Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

Or a Bean in Bee's clothing? Or a Millie in Moo's clothing? OBSERVE! The rest of our Halloween:








I'll wait while you collect yourselves after that onslaught of cuteness.












Feeling better? Good. Now let me tell you about why I feel like my legs are going to fall off.

PILATES. I used to do Pilates. Remember when I was incredibly thin, and fit, and gorgeous? Well, fit anyway? Yes, me too. Remember how excited I was, after several months of general sloth upon returning to Kansas, to have a treadmill and an elliptical machine installed in my own home? Yes, me too. Remember how I used them a few times, and then resigned myself to staring at them guiltily as I sat on the couch watching TV with the Hubby every evening? You don't? That's because I never told you--but that's exactly what's been happening. That's been happening to the tune of fifteen POUNDS. FIFTEEN pounds. FIVE plus TEN. That's how much weight I've gained this year. Yikes, I know. Hideous. Horrifying. One whole pants size. That's just unpleasant.

I don't know how much the Hub has gained. I don't ask. He doesn't tell. But a couple of weeks ago he said he'd had enough. Time to get fit. And, like some sort of machine, he set about it. He discovered that our television (amazing as I thought it was already) had the most incredibly wonderful thing to happen in rural Kansas since the REA delivered our first electricity. Now, pardon the CAPS, but I find it this important.

OUR TELEVISION HAS A VAST ARRAY OF WORKOUTS ON IT.

Think about it. Every week the instructors post new workouts (Treadmill, Yoga, Pilates, Core Strengthening, Dance, "Extreme Cardio", Step Aerobics, Stretching, etc.), and old workouts are archived so that they can still be played. This means you don't have to do the same workout every day, as with a DVD. You have CHOICE. VARIATION. It is like having a dozen personal trainers.

Let that sink in. In two weeks, using the gift of internet tv (and me trying my best to cook him responsibly healthy dinners), Hub has recorded weight loss. So, yesterday I decided I'd also had enough. "Eeee-NOUGH already!" I shouted, and marched myself downstairs. I decided to start small. Pilates for half an hour. Taxing enough that I'd feel proud for doing something (other than sitting in front of my computer all day mumbling synonyms and sporadically shouting swear words), but not so taxing that I'd be intimidated and therefore not continue.

It was great. I felt wonderful. This morning my abs were sore, but in that delightfully burn-ey way that lets you know you have done something GOOD for yourself. It feels bad, but in the best sort of way. So this morning I decided I could do more. MORE. I did Pilates to start and then, obviously in some sort of endorphin-induced mania, I did kickboxing. The teacher is pregnant. Pregnant and completely insane. She didn't stop moving for a half an hour. Arms, legs, punching kicking, squatting, jumping, running, lunging, hopping--JESUS! Ten minutes in and I just wanted to crawl under a blanket an hide from the shouting pregnant lady... but I didn't. I DIDN'T. I punched, and kicked, and squatted, and jumped, and ran until I thought my legs might possibly just decide to detach themselves and walk away from that shit on their own. But they didn't. And we got through it.

Now, tomorrow I may not do kickboxing again. The wonder of GymBox means I don't have to. But I will do something. Anything. And these fifteen pounds will melt away and be gone forever. Or, at least until I forget that in order to feel my best, I HAVE TO KEEP MOVING. And, then again, maybe if I get to keep working out with GymBox, I'll never forget that again!

Anniversaries

My husband and I officially started dating at a Halloween party that was held on November 1st, 2008. To me November 1st is Dia de los Muertos, and I referred to it as a Dia de los Muertos party--everybody else called it a Halloween party. It irked me until I made a bet--a tiny little bet, that changed my life. I bet the handsomest man I'd ever met that he couldn't wear the world's most itchy beard until midnight (he was trying to take it off by 9pm). We hadn't settled what the loser of the bet would have to do, but that man very stubbornly kept that beard on until midnight. Our mutual friend (at whose wedding we had met a week previously) called time on the bet, and made that very handsome man (dressed up like Buddy Christ from the film Dogma) choose what the bet payment would be. He chose a kiss on the cheek. I quite happily payed up. And then I did one of the most un-like me things I've ever done. As he was still blushing from my little peck on the cheek, I took his face in my hands and planted a full-fledged kiss right on his adorable little mouth. And that was that. We've been pretty much inseparable ever since.


By the next Halloween we were engaged. We went to another small house party, and enjoyed ourselves (though not quite as much as that first magical Halloween!). We spent a good part of the night talking about our lives together. It was wonderful. I loved getting to dress up and spend time with the man who would be my husband.





And then came Halloween 2010. I had left Scotland on the 30th for the last time. My then fiance had to stay in Britain, as his visa for moving to the US hadn't yet been approved. It was gut wrenching--not knowing when we'd next see each other, if there would be a Halloween in our future as man and wife... But it did come through. And that led us to Halloween 2011.

Man and wife! We've still got paperwork hanging over our heads, greencard stuff this time, and I know in the future we'll have citizenship paperwork, and maybe homework, and who knows what else. But this much I know for sure--every Halloween I get to spend with this man makes me remember that first one (Dia de los Muertos, Halloween--love, anyway). And that makes it my favorite holiday by far!

