Last summer, I searched for a job. For two months, I watched websites like a hawk, applied to everything I was even remotely qualified for, and tailored resumes and cover letters to match each specific job description.
I got nothing. A few smattered interviews, some better than others, but in the end ... nothing worked out.
Finally, just before I received my last paycheck from DPCS, I got a job making sandwiches at a deli.
It was better than nothing, and I took it the way a starving man might take a plate full of lima beans. Sorta like "AWESOME, I'M NOT GONNA DIE!" and "BLEACGHHH, DO I REALLY HAVE TO EAT THIS CRAP?!" all at the same time. It turned out to be a lot of fun ... great people, good pay, free food ... but when I was offered the library worker position at NMES, I accepted immediately.
And then got laid off.
This summer, I began searching for a job ... again. I started yesterday, to be precise. Amidst hunting for elusive ROE's that still have yet to be found and cleaning dog hair off carpets and out of crevices, I made time to send off no less than 15 applications. I didn't tailor much of anything, but whipped them out between emptying drawers and changing loads of laundry.
But today, two of them panned out. At least so far.
Because life can change at any minute, you know ... ;)
First, I'll be delivering papers for the Gleaner ... a long route in Marysville that will net me more in one month than writing does in six. I'll be getting some much-needed exercise and will still have evenings and weekends free to spend with Nate. If I stick with it, I will also earn some extra $$$ to take a few French courses at the university next fall. Of course, I am not much of a morning person ... do they make water backpacks that you can put coffee in???
Second, I'll be painting/cleaning classrooms at FHS with Spruce Grove Building Cleaners. It's full-time, days only, well above minimum wage, and should last right into August! More exercise for me, and weekends and evenings still free.
In the end, I'll actually be making more than I make during the school year, which is great since we are moving upstairs in less than a week.
Happy, happy, happy!
(In the best possible way.)
Of course, everything could be different tomorrow. But I will enjoy today's blessings with a smile. I will keep drawing, keep writing, keep trusting.
827 days to go.
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
Thursday, 20 June 2013
Day 168: Prayer & Bumps in the Road
I vividly remember my first experience with real, intercessory prayer.
When I was a child, my little sister lost a toy in the backyard. It was only a cheap Happy Meal toy, a plastic figurine of Bambi with movable legs. But our family was far from wealthy (in material possessions at least) and she loved that toy.
She prayed that she would find it. Every night, after the books had been read and our teeth brushed, she would kneel by our worn couch and pray for that toy. Fall and winter came and went. Then spring, and the lawn grew long enough for mowing. One day, my father came into the house, smelling of freshly cut grass, his forehead wet with sweat.
He was holding the toy.
Needless to say, my sister was overjoyed and welcomed a somewhat-worse-for-the-wear Bambi back into the playroom with open arms. But I was jealous.
"Why don't my prayers always get answered?" I asked. My dad said that maybe my sister had a special gift, the gift of faith. God listened to her because she was a child with a pure heart.
Faith comes more easily to some than to others, and being a firstborn, I wanted it too. But firstborns are also clever and wily and driven to succeed - qualities not always compatible with childlike faith.
The next thing I remember really wanting was to win the Awana Grand Prix. My father had made identical cars for me and my friend, Liane. They were Formula 1 racers, carved from blocks of wood. They had plastic wheels and little Lego men as the drivers. As I watched the cars in the first heat being lined up at the top of the track, I remembered Bambi, and I started to pray.
But halfway through, I changed my prayer.
I knew that God blessed unselfish people, so if I prayed for someone else to win, he might take my selflessness into account and let me win instead.
"Dear God, please help Liane to win," I prayed.
She did.
And I finished almost dead last.
And the moral of the story is...
Be careful what you pray for. Be careful what you say.
Because even if you don't mean it, God is always listening.
Which brings me to today's post.
About two weeks ago, I flippantly remarked to Nathan that I wasn't worried about money any more. "We don't always know where it's coming from, but we always seem to have enough. From now on, I'm just going to trust God with our finances."
Yikes!!! (Too bad my mouth doesn't have an undo button.)
When we got home that night, we got a letter in the mailbox. Our tenants were leaving at the end of the month. It rattled us. Big time. But we looked at our budget and looked at our bills and decided that we could make it on our own. And we moved on.
