My little girl is growing up so fast.
Stella seems to be advancing by leaps and bounds lately -- some figurative, some literal -- especially in the past week. Not only has she pretty much doubled in weight since we got her, she's learning new things all the time.
This past weekend was especially exciting for her. Since about a week after she came home with us, she'd been suffering from a potentially contagious cough, so we hadn't been able to socialize her with other dogs or take her to obedience school. Furthermore, because of the latter, we hadn't been able to socialize her with many people, either. But after the vet gave her a clean bill of health a few weeks ago, we decided it was time for puppy classes. We start in two weeks.
I made the arrangements for the class over the phone and was told that I could pick up the receipt at the store, so on Wednesday night when I got home from work, I asked my husband if he wanted to go there with me and bring Stella along. I thought it would be good for her to see the place and also to go out somewhere besides the vet's office. It was her first errand, and she did very well. She definitely has some things to learn when greeting people (we have, so far, been unable to break her of her jumping-up habit), but she did just fine with the other dogs, and once she calmed down a bit, she was even able to sit for a treat.
By the way, she was a total rock star, too. Everyone who saw her commented on how cute she was. I mentioned to the store employees that that happens at the vet's office, too (every time they take her in the back room to weigh her or give her a shot or something, I can hear all the vet techs going, "Stella! Oh, Stella, you're so cute!"). The employees told me that's how they are with all dogs, but I didn't see any other dogs getting the red carpet treatment while we were there. I think Stella's just the best. If the attention she's received to date is any indication, I have a feeling my little peanut girl will be the prom queen at puppy school.
On Thursday, Stella went on another outing -- over the river and through the woods to my in-laws' house. She met my sister-in-law's chihuahua, Rosa, and while the two didn't exactly hit it off (Stella wanted to sniff and say hello, but Rosa -- one of the few dogs in this world smaller than Stel -- was a bit nervous), I think she did alright. She also met two of my brother-in-law's kids, ages five and six, and she patiently allowed them to pet her and scratch her behind the ears. I had a brief moment of panic when she took a flying leap into my brother-in-law's lap (a lap in which he was holding his six-month-old baby) and then walked across it to say hello to his wife, but otherwise, she did just fine.
Side note: It really creeped me out on Thanksgiving when people called Stella our "daughter." I adore her, but that doesn't change the fact that she is a dog, not a human child.
But the most exciting milestone of the weekend came the night my husband and I decided not to take her out for a middle-of-the-night potty break. We tried once before, but she woke us up at 5:30, whining to be let out. This time, however, she made it all the way through. I was so proud of her. I think she was proud, too, because as soon as she came back in, she went straight to the bedroom door, pushed it open and jumped up onto the bed and my sleeping husband to tell him the good news.
I wonder if "leave puppy parents alone while they are sleeping" is on the obedience school syllabus. I'm kind of hoping so, because although it was funny when it happened to my husband, I'm not so sure I'd think the same thing if it had been me.
When we use the phrase "Christmas spirit," we usually think of happy things -- the joy of giving, the excitement of seeing friends and family, the love we feel for our fellow man.
Today, I saw the other kind of Christmas spirit -- the meanness that comes out only during the yuletide season.
I volunteer with a community group that puts together events for residents of and visitors to our town, and today, we held our annual Santa's arrival. There are carriage rides, cookies, music, a tree lighting, and, of course, visits with the big guy himself. It's a lovely family event, and it's all free -- which means it attracts some of the meanest people in the community.
It's amazing the way anything to do with children or Christmas brings out the nastiness in people, and the sense of the entitlement they get when attending a free event.
Stationed at the door where people entered to visit with Santa, I heard quite a few nasty comments. People didn't like having to wait; they didn't like the fact that they needed a ticket; they didn't like that we pulled them out of line when they tried to sneak in out of turn.
