My Goodbye

So, tonight I am blogging. I could barely remember my password and I am typing to no one, but somehow, some way, I need an outlet. I was recently thinking about the title for my blog originally, and I guess I did need pimentos. Vincent, aka my pimento, came into this world not too long ago and has been the ultimate distraction from what has been consuming me since late last year.

For several months, I have been struggling with the slow decline of my best friend--my Dad. Tonight I received the news that he is in renal failure. His body has been betraying him since last November, when he took a fall. He hasn't been the same since. I guess I am writing because I need a release, and that with a couple of glasses of Merlot has led me here. I could have never imagined how difficult it would be to say goodbye. I could have never imagined that there would be days that my first love would not remember my face or even that I would have the courage to endure life's horrid events.

As lame as it sounds, I keep hearing George O'Maley from that Anatomy show saying that he was now a member of the No Dad's Club. I have been dreading that moment for a very long time. I remember thinking that if he could just be around until I was 24 that I would be ready to let go. Friends continue to encourage me to go and say my goodbyes before it is too late. I have to say that I am lucky enough to not have the need to say goodbye. There is nothing that I could say now, either for him or for myself that would either relieve my pain or save me from regrets in the future. I am lucky enough to say that we had the kind of relationship that was spoken and lived. He knew how I felt about him and me likewise. He was my rock. He was my constant reminder not to sweat the small stuff, and he always had a way of putting things in perspective, as only he could. I guess 88 years could do that to a person. As I was telling Damon tonight I suppose my only regret would be that he never had the chance to hold my son. Someone once told me that he knew him. He touched my pregnant belly and felt his movement, his life. I will hold onto that thought and know that his love is with me and with my Vincent.

Sit Ubu, Sit! Good Dog!

Yesterday was the day I chose to take Delilah for a bad knee consultation in West LA. With Olivia in tow, we headed down the 405 at a record pace. As a side note, my house and the little person in it have been undergoing a severe toddler crackdown. By crackdown, I mean there will be no more do what I want when I want to attitude. There will be no more I forgot my manners at home, or the word no means to screech louder and be even more obnoxious than the previous 42 attempts. The crackdown of course includes, severe nightly beatings and the denial of nutrients.

Back to the point. We were headed down the freeway to the overpriced pet hospital that promises service with a smile. Olivia was already amped up at just the thought of pressing the elevator button and describing to the doctor that Delilah has a bad leg. I should have known that service with a smile did not include promptness, leaving Olivia over thirty minutes to not only break into the aquarium filter but to entertain herself with a multitude of literature about the proper care and excercise of a pet. She was infatuated with the other patients at the clinic as well, and at one point, she got down on all fours and began to bark. After refusing to get up off of the floor, I attempted to pull her up by her arm. At that moment, I envisioned some shriveled up DCFS worker issuing me a ticket for parenting classes or better yet throwing me and Delilah in jail. So what is the harm in barking?

After the waiting room cleared, and we were the only disaster remaining, the three of us were escorted into the tiny exam room. Olivia then proclaimed it was snack time! I always carry a few simple snacks including, but not limited to, one fruit bar, a bag of multicolored fish crackers, another ziploc of cookies, a banana, a box of juice, maybe some cheerios, a string cheese, Yogos, a box of raisins, and possibly a hot dog or sandwich, if I need prolonged entertainment. Today snack time began with the fish crackers--one of Delilah's favorites. Dr. Owen entered the room only to discover both my child and the dog under the bench dining of fishy delights. As soon as my princess noticed the Doctor had joined us for snack she assumed the doggy position and began to bark. The vet was totally amused, and I wasn't.

I can't even begin to describe to you how difficult it is to have a serious conversation with someone, while your toddler is barking. I figured that at least she was being entertained temporarily. I began to hold Delilah for her exam, when suddenly the barking ceased. Olivia had hit her knee on the bench and immediately asked Dr. Owen to examine it through an intense stream on phony tears. Olivia told the vet that she too now had a bad leg just like Delilah May. The vet was again totally amused and explained to Olivia that she would have no idea what she was looking at and that human knees are very different than doggy knees. I thought to myself, lady, do you really want her to start barking again?