About a week ago, I got called into the office at school. My hours were being cut, and I needed to decide whether or not this job still worked for me. It rattled me. Big time. But I was being laid off for the summer anyway, and that would give me two lean months to search for another part-time position and/or build a small-but-steady income doing art and writing. And I moved on.
Today, I got called to the office to take a phone call. When the speaker began, "This is the phone call that everybody dreads..." I knew it wasn't going to be good.
And it wasn't.
I was being bumped (someone with more seniority took my position because theirs had been cut). In less time than it takes to brew a cup of coffee on a Keurig, everything changed. Since I am at the bottom of the totem pole, there is no one left for me to bump.
Just like that, I became unemployed.
Tomorrow is my last day at NMES. I will smile and pack my things and drive home for the last time, not knowing what September holds.
But who does? Not a single one of us can see even one second into our future. We make guesses and predictions and hang up our hats on hooks that don't even exist yet.
We know that at any moment, it could all come crashing down. And when it does, will we have regrets? We wouldn't be human if we didn't have at least a few.
But do I regret leaving a permanent, full-time teaching job at Devon Park?
No. I have the highest respect for the dedicated staff who pour their souls into children for just enough money to pay the bills. But I was exhausted from working 60-80 hour weeks and needed time to myself to re-kindle my passion for working with children and youth. And if I had stayed at DPCS, I would never have met or worked with the amazing people who helped me and encouraged me through many dark days this spring, when I had too many puppies and not enough sleep.
Do I regret my education?
Yes. If I had known there were no teaching jobs before I started university, I would have steered my career in a different direction. I regret believing the myth that if I made excellent marks I was guaranteed a good job with a stable income, and I wish I had chosen my degree more wisely. The world is a hard teacher, and maybe if I had struggled more in school, I would have been better prepared to cope with life's curve balls.
Do I know what I am going to do now?
Yes and no. I'm going to continue to apply for jobs. I'm going to write and draw and paint. I'm going to take another look at the ol' budget. I'm going to wait. And I'm going to pray.
Don't cry for me. I had my little pity party in the car already on my way to take Sam to the vet.
And I'll probably have a few more over the next few days.
Maybe it will be okay.
And maybe it won't.
But life will move on either way.
Because even if we think we're doing all right, a major life-change could be less than a second away.
None of us can really make it on our own.
When I was a child, my little sister lost a toy in the backyard. It was only a cheap Happy Meal toy, a plastic figurine of Bambi with movable legs. But our family was far from wealthy (in material possessions at least) and she loved that toy.
She prayed that she would find it. Every night, after the books had been read and our teeth brushed, she would kneel by our worn couch and pray for that toy. Fall and winter came and went. Then spring, and the lawn grew long enough for mowing. One day, my father came into the house, smelling of freshly cut grass, his forehead wet with sweat.
He was holding the toy.
Needless to say, my sister was overjoyed and welcomed a somewhat-worse-for-the-wear Bambi back into the playroom with open arms. But I was jealous.
"Why don't my prayers always get answered?" I asked. My dad said that maybe my sister had a special gift, the gift of faith. God listened to her because she was a child with a pure heart.
Faith comes more easily to some than to others, and being a firstborn, I wanted it too. But firstborns are also clever and wily and driven to succeed - qualities not always compatible with childlike faith.
The next thing I remember really wanting was to win the Awana Grand Prix. My father had made identical cars for me and my friend, Liane. They were Formula 1 racers, carved from blocks of wood. They had plastic wheels and little Lego men as the drivers. As I watched the cars in the first heat being lined up at the top of the track, I remembered Bambi, and I started to pray.
But halfway through, I changed my prayer.
I knew that God blessed unselfish people, so if I prayed for someone else to win, he might take my selflessness into account and let me win instead.
"Dear God, please help Liane to win," I prayed.
She did.
And I finished almost dead last.
And the moral of the story is...
Be careful what you pray for. Be careful what you say.
Because even if you don't mean it, God is always listening.
Which brings me to today's post.
About two weeks ago, I flippantly remarked to Nathan that I wasn't worried about money any more. "We don't always know where it's coming from, but we always seem to have enough. From now on, I'm just going to trust God with our finances."
Yikes!!! (Too bad my mouth doesn't have an undo button.)
When we got home that night, we got a letter in the mailbox. Our tenants were leaving at the end of the month. It rattled us. Big time. But we looked at our budget and looked at our bills and decided that we could make it on our own. And we moved on.
