Every Summer, just when the temperature begins to rise, I take Rusty–my Shiba Inu/Terrier mix–to get shaved at Petco, and he always comes back home with an attitude. Not until last Wednesday did I understand why.
My son had Taekwondo class at 4:15 p.m. at the Titus Institute, and my husband was able to take him. I left my boys at the class and ran to the Great Clips next door for a quick trim. Even though this franchise has a reputation of “assembly line” hair cuts, I trusted this place for almost a year without complaint. Unfortunately, that day, a comet was crossing the Earth’s orbit because a rain of meteors crashed on my head. Continue reading “Bad Haircut”
I will never forget the first time I wrote the word “mother” referring to myself. It was two days before I was scheduled to be induced to deliver my son -April 5th, 2011- and I had to fill out some paperwork at Baptist South Medical Center. The nurse highlighted with a marker the areas that I had to complete. One of the lines read ‘relationship to the patient’ referring to the unborn child. Right there, it struck me like a bolt of lighting and I said out loud “Oh… this is the first time I write this. I am a mom!“, the nurse giggled. Continue reading “Relationship to the patient: Mother”
Last Tuesday my husband had a very important meeting in Sarasota, Florida. If you recall my dear hubby injured his back and leg golfing at the beginning of April. I have a confession to make; the first week I actually laughed behind his back every time I saw him limp. Now, three weeks and over half a dozen chiropractic sessions later, my heart goes out to him. This is why on Monday night I told him, “I don’t think you should drive baby. How about we come with you?” His face lit up. Continue reading “Super Hero”
Last week my eight year old dog Sasha, a rescued Beagle/Labrador mix, had a UTI (Urinary Tract Infection). Yes, turns out female dogs get UTIs as much as human females do. The difference is that when our symptoms appear we can almost diagnose our condition and take medication over the counter to relieve some of the pain. Dogs in the contrary, have to rely on their masters and hope for the best that they can interpret their signs and take them to the vet for proper treatment. Continue reading ““This bitch…!””
Last Sunday was my son’s 4th birthday party and I thought I had learned something from the previous 3. But I didn’t. Once again I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off for two hours before the party. I had to pick up pending supplies at two different stores in the middle of church traffic. Did I mentioned I live in North Florida? There are churches on almost every corner.
Finally, I made it home with a bunch of balloons covered by a huge bag that looked like a flying mattress, a Transformers cake and 4 bags of ice and soda. I scrambled to put the last touches on the decorations, which I spent the entire morning hanging and taping on the walls and ceiling. Then I had a glass of water, the only thing I drank since breakfast, and enjoyed the silence before the storm. Continue reading “Optimus Mom”
This past week I noticed my husband was limping. I asked him, “Are you o.k. baby?” and he said, “Yes baby, I’m fine…” A couple of days passed and he started to get quiet. That was my cue; I knew something was going on. Yet, I asked him if he was feeling well but he answered again, “Yes baby, I’m fine…,” as he stretched and squatted in the family room letting out quiet grunts and muffled curses.
Around seven o’clock on Friday evening–after playing 18 holes with some business partners–he limped into our bedroom and dropped on the bed. I asked him again, “Are you o.k. baby?” even though I thought I was going to get the same B.S. answer, but this time he admitted, “I screwed up.” Then, he showed me where the pain was and that it was radiating from his groin down to his knee. Continue reading ““Yes baby, I’m fine…””
Yesterday, while I was rushing out the door for a doctor’s appointment, my Shiba Inu/Terrier mix named Rusty, decided to battle my command, “Go in the crate“. Instead of going in peacefully as he usually does–I’m lying, he always fights me!–he decided to give me crap and ran around the dinning room table.
In a split second, I lost my cool and ran to the garage to get the broom. I chased his little a-hole for two or three minutes around the table until I stopped and flipped him off. He stared at me like saying, “You are lucky I don’t have hands, woman!“