Happy Easter! Since this was our first Easter with a dog, we had to adapt the usual “It’s Wisconsin and freaking cold” living room egg hunt; he was antsy enough just watching the brief hunt for the boys’ baskets. Plus, had we missed finding a candy-filled egg, I’m sure Gideon would have found it…
Church was fun. Sam and I both were nursery volunteers for the third service, he in the preschool room and I in with the infants. Got to cradle the adorable baby foster child of one of our pastors, which was sweet. He slept almost the entire time, occasionally wriggling and pursing his lips, which melted my heart. Then we went out to lunch, and I stopped at a pet store to attempt yet again to find toys that Gideon won’t destroy in an hour or two.
Issue: he LOVES stuffed animals.
Issue the Second: he loves to EAT them.
Issue: he LOVES toys that squeak.
Issue the Second: he loves chewing out the squeakers.
So there’s that. I read where one pet expert said it was fine, that if the dog enjoys chewing his toys to bits, then he’s playing with them the way he wants to, and aren’t we buying toys so that our dogs will be able to enjoy them, anyway? In theory, that’s fine, but I hate cleaning up little bits of fluff, and I’m afraid he’ll swallow some fabric or thread that will choke him. Squeaky balls it is, then. Even the “ballistic material” stuffed animals only slow down his destruction nominally.
I’m doing my best to be cheerful today. I even went out and got a pretty Easter dress, which also required buying white shoes that I didn’t have (and when you’re shopping a shoe sale rack for a particular color, and you happen to have gunboat-sized feet, sometimes that means choosing from a very limited selection, which could have you walking into church on stiletto heels of a height you’ve never worn in your life); I felt cute and springy, and I got to hold a baby, but even all that AND the extra chocolate in my cupboard is only buoying me a little after yesterday’s run, the first I’ve done in my New, Improved (“Now with Added Blood!”) semi-healed state. To put it mildly, it was hard. To put it bluntly, it was defeating and depressing. I know I shouldn’t have expected anything different – it’s been a month and a half – but, well, I anticipated that I’d have to hold myself back. I didn’t expect that holding back was going to be completely unnecessary. I ran four-minute intervals, with walking between them, and the “running” was turtle-paced, and I still felt beaten up. I couldn’t have gone much harder had I wanted to.
My brain broke. So did my heart. I spent so much of this medical madness in a frenzy to get back out and running, and when I finally got to, I wound up nearly crying.
Don’t want to think about that right now. Maybe instead I’ll just, I dunno, try to think about what I’m making for dinner. I’ve had chicken thighs thawed in the fridge a couple of days, so this is the last chance to prepare them, but I’m feeling just as uninspired as I have been the past couple of nights when I shoved them back in there and went with restaurant food instead. Ugh.
Strange; I should be more cheerful now that I’m technically “better.” It took me until this morning to actually cut off my last hospital bracelet, though. That probably says something meaningful about my mental state. I’m not sure what, though. Maybe another jelly bean or two will bring clarity?