About a week ago, I got called into the office at school. My hours were being cut, and I needed to decide whether or not this job still worked for me. It rattled me. Big time. But I was being laid off for the summer anyway, and that would give me two lean months to search for another part-time position and/or build a small-but-steady income doing art and writing. And I moved on.
Today, I got called to the office to take a phone call. When the speaker began, "This is the phone call that everybody dreads..." I knew it wasn't going to be good.
And it wasn't.
I was being bumped (someone with more seniority took my position because theirs had been cut). In less time than it takes to brew a cup of coffee on a Keurig, everything changed. Since I am at the bottom of the totem pole, there is no one left for me to bump.
Just like that, I became unemployed.
Tomorrow is my last day at NMES. I will smile and pack my things and drive home for the last time, not knowing what September holds.
But who does? Not a single one of us can see even one second into our future. We make guesses and predictions and hang up our hats on hooks that don't even exist yet.
We know that at any moment, it could all come crashing down. And when it does, will we have regrets? We wouldn't be human if we didn't have at least a few.
But do I regret leaving a permanent, full-time teaching job at Devon Park?
No. I have the highest respect for the dedicated staff who pour their souls into children for just enough money to pay the bills. But I was exhausted from working 60-80 hour weeks and needed time to myself to re-kindle my passion for working with children and youth. And if I had stayed at DPCS, I would never have met or worked with the amazing people who helped me and encouraged me through many dark days this spring, when I had too many puppies and not enough sleep.
Do I regret my education?
Yes. If I had known there were no teaching jobs before I started university, I would have steered my career in a different direction. I regret believing the myth that if I made excellent marks I was guaranteed a good job with a stable income, and I wish I had chosen my degree more wisely. The world is a hard teacher, and maybe if I had struggled more in school, I would have been better prepared to cope with life's curve balls.
Do I know what I am going to do now?
Yes and no. I'm going to continue to apply for jobs. I'm going to write and draw and paint. I'm going to take another look at the ol' budget. I'm going to wait. And I'm going to pray.
Don't cry for me. I had my little pity party in the car already on my way to take Sam to the vet.
And I'll probably have a few more over the next few days.
Maybe it will be okay.
And maybe it won't.
But life will move on either way.
Because even if we think we're doing all right, a major life-change could be less than a second away.
None of us can really make it on our own.
Monday, 10 June 2013
Day 158: Catching Pee Like a Boss
It's funny how you can convince yourself that you will be somehow less busy when a "life-event" finally ends.
Instead, you find that while you were preoccupied with your own personal problems, the world flowed on around and without you and now you have to swim to catch up.
The last puppy left us on Saturday evening. We enjoyed a brief high and then spent Sunday in shell-shocked silence, only venturing out for a morning coffee and, later, dinner at my parents' house.
Today we stepped back out into the stream. And it's like paddling a canoe up the Saint John River during flood season. We have cleaning and taxes to do; nine weeks of bills to pay; lawns to rake and mow; dogs to exercise, train, and fix; the list goes on and on.
And we're moving. In 3 weeks.
Not far, mind you. In fact, the GPS coordinates will remain identical - as will our street address. We're moving up. Our tenants gave us their month's notice at the beginning of June. I can't blame them - they weren't the ones who adopted two intact dogs and expected everything to be all hunky-dory. We debated posting the apartment on Kijiji and renting it again, but the profit margin is slim after the extra utilities are paid, and we so desperately miss the sun. In almost four years of marriage, we have never lived in a well-lit space, so we decided it was time to give it a try. If it doesn't work, we can always trundle our stuff back down to the basement where we'll live in a damp, sunless pit for another four years.
Just kidding. Sort of.
Of course, moving upstairs is not without its challenges. Library workers in ASD-W don't exactly get paid during summer vacation. So in addition to claiming EI for the first time ever, I'll be trying to build a career out of pencils and paintbrushes - neither of which I have actually held during the last two months.
My first project is due on June 19th - a 30x40 piece for the Isaac's Way Art Auction. Then I have a few long-overdue pieces that need to be finished for friends and family, as well as a few long-term projects, all of which need to be completed in and around as-of-yet-non-existent work that will actually bring in a small but steady income.
It's a gamble. But I'm taking it.
