Hot Dogs

I keep intending to post photos of our week in Florida this summer, but our computer keep crashing our photo storage program or some such business. It's a pain and I want it to be easy. The computer and I are in a fight and when we make up, I'll post pictures of tropical paradise.

Here's a more recent photo of Ira, taken on the sly. He still hates having his photo taken and there's no amount of candy or cakes to change his mind. I wish it wasn't this way.

Our lives move so fast since "big kid school" began in August. The weeks go by in a flurry! Our time at home is spent either trying to get out of the door or trying to get to bed. There has been little down time lately, but now that soccer has ended, we can finally get our weekends back.

And good thing too, because we got this guy now:


Meet Rusty Meatball! The Meatball part is optional. He was called Rusty, and it seems sort of sad to change an old dog's name, so we're keeping it. He does look like a Meatball though. Poor guy's elderly owner died after raising this pup on a steady diet of hot dogs and beef jerky. We rescued him right up because he's a loveable hunk of Boston and it's true what they say about Bostons: you can't have just one. He came to us covered in fleas, head warts, butt sores and raw paws. After two weeks of better quality food and frequent walks, he's trimming up and healing all over. He and Ribs get along just great, which makes me so happy. You never know with Ribs, she's anxious by nature and can be a little fear-aggressive. Check out this little video of them playing:



So far, life with two 8-year-old Bostons is not much harder than just having one. They're both lazy, warmth-seeking, bump-on-a-log dogs that love to snooze all day. Creatures after my own heart!

This face, oh my gosh. This face.

I swear it all begins and ends with this face and by it, I mean life and happiness and my melting heart. Knock on wood he's still into mom hugs.

Right now, this guy has pretty much beat me in the cool contest. He's a lot cooler than I ever was and he hasn't even reached first grade yet. His most current interests are everything to do with Middle Earth. The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, elves, orcs, Tolkienian maps and the one ring to rule them all. He and dad are reading the Hobbit book right now, chapter by chapter in preparation of the movie coming out this winter. Total dad of the year award material right there.

Of course to temper the above literary interest, my little frat boy at heart has also fostered a wee obsession with the Beastie Boys' "License to Ill" album. Most of Sunday, he carried around his "phone" (my old iPod Nano), headphones and tried (comically) to learn all of the words to every song, including the (obscene?) line "I did it like this, I did it like that, I did it with a whistleball bat..."

"Mom," he asks "what's a whisleball bat?"
"Um, they're talking about wiffleball bats and dancing?" Help.

While one of his old teachers gave us a gold star for music enrichment, I'm not sure our mostly laissez-faire attitude when it comes to music will turn around and bite us once Ira can understand what he's listening to.

What else? Check losing a second bottom tooth and learning to tie shoelaces off the developmental list. My baby is almost 6 going on 16.

NECK WATCH 2012!
I had a massage! It got better! And then it got bad again. I need a neck transplant, I think. It only really hurts when I'm standing, sitting or laying down. It's also kind of a vague pain and sometimes fleeting. It's squirrelly for sure. WebMD told me it classifies as chronic pain, but WebMD also told me I have a face-eating tumor. I guess I'm just effed.

I owe this blog a picture piece on our Florida vacation, but I lost my camera chord thing (that's a technical term). That's what's coming out of the Excuse Cannon (patent pending), anyway.

Ails

Ales or ails? Today it's ails. I have a trick neck. Sometimes it hurts really bad, other times I forget I have one. It's sort of short and stubby anyway and retreats into my body, turtle-like in front of cameras. What? It's true!

The best way to describe the pain is that the muscles that hold my head up feel extremely fatigued and I just can't bear to hold my head up any longer. I used to get the same feeling on my 50+ mile bike rides. I don't know what caused it today and it could be a number of things (bike ride last night, slept wrong, mobile phone use, the egronomics of my workstation could be out of whack). It hurts, yes. Though my range of motion is not limited. I feel well enough to work, but so annoyed by the fatigue that it makes work hard to concentrate on. I look healthy, tired maybe, but I feel awful. However necessary, not having visual pain makes taking time off seem frivilous to me.

I used to see a chiropractor for it. I got everything cracked up and then he told me to get my workstation evaluated for egronomics. It all really helped for a long time. For the last flare up, I had this massage therapist (who I picked solely for our common name, but turned out to be awesome) work on it and his techniques had me feeling pains that were on par with labor pains. It took a complete day for me to feel better after that, but I've basically been pain-free until today. Today can suck it.

We're back from vacation and I have a picture post about that coming soon, but I just realized I had this other post almost finished and ready to go. Seems prudent to publish this first and if there's anything I could use more of is prudence.

Like many people who watched the Olympics, I felt awe, pride, inspiration...laziness and regret. I watched the women's Olympic road race and felt inspired to spend some more time in the (bike) saddle. I've been majorly slacking on training this summer despite my high hopes this past spring. Does intention count for anything? I felt I properly intended to ride more and so I deserve my due credit! I can't put my finger on exactly what happened but I ended up insanely busy this summer and didn't have time to do much in the way of riding. I picked up this book from the library to help with motivation. Why yes, I am a time crunched cyclist. I am also a time crunched parent. Is there a book for that?



I was able to squeeze in a nice long ride to Old Folsom last month. It was an excellent ride! We stopped for lunch at Samuel Horne's Tavern and spotted a band of pirates. They did not order rum in their first round, but did for their second. Sometimes stereotypes are comforting.



Here's that new bar tape I put on. I really like how it goes with the color of my frame. I also got new black brake hoods, which I was so happy about that I actually wrote an Amazon review. My old white ones (originals?) were super sticky, grimey and breaking down into rubbery goo.



I am also back on the 30 Day Shred. I love and hate this stupid DVD. I need all the squats I can get for my riding legs. Sometimes as I roll out of bed at unreasonably early hours to get my fitness clothes on, I repeat this brief mantra, "you deserve this." Often times it's much more of a scold than an affirmation, like "you made unhealthy choices and now you will pay." More recently, I try to think of it in a more positive light as in, "you really deserve this special time to better yourself, be fit and get stronger." I do deserve it.