Not about the baby

So, the dogs are officially even.

Kota and Biggs have a bit of a history of fighting, with little Biggs on the receiving end of the fights. Luckily we have been without incident for quite some time, though they still have their little quirks. Biggs refuses to accept Kota's play advances. Kota will steal a bone from Biggs and run downstairs with it. Not because she wants to chew it, mind you. She just thought she'd move it away from him.

Biggs has been trying to devise an attack plan for quite some time to get back at Kota. At a quarter of her size, he had to pick his battles wisely, and there's very few things he had over her. But yesterday, he figured out his strength against Kota.

I was taking them outside for a quick potty break. Kota was squatting on the ground, like a normal dog, completely minding her own business. Completely unprovoked, Biggs boldly walks right up to her, lifts a leg, and soaks her.

He walked around the rest of the day giving the biggest smirk a dog could ever muster.

Hello, full-term!

So, big things are happening! It's August, for one. Which means when people ask me when I'm due, I can breezily say 'the 24th' instead of having to identify the month as well. Which is just so cumbersome. Today also marks the day which I am officially considered full-term, at 37 weeks. Boo-yah! And I'm 6 days away from the point in time my sister went into labor. Although she didn't have any of this nonsense, I'm still under the probably naive assumption that my labor will go exactly as hers did, which means Sunday will be a big day.

I've made it through 2 of my 4 late pregnancy out of town visitors, and thankfully the only 2 staying with me. Don't get me wrong, I loved having them and catching up, but playing hostess to them back to back this late in the game left me exhausted. So I'm thankful to have a little down time now to try to rest back up. It hasn't worked so far, as I've spent the last two days feeling nauseated and with a little burning in my chest. I really hope both clear up before ninja baby starts getting any bright ideas about making his grand appearance, because right now I feel too drained to be up for the physical or mental tasks of labor.

In nonbaby news, one of those 2 visitors, Joe, brought his dog, who found an abandoned bone discarded under the couch. It's been around for probably 2 years, and Kota has never given it the time of day- she has eyes only for her ring bone. I've started calling the ring bone her paci, as that's exactly how she uses it when she's either under or over stimulated. Anyway, since Harvey the dog found this bone and got his smell all over it, Kota has a new found love for it, and it has taken over her daily agenda at the expense of poor ring bone.

Lastly, and back to baby stuff- I think I packed way too much in my hospital bag (surprise surprise). It doesn't actually fit into my bag anymore- it's sorta overflowing. But better be safe than sorry right?!

I've become so lazy....

... that I've resorted to sticking pieces of paper/trash/etc. in Kota's collar and sending her off to Gerard rather than having to get up.

And I think it's pretty genius.

Here you'll see Kota gently reminding Gerard that this FedEx envelope belongs in the recycling- not the trash- and can he please try again?

By the way, my first NST (nonstress test) went well enough. Everything looked fine, but I wasn't especially pleased with what the Dr. had to say. My regular OB was on vacation, so I had to be signed up with some new chick. Contrary what they told me at the hospital, she sat there and told me I couldn't do anything that kept me on my feet for more than 30 minutes, no yoga, nothing. I can't even do a grocery trip in that kinda time frame. She told me lots of other things that seem way strict. And, despite the laziness I depicted above, I'm not very happy about all this. I know some people get on real bedrest and have it way worse, but up to 5 weeks doing virtually nothing seems horrendous... Not to mention the fact that everyone seemed to think that the end of my pregnancy was the perfect time to come visit SF... so I have a slew of visitors back to back starting Monday. This is well enough for me to keep me company- as long as ninja baby stays on the inside- but I'm not sure how pleased they will be playing cards and doing (my new obsession) Kakuro puzzles instead of adventuring through the Bay...

Here are my 35 week pictures... are you as excited about my long overdue haircut this Saturday as I am??

Graphic- You maybe don't want to read this. Plus, it's really long

So, I'll start off this post by giving away the ending. I'm fine; boo boo is fine, and he's still in my belly. But 36 hours ago I wasn't sure about any of that.