I am sure I wanted out of there even more than Delilah May. Speaking of Delilah, the poor thing just gazed into the vet's eyes as if to say, "And she thinks my leg is the problem." Unfortunately, Delilah will be enduring another knee surgery in the not too distant future. Thankfully, Quentin recently landed an Axe body spray commercial, and he is getting his finances in order. Perhaps, he can also save enough for toddler obedience classes. I've heard clicker training works well.

The Fish Whisperer

As I wandered through Wally World, aka, The Super Walmart or as the only thing to do in Santa Clarita in the afternoon, I noticed my child admiring the fish in aisle 12. I always take pity on the Bettas trapped in the 1/2 cup of dirty water and of course, want to rescue them all. Today was the day that I determined Olivia would have her first pet. We picked out the fish that looked the least stressed, chose the perfect food and fish treats, grabbed the swimming Elmo bowl decor, and headed to the self-checkout, so as to not to shake the 1/2 cup of water too violently.

Because I have been known to be only slightly semi-cheap, I figured that the bowl, the net, and the glass marbles that I had at home for my last fish, 5 or so years ago, would be perfect to house our new addition. Little did I know that within two days, I would be sneaking out to Petsmart post bedtime hours to purchase a new bowl, new net, new marbles, and new blue fish. My mom recently told me that I am not old enough to have a fish, and I tend to agree.

I have been obsessed. Imagine this. Your two-year old wakes up, pushes her chair over to the counter, and eats breakfast, lunch, and dinner with Fish Blue. Not only does she eat with Fish Blue, but she checks on him at least every hour and continues to ask why Fish Blue is resting at the bottom, yet again. "Night-night fishy," she says and heads to bed, as I poke the poor thing to ensure that it is living. Now, keep in mind that I am an avid animal activist, a vegetarian, dog stopping, cat saving fool that transports the ugliest of insects by cup to a better and more peaceful home in the backyard. Not to mention, how on earth do you tell your fish loving child that you had to flush her first pet down the potty that you so desperately want her to use?

In tears, I sneak off to Petsmart. When I arrive, I speak to idiot number one, who I tell my tale of woe to. She responds, "Did you remember to feed it?" Oh yeah, food. Idiot number two tells me to add a plant and reminds me that if I bring back the dead body with the receipt that they would gladly replace Fish Blue with a fish equal to or up to his value. Why thank you. I will gladly bring my moaning toddler back with the fish carcas for a fish of equal value. Needless to say, I purchased every water conditioner, fish medication, and live plant that I could find to help Fish Blue and his water quality. Oh yeah, I also purchased Fish Blue Number Two, a new bowl, a new net, and new rocks to go at the bottom.

Home, I made my way, with a brief stop at Target for some new Arrowhead water--surely Wally World had somehow poisoned their bottled water. I arranged the new bowl for Fish Blue Number Two and created a "hospital bowl" for Fish Blue Number One. I thought that certainly, or secretly wished, that Fish Blue Number One would pass in the night, but no. He is still here, upstairs, hidden from Olvia's sight, gasping for air and awaiting his fate. It has been one week and two days of misery, but tonight he has eaten. Amen. Tonight, I have also noticed new black spots on his fins, as he gobbled down his worms. Back I will go tomorrow to purchase new medications and bowl salt and will be happy that my Olivia is still too young to recognize that Fish Blue Number One is really Fish Blue Number Two. Hopefully, insanity is not hereditary.

