Gator Tator Pumpkin Pie.

I love my dog.  He's so damn cute and cuddly and just adorable.  I love the way he brings me his ball, drops it in my lap, sits down, then waits for me to toss it.  Oh the little things that make him happy!

This past weekend my hubby, my son, and I took Gates to the doggie park.  It's always an adventure because we never know how he's going to behave.  He's still a puppy--only 2 years old--so his behavior can be sketchy.  But I like taking him there.  Gates loves being social, loves to run around like a crazy person, and seems to have a good time.

The moment we mention the word "Park" he gets a little nuts.  He hops up and down waiting for his walking collar, tongue just a flying all over the place.  When we head out into the garage, he eagerly sits as the car door is opened--and then in one huge leap, launches his body up and into the car.  I love the way he paces, lies down, sticks his head out of the window, and then plants himself between Kent and I.  He's too cute.

When we arrived at the doggie park on Sunday, there were a ton of dogs everywhere.  It was a beautiful day and it seemed as though everyone had the same idea that we did.  We grabbed his huge jug of water, his portable bowl, attached him to his leash, and headed out toward the enclosed area.  The moment we released the bondage that held him, he flew across the park and onto the backs of new friends.

Seriously.  Onto the backs of new friends--or so he thought.  I swear, we had the ONLY dog that couldn't behave himself.  He was trying to hump everything in sight--from the Great Dane to the Cocker-spaniel.  It was ridiculous and very embarrassing to say the least.  I was driving my poor husband crazy because every time Gates decided to go a-humping on some poor dog I would say, "Kent!  KENT!"  "What do you want me to do?!" he kept saying back--well, hell, I don't know.  CONTROL THE DOG?  haha

I could hear the voices in the other dog owners' heads--"Keep that horn ball at home," "What's wrong with that animal?", and "GET YOUR DOG OFF OF MINE!"  Seriously.

I love my dog--I really do.  But I wish he could extend his greetings to the other dogs in another manner.  How about a friendly bark hello?  How about a nice little wag of the tail and sniff of their butt?  Is it really necessary to get up on that?

Eventually he did settle down and simply run around with Brandon--chasing after the ball and bringing it back to him.  He drank almost 1/2 of the jug of water, and I know he tried to listen when we called him.  Selected hearing seems to run in our family with all of our children...including Gates.

It's Like Paper Facebook.

A few days ago I had a "silent discussion" happening in my classroom.  This is where the questions are posed on butcher block throughout my room and my students travel from table to table, quietly answering the questions and leaving responses for their peers.  They love it because everyone in the classroom has a voice--which can be as strong or silent as they choose.  They are pretty anonymous, believe me when I say no one knows each other's handwriting like we did when we were kids.

The days of passing notes, getting the love letter from the cute boy, and talking smack by passing the notebook back and forth are long over.  I can't remember the last time I've "confiscated" a note being passed.  Nope.  These days it's all about texting, messaging on Facebook, or the occasional email between friends.  Everything's electronic--making a statement dependent upon the font being used.  And god forbid it's in bold or all caps--look out.

When the discussion was over, I asked my kids what the experience was like for them.  I heard the same thing all day long--they loved being heard, feeling anonymous, and getting responses on their answers.  They liked how I was able to respond to so many of them and how they "talked" to some kids in the class that weren't necessarily their friends.  Everyone had a voice, not just the confident kids.

And then period 8 rolled around and one student gave the best analogy of the day.  "Miss Dr. Collins," he began, "it was like paper Facebook."  I couldn't help but grin just a bit.

He was showing me the importance of social media--the importance we all place on the feeling of being heard, which is exactly what Facebook does.  We put our thoughts out there, and hope to get a response.  The more responses we get, the more validated we feel.  We thrive on feeling connected--it's what links us all together, regardless of our walks in life.

So it was with a smile that I told him how right he was, wrote down his analogy so it wouldn't be forgotten, and let him know I'd be sharing his thoughts with my Facebook friends.  To which he got the most perplexed look on his face and said, "YOU have a Facebook?"  Yeah, if that didn't make me feel ancient, I don't know what will...

Tattoo--Number Five and I'm Done.

For those of you that know me, know I have a few tattoos.  The first one I ever got was when I was on the brink of divorce in 1997.  It was a way for me to demonstrate my independence--do something permanent.  Perhaps it was because my relationship wasn't, perhaps it was like a teenager in defiance of what was not deemed acceptable, perhaps because I just wanted one.  Regardless of the answer, I decided to venture out and get myself a tattoo.