It started Wednesday night after an uneventful day. I went to bed, dreamed that my Birthing From Within teacher had decided to change routes and teach us Lamaze instead and would not refund us- and awoke at a quarter after 1 to a lot of wetness. I rushed to the toilet unsure if I had peed myself, if my water broke, or what had happened. When I turned on the bathroom light, I was surprised to see it was blood dripping on the floor and down my legs. Gerard and I were worried, but relatively calm as we drove to the hospital. I was crying and was sure it was bloody show and I was going into early labor. Not ideal, but at 34 weeks and change, it also wasn't necessarily terrible.

Anyway, we get there and the whole nine yards of testing. We got the good news that I wasn't dilated at all, so it didn't look like I was going into preterm labor just yet. But the first ultrasound showed a splotchy part on my placenta that appeared to indicate placental abruption. This led to talks about emergency c-section, long hospital stays of up to weeks on end, and lots of crying. I was told a neonatologist would come talk to me in the morning about the implications of a premie. A social worker should also come by and discuss me getting on disability. I then get wired to the bed with IVs and fetal monitors, and the whole mess led me unable to reposition on the bed by myself, much less go to the bathroom independently. It was awesome. I still had no idea what my fate would be and nothing about the situation was good. By the time things calmed down a bit, it approximated 4am, and I was tired. Nurses and doctors continued to prance in the room at all hours of the night and morning to take vitals, fix the monitors I had knocked off, and one even woke me up with the burning question of why Gerard hadn't gotten screened for cystic fibrosis. Lady, if you had waited until sunrise you could've seen he was black and that he doesn't have cystic fibrosis.

So, at 10:30am I get wheeled down to get a formal diagnostic ultrasound, with a bigger and fancier machine than previously used upon arrival. That was the most eventful thing of the day. Other than I sat there. Waiting. Lying in bed. Waiting. When the nurses came in I'd ask when a Dr. would come tell me what's going on, she'd tell me she'd go check on it, then I'd never see her again. A new nurse would come in next and I'd have to start the process over again. And ps- there is nothing on tv in the middle of the day. Nothing. It wasn't until that evening that I could stop continuous fetal monitoring, which meant I could now move around the bed all by myself! I also now only had to drag my IV drip along to the bathroom to pee. Even better than this was the fact that I could now eat. I was starving, and so looking forward to my first meal in almost 24 hours. That is, until I saw the microwave dinner on the tray presented to me. Now, I know that hospital food is supposed to be disgusting. It's like a law. But this was just uncalled for. I mustered down a few bites, and took refuge in the fact that I had a plum left to eat. At least something not drowning in preservatives. It didn't take a much closer look to see that the plum was actually half yellow from so much spotting, and its shape conformed to the touch of my thumb. Gag. Alas, I still had a slice of cake to look forward to. I managed to swallow one bite and though I would die. I can't even describe how bad it was. Like someone had frozen it for a year, taken it out and let it stale, then froze it again. Then someone poured an entire cup of water on it to feign moistness. Gerard was obviously ordered to bring me food.

So here we are...I hadn't had any more bleeding since the big event, boo boo looked fine (a hearty 5lb, 2 oz), and I was told I'd probably leave first thing in the morning if everything still looked good. I got moved to a new room in a different wing, which was a sign that I was stable. The bed was more comfortable, I was no longer on liquids, tho I had to leave the IV in, and an end was in sight. I mentioned to the nurses the neonatologist nor the social worker came to visit. They'd get right on that. So I try to get some sleep, annoyed that since arrival I hadn't spent more than 5 cumulative minuted with a Dr.- and each time it was a different one. They told me nothing about results from an tests they had run, told me contradictory things about what this would mean for the rest of my pregnancy (one told me everything would be a-ok, but without exercise, another told me I'd be on house arrest), and never really explained to me where we were going from here or what would happen next.

Gerard and I wake up at 12:30 to the lights being thrown on and a nurse loudly coming in to check my vitals. Not even pretending to be considerate about it. "Get some sleep; see you in 3 or 4 hours" she said as she left. I was woken up several more times throughout the night because apparently my blood pressure, heart rate and temperature are of vast interest at all hours of the night. By morning, I was sufficiently cranky and anxious for rounds so someone would tell me what was going on.