Of course, the furry side of life isn't over just because the pups have all left for their new families. Poor Sammers lost his manhood today. I have never actually seen a dog sob until this afternoon when Sam mourned the loss of that which will never be his again.
Moreover, just because the "factories" are gone doesn't mean the "swimmers" are too. He's primed and loaded for another month, so we got Kia's spay bumped up to next Monday. I am not sure whether she's in heat or whether she just had a UTI, so the vet recommended collecting a urine sample.
Which I did.
Quite skillfully I might add. As Kia squatted beside her favorite bush, I deftly held a zip-lock bag underneath. I got a good quarter-cup and didn't even get my fingers wet. The outside of the bag stayed as dry as the Sahara.
After all the chaos of the last few months, that one perfect bag of urine represented a personal triumph. Its apple-juice-yellow glinted in the sunlight and promised better things to come.
There are many things I cannot do:
- Travel backwards in time
- Play the violin
- Predict whether my summer gamble will pay off
- Leave a carton of ice-cream untouched in my freezer for more than a day
- Finish Treego's black course without sobbing like a little girl
But I can catch pee like a boss.
Sunday, 14 April 2013
Day 102: Dog Milk Part II
Ongoing care of the puppies continues to consume our lives. Thankfully, it is the weekend, and we were able to sleep (in two hour intervals) until noon.
We have developed a system. I feed the puppies. Nathan stimulates them to go potty. And we can usually hit the hay after three quarters of an hour.
But there are all the other little things that still need to be done.
1. Puppy weighing.
2. Puppy nail-clipping.
3. Making sure the milk is safe for puppies to drink.
1. We are weighing the pups every other evening. They are squirmy and growing quickly. They body-surf around the whelping box on their fat little bellies - which has the added benefit of stimulating them to put out big ole nasty poos and pees that we have to wipe up before they try to eat it (or swim in it). Today is day 6, and they can barely fit into the scale we bought. When we weigh them, we also check to make sure their embroidery thread necklaces aren't too tight.
2. We are clipping their nails weekly. Usually, you do this to keep the mom comfy, as their little claws grow like mad. We are doing it to keep us comfy. I have tiny scratches on the inside of my forearms from hungry puppies kneading me as they suckle. To clip puppy claws, first you insert your left pinky into the puppy's mouth for it to suck on. You hold the puppy's paw in your left hand and clip with your right, using baby nail clippers and making sure not to go down to the quick or clip any skin because the puppy is wriggling the entire time.
3. Yesterday, Nate was worried because he thought that he may have left some traces of soap in the bottom of the jug we are using to mix the formula. He wasn't sure whether to use it or throw it out. Formula is expensive - but not so expensive that we're willing to gamble little puppy lives on it.
"Why don't you smell it?" I suggested.
He did. Nothing. He stared at the jug for a while.
"Well, there's only one way I'm going to know for sure," he said.
I cringed.
He touched his pinky to the formula so there was the tiniest drop on the end of his finger. Very, very, very slowly he brought his finger to his mouth.
He licked it.
"So? Did you taste anything?" I asked.
His reply frightened me.
"I didn't get enough to know."
This time, he dipped his entire index finger in the formula until it was soaked. A few clumpy bits of white goo adhered to his nail. He put his whole finger in his mouth, and sucked it dry.
I almost gagged.
"No soap!" he declared brightly.
And we went on with our day.
Hoping your weekend is less eventful than mine...
We have developed a system. I feed the puppies. Nathan stimulates them to go potty. And we can usually hit the hay after three quarters of an hour.
But there are all the other little things that still need to be done.
1. Puppy weighing.
2. Puppy nail-clipping.
3. Making sure the milk is safe for puppies to drink.
1. We are weighing the pups every other evening. They are squirmy and growing quickly. They body-surf around the whelping box on their fat little bellies - which has the added benefit of stimulating them to put out big ole nasty poos and pees that we have to wipe up before they try to eat it (or swim in it). Today is day 6, and they can barely fit into the scale we bought. When we weigh them, we also check to make sure their embroidery thread necklaces aren't too tight.
2. We are clipping their nails weekly. Usually, you do this to keep the mom comfy, as their little claws grow like mad. We are doing it to keep us comfy. I have tiny scratches on the inside of my forearms from hungry puppies kneading me as they suckle. To clip puppy claws, first you insert your left pinky into the puppy's mouth for it to suck on. You hold the puppy's paw in your left hand and clip with your right, using baby nail clippers and making sure not to go down to the quick or clip any skin because the puppy is wriggling the entire time.