My choice of tattoo is not one that most can understand--especially if they truly know me, and know my fears.  Number one fear is mice--any rodent really.  It's not the typical "Oh my god, it's a mouse!" type of fear either.  It's heart-stopping, blood-curdling screaming, sweating, breaking into tears type of fear.  I've been terrified of mice since I was little.  Hate them.  Absolutely detest them.  First tattoo--Mickey Mouse.  On my ankle.  You figure it out.

My second and third tattoos happened together--two Chinese symbols that I got at the same time as two of my friends (one a good friend, the other my Best Friend!).  The symbols mean true, loyal, sincere friend.  It meant something to all of us.  Lower back--got this in my early 30s and yes, before everyone else decided to get tattoos on their lower back.

My fourth tattoo I didn't get until two Decembers ago.  I love the word BELIEVE.  From the way the word looks, to the way it makes me feel.  Love the word.  Keeps me going.  Resonates hope in every sense of the word.  I had this word tattooed on my left foot, along with a little cross.  Second favorite tattoo, which I got when I was 39.

Now up to this point, I have had zero issues with getting tattoos.  While they do hurt, especially the lower back (BIG OUCH!), I never experienced any real discomfort--just the constant stabbing of needles for a little while.  Before each tattoo, I do get nervous--for me it's the usual sweaty palms, anxiously looking at the clock, just wishing for the pain to be over.  Not a big fan of pain, but I DO love tattoos!

I've been planning my fifth tattoo for quite sometime.  I wanted something to honor my love for my children.  Kids names are the only ones I personally believe you should get permanently put on your body.  I found this awesome symbolic tribal thingy that I loved--but I couldn't get my kids' names around it the way I really wanted it.  I stayed focused on this tat for over a year.  For our anniversary, we decided to get tattoos for one another.  My honey would take Wednesday off of work, and I'd plan out the entire day.  And yes, it included our tattoos.  Well, come Tuesday night, I completely changed my mind about my tattoo.  Instead I found this eucalyptus tree, intertwined with ivy.  The symbolism behind it was exactly how I wanted my tattoo to represent my children.  I also decided to just write out their names in my handwriting--after all, it was me who gave them their names, plus the imperfection of my handwriting was another symbol of me.

We showed up to the shop, and my sweating of the palms began.  What I thought was going to be the size of my tattoo was simply too small because of all the little intricacies in the design.  After a little deliberation, and size down from what the artist had in mind, I settled on the size that is now on my left shoulder.  He put the imprint on, I checked it out in the mirror, and straddled the chair that I'd be sitting in for quite awhile.  And then he began.

I don't know if it was my nerves, if I built up getting this tattoo, or if it was the way I was sitting.  Whatever the case, I could not stop sweating.  On top of this, my right foot couldn't stop tapping the floor.  I asked how long it would take, and he told me about 30 minutes.  Unfortunately there was no visible clock, so time became a bigger issue.  It was taking him forever.

About half-way in, I began to feel extremely lightheaded.  Then woozy.  Then my hands started to numb.  Ummm, not good.  I was about to pass out.  I was so embarrassed as I asked the artist to stop.  He took one look at me and started to worry.  "Hey, I never had anyone pass out on me before," he began as I swayed back and forth.  He ran to get me some water and a cool clothe for my head.  Seriously, ridiculous.  So I sat there, in a pool of sweat, waiting for the feeling to pass--and yes, with my head bent forward toward the floor.  And I was SO excited that I was in the tattoo chair right next to the receptionist desk, who kept asking if I was okay.  Okay, yes.  Embarrassed, hell yes.

After a few minutes of these two people looking at me as those I were a circus freak (and let me add that the artist is completely tatted out with the receptionist donning not only tats but a gazillion holes all over her face and body), I got a friggin' grip and he was able to continue.  When he finally finished, the chair needed a good wipe down.  I continued to sweat throughout the entire process, all down the back of the chair, which my head had to lean on.  Every man's dream, I know.

So while I had already planned on this being my last tattoo, this is really going to be my last tattoo.  Unless, I just happen to get one more that's really, really, really little.  Maybe.  Damn, tats--they are SO addictive!

Latest Article on Glass Heel--Lifting Up the Puppies 101

Here's the latest Glass Heel article!

http://www.glassheel.com/work-life-balance/lifting-puppies-101

It's pretty funny, if I do say so myself.  Quite the experience!

=)

The Squishing of the Boobs.

I'd dreaded my 40th birthday for as long as I can remember, and not for the typical reasons.  See the closer I approached 40, the more nagging I heard from my mother to get a mammogram.  And I understand why.  With both of my parents being adopted (I truly only know one biological grandparent), we have no family medical history.  I can't mark "no" on the form when being asked about my family's breast cancer history.  I simply don't know.

