Desperate Times

I'm at a loss. There are a lot of things going on in my life right now. A new kid on the way (OMG), an already-there kid I'm trying not to screw up too too bad, an increasingly sick mother who is in denial of all things medical/involving the natural aging process in general, a super-needy dog and a chronically overworked, overstressed husband- and these are just the people in my life I'm supposed to be taking care of! There's some commotion at my job in response to yet another annual awards ceremony where we walked away with 2 nominations, 0 awards. We're frustrated that all of our ideas and attempts to branch out of "fitness" and enter into more of a "wellness" category are being trumped by the corporation whose fitness center we staff, yet the powers that be in the company we actually work for are losing interest and faith in us because we're not branching out. We're trying to move SOON so the house is in a constant state of disarray at the moment while we try to get rid of all the extra stuff we don't really need at all, pack away the stuff we won't need for a while, to put into storage, and make the things we need on a daily basis look pretty yet maintain the "uninhabited" look so when we're ready to start showing the house, people are more likely to picture themselves living here and want to buy. This is virtually impossible with a 3-year old, a dog who lives in a perpetual state of puppyhood, and a pregnant-lazy mom.

Despite all this stuff going on in my life, I'm bored. I know I say that a lot, but I just keep coming back to it. Mostly it's my career. It's just boring. And anything I think up to make it more interesting and along the type of stuff I'd like to do just ends up being rammed repeatedly against a wall.

Changing jobs at this point is not an option. Although it's illegal to discriminate, no company is going to want someone who will be going on maternity leave for 12 weeks in August. Not to mention that I wouldn't even qualify for FMLA, so I might not even get the full 12 weeks. Plus, in my line of work, physical ability is a big thing, and right now I don't even look the part, let alone claim to be able to teach a variety of classes or even just lead by example. Plus my hours are pretty sweet and still allow us to get by without having to rely on daycare.

But in order to keep myself motivated and happy, I feel I need to increase my knowledge base and further my education. I feel like my mind is literally melting away into pus at this job because I'm not using any of the clinical skills I learned over the years.

So I have whittled it down to a few options. Most of these involve waiting until I'm in better shape, physically. And the scariest thing is that they all involve investing a pretty decent amount of money. Which means I might have to hire a bodyguard when the time comes to reveal my plan to my husband, once it has been created. But this is just me thinking of what my options are.

-MPH- Masters in Public Health. I already have a MS in Exercise Science but that won't get me very far in anything except fitness and cardiac rehab. And while I adored cardiac rehab, it was more the health education aspect that I liked. Fitness is great, but I'm starting to think it's more of a hobby for me than a career choice. Johns Hopkins offers a MPH program that takes 3 years to complete (part-time) and is completely online. I have reviewed all the requirements for admission, and the only thing I would need to do is take the GREs (they weren't required for my 1st MS) which is optional, but they warned it may place me at a disadvantage if I choose not to take them. So once I get the MPH I have the option of continuing on to earn a PhD in Public Health. But that would be down the road. Like when I'm 35.

-Increase group exercise class instruction repertoire. I've been interested in teaching Pilates, yoga, and kickboxing, but these all require specialized training, which costs money. My wonderful professional development reimbursement policy at work allows for up to a whopping $250 per year. Hardly enough to cover a yoga training and certification class. In fact, probably nowhere near enough. I also can't really start these programs until this fall, at the earliest. And once I do, I'd like to moonlight as a group ex instructor at some commercial gyms- just going in once or twice per week to teach certain classes.

-Change careers completely. Sometimes I wonder why I chose fitness as a career, when it would have been perfectly fine as a hobby. I have a lot of interests and a lot of talents and abilities, but no formal education in anything that I would be interested in pursuing. So it would either involve more school, which I might as well just do the MPH thing, or getting a lame nondescript job that doesn't really provide any type of satisfaction. So I might as well just stay where I am.

-Take the knowledge I have now and design a website to prevent myself from becoming stale, and keep myself motivated. This doesn't have to involve a lot of money, but it would take a lot of time and creativity. I just have to get my mind into that place where I can dedicate myself to creating something like that. I actually did this a few months ago, I set up a health and fitness blog, but I lost the URL, password and username, and everything else I needed to access it. So I might just need to declutter my mind before I get to deep into it.