By 11:30am, rounds were still MIA, and I was pissed. When a resident finally pranced in after 1pm, I told her in no uncertain terms I was none too pleased. "You can't be mad at me," she says , "I've never even met you." Exactly! I've never seen the same Dr. twice or for more than 30 seconds, so who else am I supposed to pin my frustration on. She told me I'd be ready to be discharged after the neonatologist came to see me.... Excuse me? I was trapped in the hospital for an indefinite period of time waiting on a Dr. who was supposed to see me yesterday morning?! It was about this time I realized I had been there for over 36 hours and had not been given a change of gowns, socks or underwear, and hadn't even been given a toothbrush or shower or anything. Now I was really just pissed. The social worker came soon after the peak of my anger, and was appalled at the service I'd be given. She immediately got me towels, a change of clothes and a toothbrush, and informed me that the neonatologist was in surgery, but would see me when she got out. Finally, a woman with some answers.

So, after a very soothing, but soapless shower, brushed teeth, clean socks and underwear, and a visit from a neonatologist who told me nothing about NICUs or premies that I didn't already know being an SLP, I was finally discharged. They would not allow me to leave on foot; I had to go in the wheelchair, which is ridiculous. But I'm pretty much allowed to resume normal daily activities, minus exercising. Although she did say prenatal yoga was ok. I think she might assume my prenatal yoga is like the kind on DVDs where you stretch and chant and call it a day, and not like the actual real life workout that it is. But oh well. I'm home. And Gerard came to pick me up with my Kota girl in the car, and got me ice cream on the way home without me even having to ask for it. So things are looking up.

Lotso Pictures

I'm officially a whale. Here are some way overdue belly pictures, and some shots of how we kept the same furniture (plus a crib) and now call the study a nursery. I want to add a rug, and maybe a few more decorative type things on the wall, but at the end of the day, he's a baby. And I don't think he'll mind too much.

32 weeks

Whoooa huge belly!

The dogs helping to build the crib

Notice Kota's bed in front of our changing table. She's pretty happy we built this roomy, quiet room just for her.

The rocking chair is our other piece of "new" furniture. It's craigslist and sooooo comfy.

Lights in the Sky

Last night I went to take the doggies for a walk, and was met by an amazing fireworks display. I couldn't think of anything particularly cool about April 8, so I'm assuming they were coming from the baseball park, celebrating one of the first games of the season. 

Regardless of why or where they were coming from, they were spectacular. Even the dogs spent a solid 5 minutes looking at them, or at least in their general direction. As confused as they were as to why this walk didn't actually include any moving, I'm sure they were equally taken by the colorful flashing lights in the sky. It was the kind of fireworks display that'd do something so cool you're thinking that had to be the grand finale... and then they kept going. It was the kind of display that had fireworks in the shapes of happy  faces! Who knew they could do that?! I kept seeing cars drive by, and I wondered in amazement how they could concentrate on driving and not be fixated on the beauty of the fireworks. After a while, Kota gave up any hope of walking and just sat down patiently. Biggs, on the other hand, decided he'd give himself a workout, and ran erratically back and forth as much as the radius of his leash would allow. But all in all, it was just the perfect end to my evening. 

I was so moved and inspired (inspired to do what- I'm not sure) by this moment: the beautiful night met with a cool but comforting crisp breeze that only California can master, the neverending fireworks on a clear night close enough to hear them well, but not too loud as to startle the dogs, lil boo boo happily kicking away enjoying his view from my womb... everything was just perfect. I was so taken by the moment, I was convinced I needed to name lil boo after the fireworks to remember the awe of this evening. Too bad Fireworks Jenkins is a little cumbersome. Maybe just Fire. Lil Booboo Fire Jenkins. Nice. 

On that note, I'd like to mention that all nonpregnant people should decide on their baby names now and legally sign away to them. Because as much as you like to believe these hormones won't affect your thinking skills, they will. And you will be totally convinced your son's middle name should be Fire. Or you'll be so enamored by some taffy one day you'll name your daughter Salty. And ohmygod  why has it been 15 years since I've had some saltwater taffy??