3. Yesterday, Nate was worried because he thought that he may have left some traces of soap in the bottom of the jug we are using to mix the formula. He wasn't sure whether to use it or throw it out. Formula is expensive - but not so expensive that we're willing to gamble little puppy lives on it.
"Why don't you smell it?" I suggested.
He did. Nothing. He stared at the jug for a while.
"Well, there's only one way I'm going to know for sure," he said.
I cringed.
He touched his pinky to the formula so there was the tiniest drop on the end of his finger. Very, very, very slowly he brought his finger to his mouth.
He licked it.
"So? Did you taste anything?" I asked.
His reply frightened me.
"I didn't get enough to know."
This time, he dipped his entire index finger in the formula until it was soaked. A few clumpy bits of white goo adhered to his nail. He put his whole finger in his mouth, and sucked it dry.
I almost gagged.
"No soap!" he declared brightly.
And we went on with our day.
Hoping your weekend is less eventful than mine...
Saturday, 13 April 2013
Day 101: Be Careful What You Wish For
You know when you're really busy and then something crazy happens and you look back and you're like, "No. I wasn't busy at all."
That is my life.
Puppies did come out on Monday, April 8.
In fact, they kept coming out until eight o'clock on Tuesday morning.
And Kia was having none of it.
For readers who aren't my Facebook friends, she rejected every single one of her puppies.
At first, she merely ignored them.
Then she growled at them.
Then she snapped at them.
And even after she popped out the last puppy and we took her to the vet to make sure nothing was wrong, she didn't stop.
We are now hand-raising nine baby Newfies.
There are seven black and two brown.
Five girls and four boys.
I thought there were six girls and three boys, and then I took a closer look at Green Girl.
She was definitely a boy.
After the first pup (Blue Boy) popped out, I actually got pretty good at the birthing process.
Kia squatted to have most of them, so I caught them before they fell on the floor.
She ignored them, so I broke them out of their little sacs.
She kept ignoring them, so I suctioned goo out of their lungs and rubbed their little bodies with a towel to make them start breathing.
She still kept ignoring them, so I tied dental floss on the cord that connects the puppy to the afterbirth and cut it with a pair of scissors.
Dog afterbirth is disgusting. The closest thing I can think of to compare it with is the dead jellyfish that you sometimes see washed up on the beach, except afterbirth has a little more "substance" to it.
I had to help pull one puppy out. He was born breech and his sack was already broken. Only his little back feet and tail were showing. I grabbed his midsection just above his legs and gently pulled down. I thought he would be dead, but he perked up pretty quickly.
I thought I was prepared for all eventualities. A dead puppy, a stuck puppy, retained afterbirth, birth defects, etc. I knew how many pups to expect (an average litter is 8-10, we got 9). I knew how to predict the birth (I stayed home when the temp dropped to 99.5. Eight hours later it dropped to 98.6, and puppies came 6 hours after that).
I just never expected Kia to reject her puppies.
Thank you, Tori, for telling me to get formula and a bottle even though I didn't think I'd need it because Kia had so much milk. As soon as Kia rejected them, we were able to start supplemental bottle feedings right away, so nobody missed a single feeding.
And Charity - the cardboard worked great for soaking up the gross stuff but leaving the blankets underneath relatively clean.
If we hadn't been prepared, it would have been 6-8 hours from the time Kia tried to savage her pups until shops were open, and the puppies could have chilled - or starved - and died.
I was glad we bought every single item in our whelping kit.
Even so, I definitely cried for two days straight.
Because newborn pups need to be bottle fed every 2-3 hours for the first two weeks of life.
Because newborn pups need to be stimulated to go pee and poo every 2-3 hours for the first two weeks of life.
Because Nate and I both work and can't afford to take two weeks off.
I didn't know what to do.
Amazingly, a group of people have stepped up to the challenge. This week alone, I have been overwhelmed with the generosity of the people in my life.
My family comes over every day and keeps us fed.
Jennifer is a life-saver! Literally. And Tanner, too.
Natalie fed the pups during the workday on Thursday - and Friday morning too.
Lara came over with her daughters and friends to feed the pups while Mom and I weighed them and replaced their little embroidery thread collars.