So these are the options that are flying through my head right now. Hopefully I can be in the planning stage now while I'm kind of incapacitated, and jump right into some kind of change once I'm back to my fighting....self.

Colored People and Christ Quality Control

SB goes to preschool 3 days per week. Every day she comes home with a daily report detailing what they studied or worked on that day, and which activities SB participated in and enjoyed.

I am pleased, after looking at a recent report, to know that her preschool encourages racial integration, as they considered it a memorable moment when my daughter "worked with the colored people."



Now they just have to update their archaic language to include more politically correct terms.

We didn't really do much to celebrate Valentine's Day. We usually don't. But we both found ourselves available on Friday morning while SB was at preschool, so we went out to breakfast to "celebrate." TB later brought me shopping for some jewelry, but the only thing I'm really interested in is an anniversary band to replace my engagement and wedding rings. I've been looking for something more simple since I never wear my rings when I work out or teach classes. This results in me rarely even wearing my rings to work for fear I'll misplace them.

The anniversary bands were all too expensive for my taste, especially since we'd like to move before the summer, so I didn't get anything. But I felt kind of bad that we didn't really get much of a celebration so on Sunday night I was ordering some pizzas to feed the family and a friend of TB, and I ordered this for TB:



I'm such a romantic. But it was extra special, because I later found that the pizza experience was managed by none other than Christ, himself.

Someone Owes Me

2009 has not been good to me. Whoever it is who sits up there in the clouds and decides what curveballs to throw at us has it in for me. Bad.

Just when things had calmed down with Koko being sick, SB get sick. I mean really sick. I'm talking that horrible nasty stomach virus that has nastiness coming out of both ends at the same time...all the time.

TB had it a few weeks ago, but SB got it worse. She was throwing up constantly from Thursday night through Sunday. And going to the bathroom literally every 5 minutes (sometimes more frequently) for almost that entire duration as well.

Doctor's orders said we just have to let it run its course, but dehydration was a serious side effect since she wasn't able to keep anything down. As soon as she drank some Pedialyte, it would come right back up. Same to water, apple juice and Gatorade. The doctor advised us not to give her any water (stick with the Pedialyte), and stick to a bland food BRATT diet once she was ready to eat.

Of course, SB soon decided that she didn't like the Pedialyte or the Gatorade. All she wanted was water. And she asked for it. Every 3.5 minutes. We kept telling her no, she needs to drink her "medicine juice" and even got her multiple flavors, but she wasn't having any of it.

She pretty much went 2 days without any food at all, and by Sunday, her eyes were sunken in and had huge nasty horrible dark circles under them. I felt so horrible for her. You hear about this stuff going around, but when it happens to someone so young and so helpless, who can't understand why she can't have food when she's hungry or chocolate milk right after she puked, it's tough to take.

The ONLY bright side to this whole ordeal is that somehow, for the second time, I've managed to avoid getting this horrible virus...so far. I told my husband it would almost be interesting if I did get it since I haven't thrown up since the 7th grade. I'm almost curious to see what it would take to get me to throw up again. There have been a couple of times in that almost 20-year period since then that I've attempted to make myself throw up. Mostly because I was feeling sick and heard people say that sometimes it's better to throw up because you feel better after. But it never worked.

I am just wired that way, I guess. I tend to sneeze instead. Recently I've been feeling waves of nausea. They'll swell up and I'll be standing over a trash can, ready to let it all out, kind of scared that I won't remember what to do...then let out a huge sneeze and feel better.

So here's hoping that my next post is all good news and fun stuff! Actually, I'm about to head over to my pregnancy blog to announce some good news, so if you want to hear some, head on over there! It probably won't happen here any time soon.

Koko Owes Me.

This is my dog Koko. She adores me, as you can see in the photo.


I know she looks like a big black blob in the picture, but it was kind of dark and I was trying to capture the mood so I had to shoot fast. And I know I have a goofy look on my face too, and I could go on for hours giving you awesome reasons why I look the way I do but I'm just going to say it's a bad photo altogether.

But you get the main idea. My dog loves me.

