Placebo Parenthood

Lately, I have been thinking to myself that I needed to post some pictures of Lily, bc it has been a long time, and her cuteness should be shared with the world.


This was NOT what I had in mind.


There is a HOLE in my dog. She has been ventilated. Punctured. Perforated.


Among other things. Lately, our dog has been keeping us on our toes, trying to figure out what her next emergency is going to be. I find myself going to work tired, complaining because my dog was sick, and she kept me up all night.

I swear, one night she woke us up, scared, because of a nightmare.


I'm sure all you real parents are laughing at my extreme naivete, but right now I'm going to bask in my ignorance and pretend like real parenthood isn't a zillion times harder than this. So we're spending our time thumbing through medical books, debating on whether to call the vet, or self-treat. Wondering if another emergency room visit is in our future. That sort of thing. What I have figured out is that I'm one lousy parent once I'm asleep. Every time there is a 'Lily issue' it always manifests in the middle of the night, and it is always David who wakes up to her distress. If David wasn't around…… poor Lily. He wakes me up, of course, once he's figured out something is wrong. Then it's Vet-Tech Tiffy! Complete with medical reference!


So here is the fun we've been having the last month: A 2 am wake up, in which we discover our dog has become a dog-toad hybrid. She apparently broke out in hives from contact with something (?!) Who knows. David thinks it was something on the beach, and I vouch for the sno-cone syrup-covered asphalt in front of Matsumotos. The world may never know.

Unhappy/Drugged Lily

I couldn't decide which one showed up the best.

Not a square inch of her body escaped the hives

Then, she got ventilated by my sister's friend's dog. Apparently the dog was snappy? Would have been a good thing to know beforehand… The lady whose dog bit mine did feel really bad, even though they (my sister and she) DIDN'T NOTICE that my dog was bleeding everywhere and locked her in a room until we randomly came over. It's kind of our fault, bc we should have stayed over there longer to watch her. She's ok though, so no biggie. But It still kind of freaks me out that I can watch my dog's muscles work from a unique angle. I spent most of my weekend running around the house, repeatedly scaring the crap out of my dog by yelling and trying to get her to lay on her uninjured side. Apparently she enjoys leaving blood and such all over my apartment. You would think scratchy carpet fibers would not feel good inside your body.

I wish I had taken a pic right after it happened, instead of waiting a week. It used to look a lot more impressive.

Here's what woke me up at 2 am one morning that scared the hell out of me:

Mainly I was a wreck because Lily was obviously freaking out - nervous, skittish and very cuddly (she does that when she's in pain). For the life of me, I could not figure out what was wrong with her. She seemed fine…. after several horrifying minutes while my brain invented things that might be wrong (did I accidentally get hydrogen peroxide INSIDE her body cavity!?) I decided she had a nightmare.


Anyway, the fun continues. I don't know why my dog can't keep out of trouble. Heaven help me when I have actual kids who get hurt, are pitiful, AND can complain in English. (Ow!! Quit pouring that burning stuff on me!!) My kids are in for a rough time. The dog has shown me that hydrogen peroxide cures all. I'm like the dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but with H2O2 instead of Windex.


My poor dog. She is taking after her mom in the scar department. At least David manages to keep himself in one piece.

Gravity Pulls Especially Hard on Me

It has been too long since my last activity-related accident, so I decided to do this one up big.

The setup is basically this: Gas prices are ridiculous, and we live pretty close to the harbor where our ferry takes off, as you can see from the map below. The red line is if we drive, and the yellow is if we bike. Obviously, biking just makes more sense. I need the exercise anyway.



However, I also need to be able to walk, and apparently the two are at odds.

We woke up a little late on this particular day, and were rushing to make it in time. We ran out the door at 6:15 (we normally have to leave at 6:10 to make it) and went downstairs to get our bikes. I am a slower biker than David, so I thought I'd start out ahead of him, and he could catch up.

So I did, and.. no David



Still no David….

Finally, at the point where we go off property to off-road it, I stopped to wait for him. What the hell was taking so long!?

That was when I saw our car drive past with David in it.

Mother Bitches.

So I'm on my own, and my effort is not even going to save me any gas $ today. So I'm kind of pissed. I start biking, while thinking to myself, he probably has a very good reason to drive. He is probably trying to make it to the boat to tell them to wait for you, and it is your fault anyway for not telling him you were going to go on ahead.

Unfortunately, I'm a girl, so logic does not always actually influence my mind.

So I'm still kind of mad as I go around a turn - and with my newfound rage powering my tiny muscles, inertia and gravity kind of ganged up on me.

I'm going down, and it is going to be ugly. Time to bail. But wait! My foot is encircled with one of those pedal cages to make my bike experience 'more efficient'. So about 1/10 of a millisecond into the fall, I feel the top of my food hit the cage, and I know I'm screwed. My brain gets halfway through a curse word before I actually hit the ground.

It's bad. I'm in pain, all alone, and still far-off and late for the boat. I had a quick moment of extreme self-pity, (cue silent tears) and then got back on the bike and pushed myself to make it on time. Heck, I even beat David who was in the car.

Which means that by the time he finally showed up, the shock had worn off and he was there for the beginning of the hysterics.

It was not a fun boat ride. I was bleeding from my hands, foot, and hip, and I'm not a Big Girl. I'm a Weenie. So all the other patrons had to listen to me moan as we tried to clean out the wound, which was huge, hurt, and was coated in dirt.

It ended up being ridiculously painful. Every time my heart beat for a week and a half, my leg would throb. Standing up was horrible - I could feel all the blood rushing to my damaged nerve endings, searing them with pain. It was just a scrape, so what was up with feeling the need to amputate my leg?! Maybe because the area was so large, there were tons of nerve endings? I shaved off a big piece of leg - the fall was deep enough that it scraped off the layer of skin that my hair grows out of - it is a weirdly bald patch on my leg. Gack. For some reason, that thought grosses me out. Probably bc it happened to me.

Anyway, so I'm crippled again. Some hilarity has ensued, including me running over people in Costco with one of those handicapped electric carts, walking around like a cheesy zombie extra, and a drug overdose (David had some leftover pain pills from his surgery) during Paul's birthday dinner that really whacked me out.

It's been three weeks, and I still look like a burn victim. There goes my modeling career. (Hello Twinkes!) I originally was not going to post a picture, as the wound is kind of high up my leg. However, David insisted, so here it is, as edited as possible to protect your virgin eyes. Although, it doesn't look as bad as it did in person. I feel the need to mention that Paul, who has seen dead bodies, was grossed out. Note the crazy swelling line on my lower leg.

This place is going to turn me into Quasimodo. I was apparently built for indoor-use only.

Oh, and David did have a good reason for leaving me - his bike had a flat.

I hope you enjoyed my re-creation of the accident in Photoshop. I know it looked top-notch.

(Still think I should be a graphic designer, Mom!?)