Susie and Jessie came over for an early-ish morning feeding.
The words early and late have somehow lost their significance in my life.
More people have helped and are offering to help in the weeks to come.
We will need every one of you.
Thank you.
Random funniness....
- Don't sit in the whelping box with the puppies, they will suck on your toes.
- Purple girl is a screamer.
- Poor Brown Boy ... Green Boy keep sucking on his wee, hoping milk will come out. Nope. Surprise! It's actually pee.
- Puppies make little contented groaning noises when they're pooing or peeing ... usually all over your legs.
- My hands smell like milk replacer.
- Last night, I was so tired that I talked in my sleep. Nathan says I was quite angry at him ... something about onions and cheesecake with ribbons on their legs.
Sigh. Happy weekend, everyone!
Puppies:
Brown Boy (actually brown, last puppy born)
Red Girl
Purple Girl
Green Boy
Blue Boy (first puppy born)
Yellow Girl
Brown Boy (not actually brown, just has a brown collar)
Grey Girl
Brown Girl (actually brown)
That is my life.
Puppies did come out on Monday, April 8.
In fact, they kept coming out until eight o'clock on Tuesday morning.
And Kia was having none of it.
For readers who aren't my Facebook friends, she rejected every single one of her puppies.
At first, she merely ignored them.
Then she growled at them.
Then she snapped at them.
And even after she popped out the last puppy and we took her to the vet to make sure nothing was wrong, she didn't stop.
We are now hand-raising nine baby Newfies.
There are seven black and two brown.
Five girls and four boys.
I thought there were six girls and three boys, and then I took a closer look at Green Girl.
She was definitely a boy.
After the first pup (Blue Boy) popped out, I actually got pretty good at the birthing process.
Kia squatted to have most of them, so I caught them before they fell on the floor.
She ignored them, so I broke them out of their little sacs.
She kept ignoring them, so I suctioned goo out of their lungs and rubbed their little bodies with a towel to make them start breathing.
She still kept ignoring them, so I tied dental floss on the cord that connects the puppy to the afterbirth and cut it with a pair of scissors.
Dog afterbirth is disgusting. The closest thing I can think of to compare it with is the dead jellyfish that you sometimes see washed up on the beach, except afterbirth has a little more "substance" to it.
I had to help pull one puppy out. He was born breech and his sack was already broken. Only his little back feet and tail were showing. I grabbed his midsection just above his legs and gently pulled down. I thought he would be dead, but he perked up pretty quickly.
I thought I was prepared for all eventualities. A dead puppy, a stuck puppy, retained afterbirth, birth defects, etc. I knew how many pups to expect (an average litter is 8-10, we got 9). I knew how to predict the birth (I stayed home when the temp dropped to 99.5. Eight hours later it dropped to 98.6, and puppies came 6 hours after that).
I just never expected Kia to reject her puppies.
Thank you, Tori, for telling me to get formula and a bottle even though I didn't think I'd need it because Kia had so much milk. As soon as Kia rejected them, we were able to start supplemental bottle feedings right away, so nobody missed a single feeding.
And Charity - the cardboard worked great for soaking up the gross stuff but leaving the blankets underneath relatively clean.
If we hadn't been prepared, it would have been 6-8 hours from the time Kia tried to savage her pups until shops were open, and the puppies could have chilled - or starved - and died.
I was glad we bought every single item in our whelping kit.
Even so, I definitely cried for two days straight.
Because newborn pups need to be bottle fed every 2-3 hours for the first two weeks of life.
Because newborn pups need to be stimulated to go pee and poo every 2-3 hours for the first two weeks of life.
Because Nate and I both work and can't afford to take two weeks off.
I didn't know what to do.
Amazingly, a group of people have stepped up to the challenge. This week alone, I have been overwhelmed with the generosity of the people in my life.
My family comes over every day and keeps us fed.
Jennifer is a life-saver! Literally. And Tanner, too.
Natalie fed the pups during the workday on Thursday - and Friday morning too.
Lara came over with her daughters and friends to feed the pups while Mom and I weighed them and replaced their little embroidery thread collars.
Susie and Jessie came over for an early-ish morning feeding.
The words early and late have somehow lost their significance in my life.
More people have helped and are offering to help in the weeks to come.
We will need every one of you.