Splish Splash

Kota got a long overdue bath this afternoon. She's decently cooperative; she doesn't try to get out or anything, but she does sit hovered in the back of the tub giving me this pathetic face the whole time as if to say 'Whatever I did to deserve this I'm so sorry. Just please stop the torture.'

We had had a deal. She agreed to it. She was going to shake off in the tub to minimize splashing, before getting out to be toweled off more. 'No problem, Mom' she says. She lied. She had no intention of shaking off anywhere but in the middle of the bathroom, and all over me. But I suppose I deserved it. I had lied first. 'Come on, girl, let's go hang out in the bathroom. Some girl bonding time. Yeah. I have bacon treats. Mmmm. Yeah, the bathroom's the cool new hangout spot. You'll see.'

Gerard can't complain about Kota's dreams anymore

I've watched this video no less than 17 times since dooce posted it this morning.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2BgjH_CtIA&feature=channel

and I crack up and literally slap my knee every single time

Mouse in the House

Actually, mice. Plural. In my apartment. But that doens't have near as nice a ring to it.

Ew ew ew ew EW. I'm thoroughly weirded out by this. 

It was bad enough, working at camp, and having mice in our tents. I was famous for not only sleeping under my mosquito netting, but in the same hooded shirt with the hood tied up tightly around my face so that I could barely breathe. Every single night I did this, all summer long. 

But it's WAY worse being in your home. I mean, when you're camping it's like 'Hey Mickey, I really don't want you pooping in my ear, but, ya know, I'm outside. I'm in your territory. Live your life.' But now that these suckers are coming on my turf, it's a different ball game. 

I bought the largest assortment of torture devices I could get my hands on. I bought little kibbles they eat and then die from. I bought classic traps. I bought newfangled spinny things where you never actually see the dead mouse inside the contraption (these are already my favorite). Something better tell these jokers they are messing with the wrong apartment.

Two things about this adventure so far have surprised me. One is Kota's complete lack of interest. Despite all the commotion I've caused so far, with the screaming and couch jumping and whatnot, I don't think she's actually seen the critters yet. And apparently she hasn't smelled them. Either way she made no attempt to catch them despite my pleading with her. She's all about chasing squirrels and other rodents outside, but something about these mice just aren't pissing her off as much as they should. Of course with all the danger devices she is now banned from the infected area, but I still can't help but feel a little disappointed in her protection of me from these mice.

Gerard, however, who won't even throw away a dead spider I killed for him, smooshed in a paper towel, is totally cool about the ordeal. He's finally pulling his weight with the designated boy stuff (love you baby.... I mean that in the nicest way possible. I do.). He and his geeky lab science boy self apparently have killed and handled thousands of mice, so this is no biggie to him. 

I, on the other hand, am going to rock myself to sleep with the mantra that mice can't climb up stairs to my bedroom. And please, please don't tell me otherwise. Our stairs are more like steps, if there's different connotations to those words. There aren't backs on each steps, so as far as I'm concerned, they really can't get up unless they jump 5 inches. 

Maybe I'll find a hoodie to wear to bed, just in case.

Last Wedding Post For the Night...

...I promise.

So, I found this wedding venue. It's kind of shabby chic. In a good way. It's surprisingly cheap, the bathrooms are terrible, and the lobby carpet makes me dizzy, but the view is unparalleled. But mostly I'm excited because the chick told me we can have our dogs there. Now, if the thought of Kota wearing some pearls and Biggsy wearing a little tux doesn't melt your heart then I just don't know what will.

Unless, that is, we decide on the zoo. Then we can hang out with giraffes and they can lick our faces!!!

Did you know everyone seems to think we're crazy for trying to do New Years?

The Break-Up

So, I was just dumped by a girl friend. Like, for real. Now, I didn't think this was physically possible; I thought when girls didn't want to be friends any more one or both would just fade off in the distance and stop returning phone calls.  But no, this was made very evident that we were to never see eachother again. Sweet. Duly noted. I'm like, extremely impressed with girls that have a lot of close girl friends. I just don't understand how it's done. I've always thought I was not that offending a person, but I'm starting to second-guess that assessment.

On a seperate and even more alienating note, Gerard went and proposed to me and then left town for three weeks. And I'm very sad. How do people function without dogs to cuddle at night?

