How many days per week is too many to wear sweatpants?
‘Ears lookin’ at you, kid.
She’s a shadow pibble as opposed to a shadow boxer, but that’s an understandable mistake to make–the two breeds sometimes have an eearie resemblance. Classifications aside, she’s my goodest girl without a shadow of a doubt.
Hail yeah! Sky candy! And with 100% fresh, all natural ingredients, it’s snow joke.
Just gotta watch your intake so you don’t get stoned.
Guess who’s no longer cancerass?!
We’ve firmly established that I’m a worrier already, butt considering that–out of seven or so bumps sampled over the past appointments–all four malignant ones were concentrated in her posterior, it seemed completely possible that the cancer would prove wider-spread throughout her backside. Her tissue margins came back all clear, though, so for now, we can leave those frets behind!
It wasn’t just the cancer, though. Yes, she’s successfully been anesthetized for her dental surgeries before. Yes, her lumps were essentially only skin deep compared to Dexter’s internal, embedded growth. Nonetheless, I couldn’t shake that the last time our Poochacho underwent surgery for mass removal, he never came home.
I wish I’d known Dexter’s last full day was his last. Granted, he had little appetite, but I would have offered him something special…bacon, steak, cheeseburgers, something. I would have let him up on the guest bed with me that night if it could have afforded his body some comfort. I would’ve kissed and thunked his forehead basically nonstop. If only I’d known.
I couldn’t know for certain how it would go with Elvira either, of course, but on the chance of the worst, I could make sure her possible last day was the best. Her surgery was on a Wednesday, so I declared the day before Missy Moouesday.
We started with our typical morning walk and, as luck would have it, were treated to some bonus chickening! About half a block down, there’s a front yard coop, and one of its free range residents apparently doesn’t consider the lawn an adequate range. She regularly hops the fence, and she popped out on Moouesday to provide a captivating diversion to the various neighborhood smells.
We took a long car ride with windows rolled down. I chauffeured her hither and thither, getting myself lost until I veered and steered us found again. I drove home via Starbucks for a freshly whipped puppuccino to enjoy on the balcony.
Since anesthesia can cause tummy distress and requires twelve hours of fasting prior, I figured I shouldn’t introduce fancy new foods in the lead-up, so we forewent bacon and steak, opting instead for additional treats and a LOT of extra peanut butter with our late afternoon supplement.
The remainder of our day was devoted to infinite snugs. While we cuddled, I told her how much I loved her and why I was scared about her surgery. I went through my sensory mindfulness focused solely on her: inhaling her doggy and oatmeal shampoo scent, resting my hand on her belly to feel her lungs expand with each breath, observing and stroking her different textures of fur, listening to her heartbeat and her grunts and sighs.
It was a pretty perfect Missy Moouesday. Wednesday was even better, though, because surgery was successful, and my little girl came home. And Captain even sent a Milkbone care package.
Two weeks of drugs, activity restrictions, and conehead followed, but she was so incredibly good throughout her recovery.
And now? Her sutures came out, her wounds healed up, and her cone got shelved away. We’ve settled back into our routine, and Elvira is sitting pretty again.
Hair today, gone tomorrow!
I’d been thinking about it for a while. Since last year, really. And had I known how long we’d be isolating at home without seeing anyone, it truly would have been the ideal time to experiment with buzzing my head. When I was due for my 2020 haircut, Jonn probably made an off-the-cuff comment about getting his clippers instead of scissors. As someone who opts for an extremely low maintenance coiffeur, I probably responded something like, “Haha! Don’t tempt me!” Last year’s cut ended up being one of my favorite in memory. I’m sure Jonn couldn’t replicate it if he tried, but when down, it fell just right, and although initially shorter than expected, I could still pull enough back as desired to keep it out of my face. But I kept contemplating that buzz.
Cut to annual chop 2021. I decided to try trimming my own tresses first. I’ve never done that before, so it would help stimulate my nervous system as something new and completely different with the added element of being a rare instance of adrenaline and excitement while fully within my control (control–or feeling a lack thereof–come up in therapy A LOT). Plus, I figured, I’m reasonably crafty and feel pretty artistically capable with my hands. I might be an awesome self-stylist!
BAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Oh. My. God. It was so bad, and I could not stop laughing. Jonn had to do a lot of damage control for me to turn that disaster zone into something resembling a hairstyle. Having loved the previous year’s headsuit, this one just didn’t do it for me, but I also took scissors in hand with probably around 90% anticipation of following up with clippers anyway. I gave it a day to see if it grew on me. It didn’t, so now my whole head has an unknown future of growing and grow-out ahead. There’s going to be some follicular R&D up in here!
I haven’t had hair this short since first growing it as a baby. As a toddler and young kid, my ‘do was vaguely bowl adjacent. Once I was able to prove I could take care of it myself, I was allowed to grow my locks. So, since the summer between first and second grades, I’ve stayed somewhere on the longer side of the hirsute scale. When I fell into the annual haircut pattern, it would get as short as a bob but always with enough length to pull back in at least a partial pony.
I texted my neighbors a heads-up to avoid any alarm (chemo, lice, general shock). I’m slowly adjusting to my reflection in the mirror. I was hoping to feel a little more badass protagonist à la G.I. Jane or Sigourney Weaver from Alien 3. Instead, I’m giving myself more of a brunette Ludmilla Drago vibe. I’m not likely to keep it at this length. But I have zero regrets.
It was so funky fresh to feel a breeze directly on my scalp. I’ve experienced phantom ponytails a few times, but there’s no towel turban necessary post-shower. Heck, I don’t even need a brush right now! This week, I drove with my car windows fully down and nary a strand whipped across my face into my mouth and eyes. And it was awesome.
What Wood Elvira Do? Let the chips fall where they may!
Missy Moo was keeping Jonn company as he carved a wooden spoon. They’re quite a pare.
* * * * *
I never got around to posting about Easter, but it was truly eggstravagant!
SURGEON GENERAL’S WARNING: This post exceeds the recommended daily value of cholesterol and carbohydrates. Consume at your own risk.
We celebrated with an all egg meal theme for the day, and it was eggceptional, starting with eggs benny (featuring a homemade hollandaise), followed by some Korean egg bread, and wrapping up with my most successful batch of carbonara yet.
And to ensure our credo didn’t get left out, Jonn whipped up mo’dough in the form of sourdough cinnamon rolls. There’s an egg in the dough, too, so still totally on theme. Oh, and they were AMAZING. Like, quite possibly the best I’ve ever, EVER had.
There were leftover rolls, hollandaise, egg bread, and carbonara, so we did not consume every egg cracked, but we used an eggstraordinary EIGHTEEN EGGS. Oeuf–that’s a lotta eggs!
Adios Poochacho 