Thank you.
Random funniness....
- Don't sit in the whelping box with the puppies, they will suck on your toes.
- Purple girl is a screamer.
- Poor Brown Boy ... Green Boy keep sucking on his wee, hoping milk will come out. Nope. Surprise! It's actually pee.
- Puppies make little contented groaning noises when they're pooing or peeing ... usually all over your legs.
- My hands smell like milk replacer.
- Last night, I was so tired that I talked in my sleep. Nathan says I was quite angry at him ... something about onions and cheesecake with ribbons on their legs.
Sigh. Happy weekend, everyone!
Puppies:
Brown Boy (actually brown, last puppy born)
Red Girl
Purple Girl
Green Boy
Blue Boy (first puppy born)
Yellow Girl
Brown Boy (not actually brown, just has a brown collar)
Grey Girl
Brown Girl (actually brown)
Monday, 8 April 2013
Day 96: Just Come Already!
I am tired of waiting.
I guess I'll just have to wait.
I am not actually a very good waiter.
And I really, really, really, really, really just want the puppies to come out and be okay.
But Kia isn't cooperating.
I chilled with her all weekend.
I changed her blankets when they got wet with milk.
I hurried home from work and shopping and supper.
I took her out in the middle of the night when she needed to pee.
I slept with one eye open ... just in case.
No puppies. All weekend, her temperature remained stable between 100.0 and 101.0 degrees.
She panted.
She slept.
She peed.
She pood.
Tiny poos that looked like mustard mixed with melted chocolate. Milk chocolate. Hehe.
I stepped in one.
Ugh.
This morning, she wouldn't eat breakfast.
And her temperature was 99.5.
She was panting hard and laying prone with staring eyes.
She didn't want to leave her whelping box.
I came home from work early. Her temperature was back up in the high 99-point-somethings. She seemed fine.
I was ready to go back to work.
Then she started nesting.
I didn't go back to work.
And now her temperature is 98-point-something.
Which could mean that pups are only hours away.
Or it could mean nothing at all.
I really want her to go into labor tonight because I really don't want to leave her tomorrow, but I'll feel really bad if she still hasn't had puppies and I've already missed most of today.
Sigh...
I guess I'll just have to wait.
---
In other gross news, I left the bowl of uneaten dog food on top of the portable dishwasher and the cats ate part of it and then barfed it back up into (and around) the bowl.
And I stayed up half the night to review Alice Walker's The Color Purple.
But least the book fair was a success.
Tra-la, and happy waiting!
Monday, 1 April 2013
Day 89: Dog Milk
Brushing milk out of a pregnant dog's coat is like shoveling the driveway during a blizzard.
White stuff just keeps coming down.
Ain't nobody got time for that!
I gave Kia a (bad) pregnancy haircut in an attempt to keep the leakage under control.
The hairs on her belly were sticky and yellow with dried milk that turned to powder when I brushed it out.
But I definitely felt puppies moving!
Nathan and I have purchased all of the items in our whelping kit. We stole our list from a crazily perfectionist lady online. We figured if we even bought half of what she buys we'd be set for life.
And broke.
I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but we now have the following in stock:
- Heat lamp and bulb
- Homemade whelping box (courtesy of Nate)
- Digital thermometer (hehehe)
- Terrarium thermometer (to measure the temperature inside the whelping box)
- Blankets (seriously, Value Village, how can you charge $7 for an old blanket?)
- Kitchen scale (I almost bought a meat hook and a bucket instead, but the scale was cheaper.)
- Towels (we just bought two new ones for and gave all the old ones to the dogs)
- Latex-free disposable gloves
- Flashlight and extra battteries
- Vanilla ice-cream (for extra calcium and to keep Kia hydrated)
- Scissors
- Vaseline
- KY Jelly (hehehe ... never using that bottle again)
- Paper (to make & label collars so we can tell the pups apart)
- Newspaper
- Dental floss
- Rubbermaid container (to hold puppies if we need to remove them for cleaning the bedding)
- Some random ear thing that I don't know what it's called, but it has a small opening and a suction bulb to suck mucus out of puppy mouths and noses if necessary
Granted, we did cheat a little.
We bought "waxed" dental floss instead of "unwaxed" dental floss.
Apparently, Walmart only carries the "waxed" variety.
And I'm more than halfway through the vanilla ice-cream.