One man stood and yelled at me for so long that I finally relented and told him to get in line, and then he continued to complain to everyone in line with him. I heard later that the man behind him told him to shut up, that this was a free event and the least he could do was abide by the rules. (I wanted to hug that man). There was also a lady who played the "you're breaking my toddler's heart" card after we told her she wouldn't be able to see Santa today. Sorry kid, but maybe if your mommy hadn't waited to bring you until half an hour after we finished handing out tickets -- the time had been clearly printed in several publications -- she wouldn't be on the naughty list, and you'd get to see Santa.
I understand these parents want their kids to see Santa, and I'm sure the kids looked forward to it. Plus it was a long, cold wait outside, especially for those children whose parents hadn't bothered to dress them in winter coats. But come on. This was a free community event. We had more than 500 people attend. People shouldn't expect to get in and out within 10 minutes; it just doesn't work like that.
It just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished and that no amount of nice things you do for a person will ever be enough.
I've had a really stressful couple of weeks, and this weekend has been especially maddening. So on the way to the event today, I got to thinking how it would lift my spirits to attend a community celebration where happiness was the order of the day. How disappointing that some people thought their happiness was more important than the happiness of others.
So now, with the day behind me, I can't help feeling a little like Charlie Brown, wondering if anyone out there can tell me what Christmas is all about.
Last night, I made the best pumpkin pie ever.
It was a bit premature, I know, since Thanksgiving isn't till Thursday, and turkey day, such as it is, is not until Friday. My husband's family always eats lasagna on Thanksgiving, and while they have turkey too, it's not the same carby, over-the-top, gorge-yourself-on-
stuffing-and-mashed-potatoes-and-corn-and-
cranberries-shaped-like-the-can-they-came-in (then top it all off with pie) meal I grew up with. So I figured this year I'd make my own turkey dinner with all the trimmings, including pie, on Friday. But I ended up making the pie early.
The thing is, I wasn't sure I'd be able to make a decent pie that I could eat. I've always made pumpkin pie with evaporated milk, but I haven't seen a soy version of that, so I had to go looking for a pie recipe that was naturally dairy free.
I found one on a vegan Web site. It needs few ingredients -- just canned pumpkin, sugar, spices and tofu (yes, tofu) -- and requires very little work, so I figured if it turned out tasting like crap, at least I wouldn't feel as if I'd wasted my time. I was skeptical about the tofu though. I've eaten it before, but I had never cooked with it before, and I quickly learned that it smells a bit like something you might use in elementary school art class. Then again, raw meat smells pretty bad too, so I gave the tofu the benefit of the doubt and mixed it on in.
And the pie was amazing. Really amazing. The only difference between it and regular pumpkin pie is that it's not quite as firm (but I think if I used firmer tofu, it would be). Even my husband, who doesn't like pumpkin, told me it was "delicious."
I had been a little bummed on Saturday when I passed the lady fingers at Trader Joe's, knowing there's probably no way I can make those without dairy products, but this pie recipe gives me hope that I can still eat well in a world without dairy.
I'm in trouble.
It's only November, and I am freezing. Not miserable, not yet, but it's chilly enough outside to make me break out the flannel jammies and warm socks. And that's not all.
I have an addiction to hot baths. It seems to be the only way I can get warm on chilly nights. I crank up the heat in my condo, turn on the humidifier and cuddle under blankets, but I've got a constant underlying chill in my bones unless I take a near-to-scalding bath or shower in the evening.
It's not a good idea; I'm going to make my skin dry out even more than it usually does in the winter, and my water bill is going to be astronomical. But I can't help it. I just can't get warm without a hot bath, and once I take one, I'm comfortable for the rest of the night.
If I feel this way now, though, I wonder how I'm going to feel in February. I might have to start warming my clothes in the dryer too.
I hope my mother doesn't read this entry, because I know it will only disappoint her.
A few years ago, she gave me a stern warning that if I start doing all of the housework, my husband will get used to it and never help. I'm sure she's right, but luckily, my husband and I have always been pretty good about splitting up the chores. I do most of the laundry, scour the bathrooms and do the vacuuming and dusting, and he does the dishes and cleans the kitchen (my most-hated chores). He also does the "man stuff" like change the oil in our cars and put goop around the windows to keep bugs from coming in.