The Membership that Gives You So Much More

I have been thinking about several interesting and very bloggable subjects lately, but it is today's historic events that must take precedence. Olivia and I shot out of the house at 9:30am this morning and headed over to pick-up Granny and Grandpa Hat. Grandpa Hat made his usual grand entrance to the car, as he tripped over the corner of his lawn and wobbled like a drunken sailor to his seat in the front row. Grandpa Hat is now 87 and refuses to use his walker, because it "makes me feel old." Who needs a walker when you have a 30 something year-old daughter to catch you as you fall?

Fast forward.

With the car fully loaded, we headed to Dr. Myshitdontstink's to reschedule a serious procedure that my mom is now only thinking about enduring. As I am speeding down the freeway, Grandpa Hat announces, "I have to use the toilet." Now, this is serious business when you are 87 and is not to be taken lightly. Sphinkters don't work quite like they used to, if you get my drift. Do you want me to turn the car around? "No, I want to go in the building in Burbank," he demands. Dad, how about El Pollo Loco or McDonalds? How about something close by? "No, I like the toilet in the building." Luckily for me, he managed to make it to the men's room in time, announcing for all to hear, "spent a nickel."

We aren't even to the good part yet. For the previous two or so hours I thought, 10 minutes isn't too long is it? I was certain that Grandpa Hat would be able to handle waiting in the car alone with Olivia. All I needed was 10 minutes without a certain senior or a certain toddler to arrange a medical procedure for a certain someone. Sure, no problem. Olivia was focused on Elmo Visits the Doctor and seemed perfectly content to eat her smiley faced gummi fruits. Grandpa Hat was given detailed instructions, which entailed remaining seated in the car until I returned.

I raced into the office, where my mother and I were asked to wait while the woman who schedules the surgeries finished filing her nails. I watched the clock on my Crackberry closely, as the minutes passed by. I am sure everything is fine I thought to myself, as my always optimistic mother told me that it was very possible that Grandpa Hat might try to take Olivia out of the car. After the rescheduling concluded, I made my way rapidly out to the parking lot and witnessed Grandpa Hat demanding that one of the parking attendants contact AAA to open the car door. As soon as he saw me, he exploded in all of his senior anger demanding to know where I was and what was taking so long! "She is crying, he said frantically, and the door is locked!" He went on to explain that he was only 2 minutes away from breaking out my window with his cane. I guess I should be thankful he didn't have a walker. I immediately ran to the car to find Olivia out of gummi snacks but quite pleased that her movie was still playing. Yes, all of the doors were in fact, locked. I am still uncertain how Grandpa Hat had managed that.

I canceled the call to AAA, and we headed for lunch at CPK. The day seemed to progress as my salad arrived. I also took some joy in watching Olivia smear pizza grease all over the streak-free shiny windows. However, that joy turned sour, when my car keys fell into the toilet at my mom's house. It happens, I suppose.

Round #2?

One year ago today I wrote about Lady Godiva--the hummingbird that chose to make her nest in our backyard. Unfortunately, the blog was interrupted, because either me poking around at her nest or the 100 degree weather forced her to abandon her egg. Well, I noticed today that she is back, or at least a bird that looks just like her is back. If I have anything exciting to report I will, and if not, I will just enjoy a glass of wine. Until then...

Please forgive the lack of witty pictures. If you are really that interested you can hit the older posts link and admire the nest from last year. They really do look very much the same. Have a nice weekend. You deserve it!

Who Needs Pimentos to feature new polling option. Please scroll down. (Not sure which coding monkey thought it would be nifty to put the poll at the bottom of the page, Nick, Damon?)

Breaking News...Childbirth Cures Aerophobia

Did I remember everything? Diapers-check, Wipes-check, Bananas-check, Lightning McQueen Easter Basket-check, Teddy Bear-check, Bot-check, Juice Box-check, Stroller-check, Detangler-check, don't forget the Bows-check, Clothes-check, Medicine-check, Medicine in case she has a reaction to the Medicine-check, no Quentin you may not be smuggled along in the suitcase-check, the Husband-check, and...what else? Olivia-check.

