

She's kicked aside the Litterbox and chosen to live in the Sunlight...
I'm tired. And the pop machine with freshly stocked Mountain Dew is calling to me ... loudly ... from down the hall ... around the accounting office in my building. But I shall not bend. I have not had any caffeinated pop since the 12th of this month. And today will not break me. But I'm tired.
Why all this fatigue, you wonder? Well, our little farmette is quickly turning into a petting zoo. About a week ago, you may remember me reporting that the kids and Marty found where Sally, our resident Mama Cat, had tucked away her most recent litter: in the crawl space under the porch. All seven of those cute, little fur balls are thriving! Running all around, eating kitty food, and staying out from under our vehicles.
Turns out, seven really must be our lucky number because last night, our beagel, our beloved Sidney Freedman may have secured me new furniture before Christmas! Her water broke as we watched the World Series! On the couch! And it's not leather or microfiber, but good ol' cloth!
Working fast, we fashioned a birthing room upstairs where we could keep a close eye on her and by 10:05 p.m., the first of seven SPREAGLES were born (Sid is a beagel and her baby daddy, Chubby, is a springer spaniel). While it's been a few years since I labored my children into this world, I was so feelin' for Sidney. You could hear her push and groan and every once in awhile a pained howl would be launched into the universe. At one point, I think it may have been "transition," she left her quarters as if to say, "I'm soooo outta here," and jumped up on my bed (looks like Santa's bringin' new sheets, as well).
Who knew that newborn puppies were so loud?! It sounded like a pack of wild dingos in there! But by sunrise, all seven were settled down and cuddled up with Mommy, a sea of black and white. To quote my husband, "It looks like a herd of Holsteins.
So, would it be wrong to have a celebratory Dew?
As I was saying, the caffeine-free life hasn't been horrible. No, it's more like I'm living in a black-and-white flick, life all Ozzie and Harriet, devoid of conflict and taste, but with a slightly decreased tremor. Wait, did I write, devoid of conflict? Well, that was until last night. With a slow-burn of a headache having set in yesterday afternoon (weird how the DTs took 4 days to hit, no?) my family sat down for supper at which time Moira mentions something white, with some orange-ish red, came out of her mouth. "That was blood," she said casually. Remember that bone graft thing I was going on about last week? It sure sounds like a chunk of bone has now left said graft. Bummmmmmerrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My baby-selfish-self just wants this behind her/us! But, no such luck. We'll know more next week when we return to the doc.
This is the kinda stuff, though, that I don't handle well. And would I handle it any better with some real Joe (not that damn plumber) or better yet, a Marlboro Ultra Mild? No. So here I sit, 6:13 in the a.m. with a cup of Folgers instant decaf that I found in the freezer. Certainly this cannot be the same Folgers decaf that I bought during the 2004 Bitchfest: "The Blair Bitch Project," can it? Oh yes it can! Folgers offers a timeline for saving coffee. Go look at the recommendations for keeping opened cans of instant coffee crystals.