Nate says they just put it on the list to keep the owners calm while they wait.
But I did boil the scissors.
Kia is getting big and slow. Except when there's food involved.
She was getting picky so we mixed canned food into the dry stuff.
She's not picky anymore.
She keeps getting her head stuck in the door before I can even get it open.
In other news, Sam's ears got the all-clear from the vet - and he is finally vaccinated!
His training continues.
Some days, I'm over the moon about his good behavior.
Other days ... not so much.
Let's just say that Dave is the only one trying to cuddle with him on those days.
I'm also struggling to balance art, writing, and life.
On one hand, writing is something I can't not do.
So is art.
But it's hard to focus on a painting or a book when the laundry needs to be done, supper needs to be made, the house needs to be cleaned, bills need to be paid, and tax season is just around the corner.
So is the book fair.
So is my book review.
But if I can't be creative amid the joys, distractions, and stresses of everyday life, I can't be creative, period.
They say that unhappiness is equal to the distance between reality and your expectations.
And that you have two choices:
A. Lower your expectations.
B. Raise your reality.
And despite the plethora of towels in our house ... I'm not ready to throw mine in yet.
T minus 1 day.
Pray for me.
And if you've had puppies before ... feel free to let me know what I've missed!
White stuff just keeps coming down.
Ain't nobody got time for that!
I gave Kia a (bad) pregnancy haircut in an attempt to keep the leakage under control.
The hairs on her belly were sticky and yellow with dried milk that turned to powder when I brushed it out.
But I definitely felt puppies moving!
Nathan and I have purchased all of the items in our whelping kit. We stole our list from a crazily perfectionist lady online. We figured if we even bought half of what she buys we'd be set for life.
And broke.
I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but we now have the following in stock:
- Heat lamp and bulb
- Homemade whelping box (courtesy of Nate)
- Digital thermometer (hehehe)
- Terrarium thermometer (to measure the temperature inside the whelping box)
- Blankets (seriously, Value Village, how can you charge $7 for an old blanket?)
- Kitchen scale (I almost bought a meat hook and a bucket instead, but the scale was cheaper.)
- Towels (we just bought two new ones for and gave all the old ones to the dogs)
- Latex-free disposable gloves
- Flashlight and extra battteries
- Vanilla ice-cream (for extra calcium and to keep Kia hydrated)
- Scissors
- Vaseline
- KY Jelly (hehehe ... never using that bottle again)
- Paper (to make & label collars so we can tell the pups apart)
- Newspaper
- Dental floss
- Rubbermaid container (to hold puppies if we need to remove them for cleaning the bedding)
- Some random ear thing that I don't know what it's called, but it has a small opening and a suction bulb to suck mucus out of puppy mouths and noses if necessary
Granted, we did cheat a little.
We bought "waxed" dental floss instead of "unwaxed" dental floss.
Apparently, Walmart only carries the "waxed" variety.
And I'm more than halfway through the vanilla ice-cream.
Nate says they just put it on the list to keep the owners calm while they wait.
But I did boil the scissors.
Kia is getting big and slow. Except when there's food involved.
She was getting picky so we mixed canned food into the dry stuff.
She's not picky anymore.
She keeps getting her head stuck in the door before I can even get it open.
In other news, Sam's ears got the all-clear from the vet - and he is finally vaccinated!
His training continues.
Some days, I'm over the moon about his good behavior.
Other days ... not so much.
Let's just say that Dave is the only one trying to cuddle with him on those days.
I'm also struggling to balance art, writing, and life.
On one hand, writing is something I can't not do.
So is art.
But it's hard to focus on a painting or a book when the laundry needs to be done, supper needs to be made, the house needs to be cleaned, bills need to be paid, and tax season is just around the corner.
So is the book fair.
So is my book review.
But if I can't be creative amid the joys, distractions, and stresses of everyday life, I can't be creative, period.
They say that unhappiness is equal to the distance between reality and your expectations.
And that you have two choices:
A. Lower your expectations.
B. Raise your reality.
And despite the plethora of towels in our house ... I'm not ready to throw mine in yet.
T minus 1 day.
Pray for me.
And if you've had puppies before ... feel free to let me know what I've missed!
 |
| Grumpy Cat? Meet Grumpy Dog. |
 |
| Christening the whelping box: I'm so excited ... it just squirted right out! |
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