walks. And Jake seems OK with him for the most part. But this isn't why we got a dog. We got a dog for companionship and protection. Instead, I need protection from him. I'm going to wait a day or two before I try to work with him again with the clicker and treats. He and I both need a break.
I understand him though. He feels that we haven't done our job as pack leaders in protecting him and keeping him safe and pain-free so he's taken matters into his own jaws. With disastrous results. We're afraid to walk him off the lead now. And he actually seemed better for it. The pain specialist thinks there still is some residual pain. He's on yet another pain killer. I'm in need of a few myself. But even Daughter is beginning to think the unthinkable.
Can this doggy be saved?
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