I've always been pulled toward Breast Cancer Awareness--I've been doing the Race for the Cure for eight years--this October will be the 9th.  I've seen a close friend lose their best friend to breast cancer at a very young age.  I babysat my friend's kids when he went to the hospital, for the last time, to see his mother who died from breast cancer.  My mom has friends with breast cancer--some who died, some who are survivors.  It's a scary thing.

When I turned 40, I didn't get a mammogram.  I was terrified.  My mother told me how painful it is--literally squishing the boobs until they are like pancakes.  She mentioned I'd have to hold my breath--another thing I suck at, which is why I can't swim to save my life (unless it's the doggie paddle--I rock at that).

When I turned 41, I didn't get a mammogram.  I was terrified.  My mother once again told me I needed to go, but then added her terrifying stories to the mix.  Yeah, right.  That's going to get me in there.  By this time my sister had also gone.  Her stories weren't as dramatic, but still it didn't sound like a pleasant experience.  I was too scared to go, so I didn't.

This year I turned 42 and said, "Screw it, I'm going."  I made the appointment on Monday, and have been terrified ever since.  I named the day "The Squishing of the Boobs" and started the countdown right away.  The appointment was scheduled for this morning at 8:10--I had to be there at 8:00.  Yesterday, the panic started setting in.  As I was taking my shower, I tried squishing my boobs--how bad could this hurt?  UMM, HELLO!  It hurt!  Screw this.  Ten minutes after I got out of the shower my boob was still sore.  This was not going to go well.  Every time I looked at the clock I would think, "By this time tomorrow The Squishing of the Boobs will be over" or "Only 10 more hours until The Squishing of the Boobs."  I've been dreading it.

Around 3:00 yesterday afternoon, Kaiser called me to reaffirmed my appointment time and to remind me not to wear any lotion or deodorant.  I guess those things can skew the test results.  "Hey this is my first mammogram and I'm terrified," I told the lady on the phone.  "Don't worry, Meredith," she assured me, "It's really not that bad.  There are some amazing ladies working tomorrow and I'll let them know it's your first mammogram.  It's going to be just fine."  Yeah, right.

I woke up this morning, jumped in the shower, and headed over toward Kaiser.  "You okay?" my husband asked me.  "Yes, just scared," was my reply trying to focus on anything but The Squishing of the Boobs.  My daughter sent me an email (she's at her dad's) wishing me luck at The Squishing.  When we arrived, we headed over toward Radiology.  "Is this your first mammogram?" the lady behind the desk asked.  "Yes," I told her.  "I can tell by the terrified look on your face," she said.  "Try to relax, it's really not that bad."

There were two other ladies in the waiting area, and Kent, and me.  I couldn't believe these women could be here without any support.  Much braver than I.  When the radiologist came into the waiting area and called my name, Kent asked if I wanted him to go.  "No, I think I can do this," gave him a kiss and headed toward the galley.  I swear I took a deep breath as the woman showed me the changing room.  "I'll be right back, and don't worry, it's not that bad."

She came to get me and we headed into the room where The Squishing of the Boobs would commence.  There was this big machine with this metal square for the boob to rest.  Then there was a square plastic contraption that would press down on the boob.  "Hey, you look nervous.  Let me go through everything with you before we start, so you know exactly what to expect."  This lady was so kind, so nice--I can't even begin to tell you the patience she extended toward me.  She had me put my hand on the metal square, then lowered the plastic square.  I could feel the pressure.  She told me I'd hold my breath because it helps keep everything still.  She told me she wasn't going to squish it pancake style and that she preferred mammograms to paps.  And I've been handling the yearly pap forever.  "Okay, I'm ready," I told her.

She put these bandaid like things on me--this was so they could see where the center was on the pictures.  And then The Squishing of the Boobs began.  And it wasn't so bad.  It wasn't that painful--honestly, my squishing in the shower was way worse than the machine was.  What I didn't know was they'd also have to so sideways pictures--the only difference was in my positioning.  I literally had to side hug the machine, which I was okay with since the machine did not inflict the pain I was expecting it to.

And then it was over.  And my years of worrying were put to rest.  I thanked the lady profusely.  And I let her know how her kindness really relaxed me and helped put my fears to the wayside.  I'm no longer afraid of the mammogram machine.  I can insure good breast health for myself because the fears have been destroyed.

One day when my daughter is approaching the 40s, I'll let her know getting a mammogram is not painful, it's necessary, and it's nothing to fear.  Until then, I'll be going and getting them once a year--except this time there will be no countdown and my husband won't have to be in the waiting room...

Great Day To Play!