My left hand is getting heavy...

So, I've done my best to make the calls, but have found it surprisingly difficult to get in touch with quite a few friends, so new priority is to notify my loyal readers that I'm officially off the market. So now I have to be a whole lot more discreet with my other boyfriends, because I have a big ol' rock and my finger and I think people will start to talk...

You have to call me in order to be rewarded with the engagement story. But it's a good one. 

I'm very attached to my new bling, and have not yet had the heart to take it off to sleep and shower and other normally ringless activities. I did, however, take it off to clean up Kota's diarrhea waiting for me after returning from my engagement trip. Seriously, people were coming over to congratulate us after seeing the one-knee action, and I'm on the phone with my dog sitter asking "Well, was there vomiting with the diarrhea, or just diarrhea?" Classy...

I feel like wearing this ring also now makes me an adult. I feel like I should be taken more seriously now that I convinced someone with excellent taste to give me some sparkles. 

Projects

So, I was debating whether or not to share the latest pseudo-development in my life, as I could potentially fail, and I try to limit highlighting my own shortcomings. Upon further consideration however, I reasoned my blog audience was not exactly widespread enough to foster too much judgement, so why not. I also liken it to training for my first marathon- which I told everyone with two ears (functioning or not)- in order to pressure myself into not quitting. So now, I officially have to keep at this until I've reached my goal. 

About a year ago, I came up with the idea to write a children's book. There's a "shtick" to it that I'm not yet advertising, but rest assured I think it's a pretty good idea. Of course this initial idea was met with a long period of uncreativity (is this a word?), otherwise known as writer's block. I forced myself to write a couple drafts over the months, all of which sucked, interspersed with long hiatuses as this idea took a back burner to real life. Finally, I was randomly inspired to write a manuscript I am quite pleased with a couple weeks ago, which aside from the overall vision, does not resemble the originial transcriptions in the slightest. As of today, I've submitted exactly a dozen (ok, 13... I really felt I needed that one extra shot) query letters to potential agents. Now the waiting game ensues... with a whole lot of rejection letters awaiting me. Yay!!

I have a few other projects up my sleeves, but as a "writer" I know better than to give away too much too soon. But rest assured I'm up to something...

Completely unrelated to the above posting, but relevant to my life is the recent revelation that an acquaintance of mine was just robbed at gunpoint outside of her apartment at the witching hour of 8:30pm. Regardless of my secured parking garage, I've officially resigned myself to the confines of my apartment after dusk unless explicitly escorted by Gerard. Mr. Biggs has to poo? Tough shit.

My Weekend Was Better Than Yours

 

Because I had a three day weekend, I could think of no better way to celebrate good ol' Chris C-bus than to do a little adventure trip myself. So Gerard and I packed up the pups and headed out to Lake Tahoe. Thinking we were out-tricking rush hour, we each left work early and got on the road well before 3. With less than 200 miles to go, we figure we'll be there before dinner no problem. Problem. Apparently everyone and their mother can finangle their way out of work before 3 pm on a Friday. Problem. The Bay Bridge sucks. Problem. People all across western and central California decided to ram into eachother that day. Problem. The twisting roads up the mountains, exacerbated by both nightfall and snowfall left the end of our trip to be very slow. So we barely managed to check into our quaint little B&B before the office closed at 9. Ouch. Luckily we were met with a nice fireplace and hottub. Things are looking up.

Gerard met this adventure the way he meets most outdoor adventures I drag him to- by getting sick. You see, Gerard is allergic to hiking and doing outdoorsy things. I try to take him to the Grand Canyon- puke all over the place. I try to take him to Tahoe- ditto. Bright and early, I'm up and ready to go, and poopy is lying in bed with the sheets pulled over his head. So, being the sweet girlfriend that I am, I leave his booty and walk to the lake with Kota. We sit down with my sketchpad and draw and enjoy ourselves save for the quite brisk temperatures. Some crazies on a church retreat who haven't heard of hypothermia walk Kota in fulfilment of a photo scavenger hunt, and then jump into the freezing lake while the lucky photographer stays on dry land.  Later that day, Gerard muscles up, and to his credit he soldiers through the rest of the day walking and driving around the lake.