Here Lies Peter Rabbit

I'm sure some of you were wondering how Peter Rabbit got along, and the heartbreaking answer is that he didn't. He died about a week after he came to us. I can not overstate how much his death affected me. He suckled on my finger as I fed him every three hours for a week. Part of me honestly (pathetically?) thought that I could will him to live through the power of love. Well, that didn't work at all. He died, and I spent several days sporadically breaking into debilitating tears that left me stranded in a heap on various patches of carpet all over the house. My family, especially my mom and husband, were very supportive--even if they didn't understand how the death of a creature that had been around only a week could have such an impact on me. With Husband's help, I buried Peter in this planter and planted white and dark purple tulip bulbs over him. I look forward to seeing them in the spring, and knowing that warrens all over the world will be filled with new bunnies that won't end up clinging desperately to life in my living room.


So, yes, I'm sorry. I haven't really been ready to write about Peter's passing until now (though I'm still crying). For those of you who find yourselves in possession of a day old infant rabbit (as we've now estimated Peter couldn't have been over a day or two old when his warren was destroyed)--please do whatever it takes to get the bunny to a professional wildlife rehabilitation specialist. You can't do it on your own. Not even if you pour all the love you have in your heart into the attempt. I promise.

Wholeheartedly Hope to Hop

There I was, minding my own business. Feeling relatively happy with the layout of my life--dogs (beautiful, silly, and continuously joyful), fish (Edgar and Steve, goldfish, apparently content with their little watery worlds), husband (tall, dark, handsome, often smelly, always wonderful), family (aging, loving, close in both proximity and care for each other). When in walks my husband from a day spent helping my dad move dirt, and he looks at me rather cheekily and says, "I have something for you." He proceeds to show me a rather beat-up looking work glove. "Um... okay? Thank you?" I say in the most questioning tone I can muster. "It's not the glove--it's what's in the glove. And he pulls out what appears to be a wrinkled, nearly naked, sleeping mouse. I can only imagine the look of sheer horror on my face, as I WAS horrified at the thought of my generally delightful spouse bringing me home a wrinkly mouse in the hopes of pleasing me.

Of course, I should have guessed that Husband would know I wouldn't appreciate the world's ugliest mouse being brought into our home and being held in a shockingly loving manner. It wasn't a mouse at all. It's a bunny. From our research he's about 3-5 days old--eyes closed, ears still firmly planted back on his head. His warren was destroyed in the moving of dirt, and his sibling was crushed. Somehow this little creature survived. My dad told Husband to throw it away, as baby bunnies are the hardest wild animals to raise. Husband, being softhearted and knowing his wife was extremely softhearted when it comes to the cause of animals everywhere, couldn't do it. So he brought our new friend home, and I'm trying my best to raise him to five weeks. From the research I've been doing since the second he arrived here, I'm never going to save this bunny. There are approximately five million things that can, and probably will go wrong. He's going to die.

And yet... God help us both...


We've named him Peter.

We think he's a cottontail.

That's my hand, so those of you who know me will realize exactly how small that makes Peter Rabbit.

And, right now, I want nothing so much as I want to raise this bunny to be a healthy, happy cottontail--able to go back into the wild in five weeks time, knowing my very best wishes and a very lot of love will be hopping along with him for the rest of his natural life.

Please God, help me save this bunny.

The Girl Can't Count

Do you know what? I can't count. I forgot a whole day. In fact, the day I forgot was the ACTUAL day 4 of the photo challenge. Prompt: Favorite color.





GREEN! I love green. Green is growth, and life, and spring and summer, and never ending seas of twelve foot tall silken corn stalks in August. Well, most Augusts, but not this one. We've had so little rain here in the parched Midwest, that the corn kinda puttered out around six feet (or less). Breaks my little heart!





Now, because I forgot the REAL day four, that means you're caught up to day six. Day seven was 'something new.' Well, I wanted to take a picture of something new that is ALSO something I love.





Hello, Millie! How on earth this "little" brown dog (we've started saying, "How now, brown cow?" when she comes up begging for food) has decided that the most awesome place ever in the middle of a 103 degree afternoon is on the concrete in the sunshine--I'll never know. She spends half an hour out there, and then when she comes in her "hur" is so hot I can barely pet her. What a nut!








Day eight's prompt was technology. And, for me, this was an incredibly easy one as there are TWO pieces of tech that I love-love-love. One is my iPhone, which I've been using to take pictures. The second is my iPad (slave to Apple--guilty), which I photographed open to my favorite game!






Cut the rope! WOO-HOO! I don't know if you've ever played Cut The Rope, but it is my favorite thing after my husband, doggies, immediate family, a couple of friends, and Baxter the Jeep. The thing is--I'm GOOD at it. And it's challenging, but I can do it--unlike, virtually all other technologically advanced games since Super Mario Brothers on the NES. Yes, I'm that pathetic at gaming. But, then along came Cut The Rope and I feel like it was magically made for me.









Day Nine, that's today! Today's prompt was a 'Faceless Self Portrait.' Again, for me, this seems easy.



Who am I if not a redhead? It's the first thing people say about me when trying to place me for someone else. Kate Dowd/Morrison? She's the redhead. That's me. I'm the redhead. And, with a couple of horrible phases of black hair (one on purpose, one accidental) that's always been me. I hope that'll be me for a very long time, though a lot of redheads lose their luster and start turning brunette around baby-having time. COULD I ever forgive a kid for stealing the copper from my hair? Oooh, I just don't know. I just. don't. know....