Ahh!  Today was perfect from the get go.  My husband and I decided to take a day, just for us, to celebrate our anniversary.  We started the day at the gym--but not just any gym.  We headed over to the 24 Hr. Fitness at Lowry.  This was the gym we would go to when we were just friends, and then when we began our relationship.  I remember when we first started working out together--Kent would always push me to the limit.  I loved that about him.  That I was able to lift more than I ever thought imaginable.  He'd be there to spot me, to encourage me, to be my friend.  As time went on, and our relationship blossomed into more than merely friendship, it was where we'd meet every morning between 4:30 and 5:00.  Funny how I wasn't too tired to get up and go to the gym back then...

When we'd finish our workout routine, we'd head over to the Starbucks at Lowry--which is exactly where our second stop of the day was.  They knew our drinks by heart four years ago, but now the barista's have changed--even though the feeling this place evokes has not.  We took our coffee and headed over to another favorite spot--Washington Park.

I love this place.  I love the neighborhood, the houses, the ducks in the pond.  I love how we have "our bench," which is right next to "our tree."  I never tire of this place.  Today we sat on our bench, sipping our coffee, talking and laughing and being so ridiculous.  Great morning.

Our bellies started rumbling, and it was time to get a bite to eat.  Neither of us had ever eaten at Snooze, but both have wanted to for quite sometime.  We tried taking the kids there a few weekends ago, but the line was literally wrapped around the block.  This time there was only a 30 minute wait--which was SO worth it.  Seriously delicious!  We can't wait to go again.  And their coffee cups are unbelievable.  I'm literally going online to order one.  They have this little nook for my finger and my hands perfectly wrap around the mug.  I love them!  Unfortunately, so does the rest of the free world and Snooze can't keep them in stock at their store--thus, the reason for ordering it online...

After coming home, cleaning up from the workout, and spending a little time with Gator we did what we've been wanting to do for a while--get new tattoos!  The last one I got was December of 2010--the Believe on my foot.  This time I wanted a sort of tribute for me and my children.  So I found this tribal eucalyptus tree--which symbolizes protection.  There's ivy climbing along the trunk to symbolize faithful love, attachment, and tenacity.  Finally, I wrote their names and had them underneath the trunk.      Kent got a tribal tattoo on his left arm--no meaning other than he really liked it!  =)

Tonight, we were going to head back out to see The Hunger Games, but I'm way too tired.  Tomorrow brings about another day, so perhaps we'll hit a matinee'.  Great day!  I love days like this!

Happy Anniversary, My Love.

Today is our 2nd Anniversary.  Time is already going by so quickly!  I can't believe that it's already been two years since we made our vows at Washington Park in Denver and had our little reception at the Denver Chop House.  

Each year I feel closer and closer to my husband--he's truly my rock, my best friend, my love.  As cliche' as it sounds, it's true.  I still have the emails that he sent to me when we were just friends, talking about our day, our kids, our lives.  I love the way he listened--the way he wants to know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling, who I am.  He supports me, isn't threatened by my intellect or by my intrinsic motivation.  He encourages me with all I strive to be.  He's my number one fan--and I'm his.  

I'm so proud of him.  I love the fact that he's not afraid to go after his dreams.  I love how incredibly loyal and kind he is.  I love how silly we are.  I love the fact that when we go on double dates, especially with friends who are dating new people (I won't mention who this may be...Tina), and I take on the role of interrogator, that my husband laughs and accepts that's just who I am.  I love when he shakes his head and says, "I can't believe you just said that" or "Did that seriously just come out of your mouth?" or just shakes his head with that chuckle that only he possesses.

I love that it's taken him so long to open up to people around us.  He's himself no matter what--another thing I love about him.  I love that we can have completely opposite points of view, and he never belittles or tries to talk me out of things.  I love that we can discuss our views, and learn a little from the other.  I love that he appreciates my independence--and doesn't try to take that from me.  

I love that he starts the laundry, cooks dinner, vacuums or does whatever needs doing.  I love that he respects my hatred of roses and gives me flowers when least expected.  I love that he gets up to greet me should I arrive home after him.  I love that we go grocery shopping together every single Sunday, and make the list together too.  

I love that he loves to read.  I love that he doesn't absolutely detest chick flicks.  I love that he appreciates the passion I bring when watching the great Green Bay Packers.  I love that he's a man's man and does all the repairs around the house or for the cars.  I love that he's a dog guy.  I love the words he writes to me in cards that mean a lot.  I love the way he'll leave them on the bathroom sink, just ready for me when I awaken.  I love the way he wakes me up to give me a hug and kiss good-bye in the morning.

I love his sensitive side that very few get to witness.  I love the way he is with his friends--the way they love him and he loves them.  I love the way he invents new sayings--like ride the lightening.  I.E. Gator you better sit down or you'll ride the lightening--referring to the zapper, should he misbehave.

There's so many things I love about my husband.  I'm one lucky girl.

Happy 2nd Anniversary, my love.  I love you very much!