Sunday, all 4 of us go on a breathtaking hike on the west side of the lake.  I can't post all the pictures I'd like to from the hike, so you'll have to check them out here.

After the hike, I realize my camera's memory card is full, and we have lots of fun plans awaiting us. We take an emergency trip to Staples to get a new memory card, where I learn my 6 year old 256mb card is very small and outdated, not to mention overpriced, as I bought a 4gb for a fraction of the price I had paid for that 256. But anyway, crisis averted.

We hop on to a paddleboat elegantly touted as a Dinner and Dancing Cruise. Ohh La La... At 15 minutes early, we're sure we'll get prime seating by a window, but apparently people have nothing better to do while off-season vacationing in Tahoe than to reserve the dinner tables, because we were about the last people to board the boat. We get the wine list, and my spirits are up to see Domain Chandon. Yay!! I order a bottle, and the waitress leaves. She comes back within seconds to ask again for my order. I repeat myself, and she looks at me skeptically and says she doesn't think they have that. I point it out in the menu and she says "Oh, yes we do have that!" She comes back a few minutes later and proudly holds up a cheap bottle of Wyatt. She seems very hurt when I tell her that is not what we ordered and yes, I do care. She comes back to tell me they indeed do not have my Chandon. Nor do they have the Chardonnay I then try to order. After finally being somewhat appeased by the bartender, and finishing our self-serve meal, Gerard and I take our wine glasses toward the edge of the boat to see out the windows better. She starts clearing out our meal, and holds up our half-full bottle of wine and asks "Do you still want this?" This story is getting long, so I'm going to save her from other ways throughout the night she annoyed me, but suffice to say she was still upset when her tip was not all that it may have been.

Gerard and I rocked out the casinos that night. I slipped a ten into a slot machine, and when I was down to my last nickel, I managed to pull some kinda crazy spin out and win 48 bucks! Gerard did even better by turning $50 into almost 400 in roulette. Hooray for us!

Monday morning we went

 on a final hike and said a sad farewell to Tahoe. :(

 This place was just ridiculously gorgeous...

Pup Pups

I've recently felt compelled to start volunteering at our local SPCA, walking the dogs and such. Gerard is encouraging it and thinks it's a fine idea, which goes to show he doesn't know me, nor my compulsive nature, at all. He seems to be naively optimistic that I won't come back home one night with a new dog. Which is just silly, because I will.

Today Was A Day of Firsts

Today was the first day in our history in San Francisco that it called for rain. This was highly anticipated by Gerard and I, as we haven't seen rain since the day we drove out of Nashville. Outside the apartment, it looked the part, what with dreary skies and a light mist replacing the usual sun beating in through our windows. So I wore my dry wick tank and brought my trusty hat and Kota and I were off for our run. But instead, today was the first day the beach had bluer, clearer skies than our apartment. This really shouldn't be surprising, as it is well known that anytime I wear my trusty hat it doesn't rain (the only exception being the Cleveland Marathon...). Anyway, here we were with unexpectedly nice weather. Kota celebrated by marking this as the first day she voluntarily trotted through the water without pulling or darting away from it. She actually ran-swam deeper into the water while we were playing in it after our run. And today was the first day (because of the "rain") I didn't bring my camera to capture the moment. It was the first day I was nice (as opposed to bitchy) to a woman who's unleashed dog jumped on Kota. Partly because she was very apologetic, and partly because both dogs were playing nicely together. Today was the first day I ran the whole way without walking! This is especially surprising considering my weekday laziness of recent. And, it was the first day I drove to the beach and back without relying on Mark Jr at all. (Mark Jr's predecessor was my first electronic love, Mark, my original GPS who recently got laryngeal cancer and was subsequently rendered useless to me. The good people at Garmin decided Mark Jr. was a better option than chemo for Mark.... I promise I'll be more understanding if this happens to my non-electronic love). Anyway, my GPS-less trip is no more remarkable than it sounds. I'm just really bad with directions. 