He's never said anything to me like, "that shelf is looking rather dusty," or "how about running the vacuum today," but I realized last night that he has in fact gotten used to at least one thing I do around the house.
After dinner, I mentioned that chocolate chip cookies would taste really good. He had bought some chocolate chips at the store, so he said, "yeah, you should make some." I told him never mind; I didn't really feel like baking, but he kept on about it. Every time I walked through the kitchen, he'd ask if I was baking cookies yet.
"When did you become that husband?" I asked him.
"When you became that wife," he shot back.
He had a point; he really did. He loves chocolate chip cookies, so I've sort of made it a habit that when he has a long week or a particularly bad day, I'll bake him some. It's something small that I can do that I know will brighten his day. He's always very appreciative, but now I guess he's gotten used to it.
And I will admit it. I made the cookies. After all the cookie talk, I really had a taste for them. I even brought him a couple just-out-of-the-oven ones to enjoy.
But I also left the kitchen for him to clean.
As part of my never-ending quest to pretend that I want to eat healthier, I picked up the book Skinny Bitch from the library last week.
The book aims to be a no-nonsense, kick-in-the-ass guide to teach people just how unhealthy they are eating, and the authors, a former model and a former model agent, are touted on the back of the book as "your new smart-mouthed girlfriends who won't mince words and will finally tell you the truth about what you're feeding yourself."
In my opinion, they often come off not as "smart-mouthed girlfriends" but "snotty head cheerleaders who call you nasty names just because you can't do a pull-up." Note: Despite the fact that this sounds like an autobiographical situation, it's not. Except for the part about my not being able to do a pull-up.
Attitude aside, however, the book definitely was somewhat of a wakeup call. The chapter about sugar (aka "the devil") was especially interesting to me, as sugar is something I love. But cutting out the sugar in my diet has been on my mind ever since I interviewed a cancer survivor last month who told me that sugar pretty much is the devil when it comes to cancer.
There was also some pretty damning information about the meat and dairy industries, some of which I'm positive is true, some of which I can't be sure about without more investigation. The book was basically a persuasive speech about why people should become vegan, both for health reasons and to fight against poor treatment of animals.
I'm not going to run out and become a vegan; it's hard enough just avoiding dairy, and that's even factoring in the tummy trouble it gives me. But the book did make me want to make better food choices. I don't eat horribly, but I could eat a lot better than I do, and this book really made me want to. At the very least, it made me not want to eat as much -- the chapters on meat processing alone were enough to make me lose my appetite for awhile.
So while the chances of my actually becoming vegan are skinny bitch to none, I do plan to try to think like one from now on. I am officially done with dairy (which means a trip to Whole Foods is in order so I can re-investigate the world of soy cheese), and I will henceforth make every effort to cut the white sugar from my diet. As for meat, I vow to at least feel guilty when I eat it.
I've been cruising some vegan Web sites for recipes, and while some of them are full of ingredients I wouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole, there are a few I think I can handle without stepping out of my comfort zone too much.
As a half-assed step in the right direction, I bought some green tea the other day. I hate the taste of green tea on its own, so I bought "jasmine green tea," which smells fantastic and kind of tastes like it smells, but since I sometimes use jasmine scented stuff on my body, it almost tastes like I'm drinking perfume.
Oh well. If my insides aren't healthier, at least they'll smell good.
It is common knowledge among those who know me that I don't give a flying fig about the personal lives of celebrities.
But while doing some research last night for a freelance story I'm writing, I found this photo of Denise Richards and her Boston Terrier, Stella. Finally, a piece of information about a famous person that really does relate to my own life.
I wonder if Denise Richards' Boston Terrier Stella is also nicknamed Peanut Girl. I'd like to think yes.
Dear Whoever Hires Writers for Movies and TV,
I've never written for movies or TV, but whatever I came up with couldn't be any worse than stupid ad-libbed reality shows. You could at least bet on some quirky comedy. And I would charge less than the union does.
Just something to think about. I look forward to your call.