As well she should. I take her for dangerous walks in the snow, putting my comfort second and her constant need for exercise first.


I do all sorts of awesome things for her. But the past week has tested my undying love for this dog, and I think I passed with flying colors.

It all started last Friday. I felt bad for Koko because it was icy pretty much all week last week, and while I will walk her any time in the snow, I will not risk walking either of us in the ice. She wasn't even getting any exercise running around our really long backyard. She did all her...um, business on the deck.

Yes, instead of going down the stairs, which we made certain were devoid of all ice and danger, she chose to wander about 4 feet away from our sliding door to squat and leave nasty splotches of yellow and brown snow all over our deck.

In case you couldn't tell, Koko's a chocolate lab. Therefore, she is forever an excitable puppy. She's sprained her tail several times due to excitement issues. So she needs her exercise. And I got the bright idea that we should take her swimming.

There's a place in Timonium where you can reserve an indoor doggy pool for 15 minutes so your dog can swim to her heart's content, then give her a bath without breaking your back in their raised doggy tubs complete with detachable nozzle. This bath part was important because part of the reason I decided to take Koko swimming was because she was starting to smell and needed the bath.

So we all pile into the truck. Koko has anxiety issues and is not a good passenger when travelling, so she was shaking and drooling the entire 20-minute ride. But as soon as she saw the pool, she jumped right in! She swam around for a minute and chased the various floating toys we threw at her.

Then I noticed something coming out of her butt. While she was swimming. Closer inspection (and by this I mean me leaning over the pool wall) proved my theory correct. My dog had pooped in the pool. Several large sausage links of poo were at various stages of sinking to the bottom of the pool.

I was just about to open my mouth to announce my findings to TB and make figure out how to clean it up when I noticed Koko had exited the pool and was dry heaving right in front of me.

Sure enough, in addition to the present she left in the pool, there was soon a heaping pile of partially digested dog food, along with some bread crusts SB must have donated, sitting alongside it.

From that point on, she had a grand old time.


Fast forward to last night. She threw up a few times in the afternoon, which I had to clean up, which is a post in and of itself since my gag reflex is very sensitive right now. The fourth time, I realized that she was puking up blood.

Great.

So we hightailed it to the vet, who felt the need to put my 75-lb dog on the scale and raise it until she was nearly at eye level with us. Usually they examine her on the floor, probably for the very reason that I'm about to detail.

At some point during this examination, Koko decides she's had enough, she's going to jump off the table. Which wouldn't be a problem if a)Koko wasn't afraid of heights and a huge klutz and had approximately a 89% chance of landing on her face, and b) SB wasn't standing right behind the table, where Koko was intending to jump.

Somehow, my reflexes of steel sprung into action and I caught her in mid-air.

Yes, I just said I caught my 75-lb dog in mid-air. While the vet did nothing.

Actually, while I was standing there HOLDING my 75-lb dog, she commented that it was pretty impressive that I had caught a 75-lb dog. But, as much as the compliment was appreciated, that's as far as she went in terms of helping.

Did I mention I'm pregnant? I shouldn't be catching 75-lb dogs. But they shouldn't be leaping off tables. They shouldn't be on tables to begin with. And 3-year olds need to learn to listen to their mommies when they tell them to sit on the bench and stay there, and not wander around to stand behind tables that are holding stupid 75-lb dogs.

I lowered Koko to the ground, we finished the checkup, I shelled out $200 for the visits, medication and "bland food diet in a can", then headed out to pile everyone in the truck so we could go home.

On the way, I did witness a police officer handcuff a guy, put him in the back of the police car, then proceed to enter the guy's car. So that was kind of interesting.

But now, this medicine that Koko's on, or the change in her food, or both, causes diarrhea and horrible horrible HORRIBLE godawful kill-me-now gas. Which Koko feels compelled to share with the rest of us. And now our entire house smells like an overflowing toilet with a seat made out of sulfur, sitting in a dump, surrounded by decomposing animals, all of whom had at some point during their last 10 minutes of life threatened a skunk with some kind of horrible bacterial infection in its anal glands.

So yeah, life is fun. And the way I see it, Koko still owes me. It seems that every time I try to do something nice for her, she thanks me with some kind of smelly waste removal bodily function.