Necessitating it's own paragraph was my first time running on the beach at the same time ROTC was training there. They were running a fair amount upland, whereas I was right on the waterline (I doubt either of those are real words, but you get the drift), but I was in the process of passing the massive lot of them. Until, that is, I noticed there chants were getting louder. At first I was all 'Yay- go America' until I realized their chants were getting louder because they had made a 90 degree turn and were now prepared for a direct collision with me. Luckily Kota and I made it out of their path of destruction unharmed. This was toward the beginning of my run, and I had noticed they also had a tent and cones set up nearby. On my way back toward the end of my run, I got to witness fun little relays they were doing- complete with doing wheelbarrows! (you know, like you did when you were kids and one person holds your feet up and you run forward on your hands), spinning around with your forehead on the cone (I thought this was only done on cheesy reality competitions), and carrying buckets of sand. It all looked pretty fun (except for the buckets of sand part) and for a second I wanted to hop in and join them, but I decided the beachtime fun wasn't worth the tradeoff of the whole Army-thing that comes with it. 

I had another rant I wanted to talk about, but this post is already pretty long, so I'm going to save it until next week and pretend like it was an original thought.

A model of preparedness

Everyone will be proud to know I was both a Girl Scout growing up, and a counselor at a GS camp for two summers in college, so I obviously know about being prepared.

So this morning, I'm getting all packed and ready for our trip to the beach to go for our run. Learning from my mistakes from last week, I pack an extra towel, and enough water not just for Kota and I to both drink, but also enough that we can rinse off with. I also know I want to bring flip flops, so when my shoes do inevitably get soaked, I don't have to walk around the parking lot and back through my apartment complex in bare feet. So there I am, sneaking around the house trying to be quiet while Gerard sleeps. My bagel is in the toaster, socks are on, flip flops on (I know, I know.. I don't want to hear it. That's not the point of the story), water is ready, I have my keys, phone, camera, all ready.  My running shoes are by the door, as well as Kota's poopy bags, and our towels. I've chosen to wear my sandals there out of comfort, and laugh to myself how it would be so funny if I left my running shoes here. It reminds me of one time when we were kids, my dad, sister and I were going to a 5k road race, and Amy didn't realize she didn't have her running shoes until we were already there. Classic. But I digress...

We are getting situated in my car before I realize I did bad. My bagel is still in the toaster, and both the water and poopy bags are still by the door. Whoops. I leave Kota in the car as I run back to get these necessities, and then we start our drive. While we live a mere couple of  blocks from the ocean- it's all weird and not beachy, so the part of the beach I like to run at is a solid 20 minute drive. We are pulling into the parking lot when I realize the floor of my passenger seat is looking quite bare. I think we all know where this is going. I don't have my running shoes. Awesome.

My first thought is to turn around and drive all the way back to go get them. My second thought is to wake up Gerard and bitch and moan until he agrees to come bring them to me. My third thought is that maybe this is the perfect time to experience running on the beach barefoot. I opt for number 3.

Being a snob, I always trying to make sure I fall within the limits of "real" runners. I take this very seriously. Real runners avoid things like wearing a race Tshirt on race day. That's just embarrassing. In fact, real runners wear race T-shirts very rarely, as they are mainly cotton. I used to think real runners didn't wear Ipods, but I corrected this school of thought as I trained for my first marathon by myself. Although I do still harbor a little bit of embarrassment by

 running with my Ipod, and try to avoid it when I can. I've noticed during my longstanding tradition of running on the beach that some runners choose to run barefoot, while others continue to wear normal socks and shoes. I haven't been able to decide who the real runners are. But now I'm on the barefoot side.

As you noticed from my packing checklist above, I've brought my camera. I have aspirations to merge this into a running blog of sorts, with pictures and tales of the adventures I come across on my runs. Several things need to first happen before this dream can become a reality.

1. I need to be able to run further distances to come across these adventures. This requires both endurance recovery, and a whole lotta hill work.

2. I need to abandon my safe-zone of the treadmill on zero incline.

3. I need more of my spectacular Lululemon running shorts with a back pocket big enough to hold a camera. Support the cause here.

Anyway, I go out to the sand and start to run. It's at this time I realize I forgot my watch. Awesome. Oh well. Going gadget-free also makes me feel like a real runner.

