Sunday, February 21, 2021

Jam Packed

Inspirational song: Immigrant Song (Led Zeppelin)

As big days packed with fun go, this one was as full as we could handle it. Naturally that means that I overdid it, and am just hoping to make a dozen or so coherent sentences, so I can take a muscle relaxer and be done for the night.

Saoirse's last day of middle school was this afternoon. She needed to perform a set of tasks in order to graduate. I was very nervous about how she would do, especially since she has been extra squirrely for a week, leading me to Google how to tell whether a puppy is having her first heat. (Not sure we are there, but it might be close.) I am proud to report that despite lots of wiggling and teasing of the boys in class, when it came time to perform her tests, she was perfect. Well, maybe not perfect. Roscoe still had her beat today. But for all that she was going through hormonally, she outperformed our expectations. 

Ahead of the last class, I gave her a bath, which involved damaged old me picking up a 60 pound dog three times, the last time to return the already-wet puppy to the tub she had just escaped. She didn't appreciate getting clean, but she sure is soft and snuggly now. I had to go over her paws with a washcloth after she went out back, in the giant mud pit that is left between melting snow and a dog who runs his wheelchair over every struggling blade of grass, crushing the life from them. Other than that, I've managed to keep her clean for twelve hours. A new record, I think.

Today was Mr S-P's birthday (as well as his brother's). We have learned not to overwhelm him with parties and gifts, as per his wishes. However, the kids did come over and got quality daddy/grandpa time with him, including a walk around the neighborhood while puppy and I were at class. I made dinner while the baby kept him entertained. I made the mistake of baking both the cake and a bunch of sweet potatoes at the same time in my tiny oven. It meant that the part of the cake that was above the dish of sweet potatoes didn't cook right, and when I pulled it out to cool, we coined a new term, perfect for birthdays during the pandemic: depression cake. On my son-in-law's suggestion, once the cake was frosted, I filled in the sagging pit of despair with whipped cream and strawberries, making it the "pond of coping mechanisms."

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