Sincerely,
Erika
This has got to be one of the best ideas ever.
I only wish I had been invited to participate. I could probably write a whole score for these folks.
I listened to Christmas music on the radio all weekend.
It almost felt wrong, and it definitely felt too early. But like I said the other day, after Christmas is over, nothing good happens for several months, so doggone it, I'm going to make the most of Christmas.
The trouble is, there are a lot of Christmas songs I don't particularly like. And I find those get in the way of the ones I do. A few months ago, I posted a list of songs I wanted someone to put on a mix CD for me, and no one ever did (except for "Baby Got Back," but I had to beg). Anyway, I figured I'd try with Christmas songs and see if anyone wanted to oblige.
"Christmas Time Is Here" by Vince Guaraldi Trio -- It's just not Christmas without this Charlie Brown tune.
"All I Want for Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey -- This is the only song of Mariah Carey's that I can stand. It came out when I was in high school and no doubt had my eye on some boy I was hoping to meet under the mistletoe, so it gives me a nice nostalgic feeling. Which in itself is a miracle, because most of the boys I had my eye on in high school never took notice of me. But it also makes me think of the movie "Love Actually," which also gives me warm Christmas feelings.
"I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas" by Gayla Peevey -- Even though this was released in 1953, I had never heard it until two years ago. And I started hearing it all over the place. So it became the Christmas theme of 2005 for me. And "hippopotamus" is such a musical word that I just can't help loving this song.
"Happy Christmas (War Is Over)" by John Lennon and Yoko Ono -- I didn't pay much mind to this song until five years ago, when I sang it in a Christmas cabaret. It's a nice song. Kind of depressing, though, that it was recorded before I was born and is still relevant.
"Baby It's Cold Outside" -- But it has to be an old version where they still let the woman say "maybe just a cigarette more" instead of changing it to something healthier.
"Sleigh Ride" by The Ronettes -- Nothing brings holiday cheer like a little "ringalingaling ding dong ding."
"I Yust Go Nuts At Christmas" by Yogi Yorgesson -- My parents had this on 45 when I was a little kid, and I remember listening to it over and over. I think I probably still know all the words.
"Please, Daddy (Don't Get Drunk On Christmas)" by John Denver -- I heard this on the radio the day before I left college my freshman year for Christmas break and not once since. It's not supposed to be a funny song, but with the story of how the dad fell down under the Christmas tree and drunkenly yelled out "Merry Christmas," I don't see how it could not be.
"The Grinch Song" by Thurl Ravenscroft -- A classic tale, a classic song, and a classic reason to get Stella some antlers.
"Mele Kalikimaka" by Bing Crosby -- Even though it was April, I had this song going through my head the whole time I was in Hawaii. I even bought a Christmas ornament in a souvenir shop.
Really, anything by Bing Crosby -- He might have been an SOB in real life, but that man can croon a quality Christmas song. When I was little, my Aunt Shellie made my mom a mix tape of Christmas music, and it was a favorite in our house at holiday time, as was the movie "White Christmas." If anything gives me warm, fuzzy holiday feelings, it's Bing music. When I hear it, it's like I'm automatically transported back to my mom's kitchen, pressing Hershey's kisses into hot peanut butter cookies. And as we all know, there's no place like home for the holidays.
My brother-in-law Mark told me today that a local radio station has begun playing Christmas music.
For several years (probably since before I came to Chicago) this station has played all Christmas music beginning the day after Thanksgiving, which I think most people will argue is the official start to the holiday season. But either last year or the year before, they began the Christmas jamboree earlier.
Most folks roll their eyes about Christmas coming earlier every year, but I for one don't mind all that much. I'm not really in the mood for Christmas yet, but what the heck? Christmas is my favorite time of year, and since January, February and March don't offer much in the way of holidays or decent weather, I don't see a problem with making the most of what comes before.
Which is why I also plan to stake out the candy aisle of Target to get the first bag of the Christmas Cadbury Mini Eggs that hits the shelves.
My little girl is growing up so fast.