So, running barefoot isn't that bad. Sure, you have to be more careful about not stepping on the washed-up jellyfish, but you also don't get your shoes all wet and sandy. It's much easier to make yourself run on the hills later in the week when your shoes are clean and dry.  I think I'll continue to run barefoot until someone tells me it's not cool.

Being barefoot also allowed me greater flexibility in forcing poor Kota in the water. Upon seeing me survive the water without burns or melting, she was coaxed in a little easier.

The Disappearing Bed

This morning, Kota was desperate for some belly rubs. So there she was, on the edge of the bed, pimping out her belly like it was going out of style. Kota's there shaking and moving it all around, as in dog-world, this is a good marketing strategy to entice me to scratch her belly. I was busy tyring to withhold from too much activity, as I was hoping to fall back asleep, but I eventually sucummed to her. But, before I could reach her- she disappeared. No one knows what really went wrong, but one second she was there- the next, on the floor. Poor thing didn't even have a chance to prep and try to land on her feet. She was just down. On her back. 

Of course it being everyone's fault but her own, Kota got up, brushed herself off, growled at Biggs on the way to the other side of the bed, which would not mistreat her and kick her off as the previous side had. 

We're about to go for our now traditional run on the beach. Hopefully she is in a better mood.

I officially live in California

While I thought this title had been given to me when I got my new driver's license, I feel actually initiated after this morning. Kota and I went for a run along the beach, because I figured that's what Californians do.  Being a pale-skinned girl who can't swim, I never got into the whole beachy thing, but I'm a changed girl now. I attribute most of my change of heart due to the character of the beaches out here being much different than, say, Miami beach, overrun with drunk teenagers who are so tanned you can't even tell what race they are. Here you can drive up and park right on the waterfront, and have a nice relaxing time to yourself with only a sprinkling of other visitors, who are either also running, or surfing bravely in the chilly Pacific Ocean.

So Kota and I had a wonderful run, and saw some interesting wildlife washed ashore. Kota has a marvelous innate ability to determine whether or not the oncoming wave will hit the shore far enough to get her feet wet. I began to trust her skill in this much better than mine, as I didn't want soggy shoes any more than she wanted wet paws. She might as well have thought the ocean was pure acid coming after her, the way she would jump hysterically when she did calculate the water was indeed going to reach her path. But it saved me many darts I thought we should make to get out of the way, when Kota wisely knew we would be safely dry. 

It turned out to be an unexpected fartlek workout, when we would have to intermittently sprint out of the way from time to time. After half an hour, my quick step abilities faded, and my left foot was defeated to the cold wet ocean. I figured if I was going to have to make it back home with a soggy foot, Kota might as well commiserate and have her first Pacific Ocean experience too. So I dragged her in. Not all the way, but enough to get her paws wet, which was hard enough as it was. 

I've enjoyed living here since we first moved, but today was the day I really fell in love with the city. I think Kota and I found our new Saturday morning tradition.

Bathroom

If you are ever in my apartment and wonder where my dog Kota is... she's in the bathroom. Aside from one time when I was out of town, she somehow snuck out of the house and roamed through the hallway for an undisclosed amount of time. Other than that, she's in the bathroom. Now, this is the 5th different residence Kota has lived in, but as far as I'm aware, her interest in the bathroom only began last year in Saint Louis. My bathroom at the time was little bigger than a fridge, and she always risked being caught behind the door in such a way that would prevent her from escaping, but it was a risk she deemed worthy taking every now and then. At the time I attributed it to maybe trying to hide from her younger brother, who's size and coordination did not allow him the agility to fit into the bathroom with such ease. But now that we're in San Francisco, and her bathroom size has easily tripled, she has found paradise. 

You'll note from the picture her absolute absense of shame or sense of abnormality. Also, you'll see she's made herself at home with two toys, and wrinkled up my bath mat for optimum comfort.  Keep in mind it does not phase her in the slightest- perhaps even encourages her- when the lights are off. You can come and go, do your business, take a shower, whatever, but unless you put your shoes on insuring her a trip outside, she's perfectly comfortable where she is, thankyouverymuch.