Speed down the 405. Arrive at the parking spot. Head straight for the self-service ticket machine. Strip down for security. Wait for the plane. Notice the frightened passengers faces as they notice the 2 1/2 year-old boarding their plane. Yes, she will be sitting behind you. Did I remember her banana-check. Fly to Dallas. Take the shuttle to the next plane. Fly to San Antonio. Wait on the freeway. Head to the hotel. Head to the extended family's pad. Eat. Drink. Eat some more, then eat. Sleep. Repeat sequence and head home.

Air travel has changed drastically for me since the birth. Not only do I have to remember to pack half of the house, but I no longer require a highly intoxicated state to board the aircraft. I used to be absolutely petrified to fly. PETRIFIED! I would be up the entire night before and really expected the day of travel to be my last. Morbid, I know. Now let's not get carried away, it isn't like I enjoy it or look forward to it, but the majority of my fear is gone. Perhaps, I wouldn't be able to load my kid on a deathcraft, if I had really believed it wouldn't make it past the runway, or maybe I am just too distracted remembering teddy bears and ointment, or maybe I am too busy modeling how terrific flying is to my enthusiastic toddler. It sounds to me like I am ready to publish and proclaim myself an expert.

Amanda J. Hills, PhD

I kinda like the sound of that. Cheers.

Josh Goes Down in History

Oh what a blog. Blogging can be quite tricky. Actually, it involves careful attention to detail and subject and must incorporate some humor, all while not offending any of its' active blog followers. I can think of many subjects that pop into mind to write about, but I am sure at least 5 of you would not be very appreciative of the titles. I would also hate to go on and on about typical blog subjects, such as what color was my kids latest booger or how happy and fabulous it is to be me. So what does that leave me? I guess it leaves me with close to six months of bloglessness. Currently, I am laying on my bed with the computer on my lap waiting to paint my face on and head to work. The People's Court is blaring in the background and Olivia is sound asleep fighting off her 101 degree fever and occasional cough. I am sifting through my latest adventures in life, and it seems like there are only a few highlights during the last few weeks.

I have to describe to you all my recent experience at the Gentle Barn. For months, I have seen the colorful ad in the local SCV magazine enticing me to pet the cows, brush the pigs, feed the horses, and hold the chickens, so finally Olivia and I made the drive down Sierra Highway to the Gentle Barn. Damon was busy doing man things in the garage, so he missed the journey.

We arrived wearing thongs, okay so I am not a country girl, and immediately noticed the huge property where about 100 or so rescued farm animals call home. Olivia and I made our donation, $5 per person, purchased a 25 cent bag of carrots and headed straight for the cows. All of the cows sported veg friendly names, like Vegan and Karma. I have to admit they were a bit intimidating as they trotted over to grab an orange tasty delight. Olivia begged to be picked up to their level, as she managed to lick the brush she was using on Vegan. Yes, I said lick. The volunteers had obviously bonded with the creatures and each animal seemed to have their favorite.

After leaving the cow arena we headed to the pigs, who wallowed in large mud baths and took naps in the pig houses that had been designed to fit their shapely figures. I had no idea that farm animals, who were treated humanely, really did enjoy human company. Olivia and I were feeding the pygmy goats, chickens and turkey when we noticed Josh the sheep, a former petting zoo survivor with a smile that would make anyone laugh. Olivia immediately proclaimed, "Sheep, me favorite!" With that said, we headed home and agreed to sponsor Josh for the year.

I wish I could describe to you with accuracy the aura that surrounds the Gentle Barn. I was a bit concerned that the horrendous stories of the abused farm animals would sadden me deeply or that it would appear that a person who meant well took on more than she could handle, but the animals truly spoke to me. No, I am not hearing voices, at least not currently. That Sunday was just one of those memories that I won't soon forget. http://www.gentlebarn.org

This blog is dedicated to my biggest supporters, Kaitlyn and Pops.