What a week . . .

What a week - perfect example of the ways in which life marches forward . . .

Scary Moments
In my last post I mentioned how we wake up every morning with no idea what the day has in store for us. Good, bad, we really don't have a clue. My sister had a day at the beginning of the week that started off really good, then something really bad happened, but in the end it was good again because everything turned out to be ok. Well, almost. Her little boy took a tumble, hit his head on the concrete and ended up with a fractured skull. It doesn't matter how it happened - what matters is that he is going to be ok. It's scary when your sister calls you and can barely get her words out. Panic sets in until you understand what is happening. What struck me later was the fact that she said "The day started out so great - we were having a great day." We just never know. Thankfully the doctors say he'll be all right - my sister and her husband just have to keep a boisterous 3 1/2 year old calm for a few weeks while things heal. Good luck with that.

Little sweetheart :)

Go, Jack, Go!
Last year I wrote about how Penny had become my new running partner. Her position was short-lived due to the excessive amount of feces she dumped during our runs. I got tired of running while carrying a smelly bag of dog poop and quite honestly, she didn't maintain the enthusiasm for strenuous exercise like I'd hoped she would. She and I both ended up in a running slump for a while.

But now I have a new running partner. He's 11 years old, runs like the wind and provides a much needed source of motivation for his poor, slow mother. A couple of weeks ago I invited my son Jack to go for a run with me. He darted ahead of me almost immediately and remained about two blocks ahead of me throughout the run; however, he always stopped and waited for me to catch up. He wore a bright orange shirt and the bouncing orange dot in the distance became my beacon, something to run after and catch.

Yesterday we went for another run and I was pleasantly surprised to notice that chasing him made me increase my pace to 11:30, something I had not been able to do for months. We took turns carrying the water bottle, he jogged in place on street corners as he waited for me, and we ended up running over three miles without stopping. It was sheer bliss. I finally feel like I'm back on track. Still pretty slow, but I'm back! (Thanks Jack!)

Fleas (yes, fleas)
Almost two months have gone by and we are STILL fighting the flea battle. Three weeks ago the same guy came from the pest control company and literally scratched his head in disbelief when I told him we still had fleas. "Gosh, I can't believe it," he said, scratching his head. (maybe he has fleas?) "Usually we get them on the first try. I'm going to have to call my manager to see what else we can do." Then he proceeded to tell me that HIS pets have fleas. What?? I'm sorry, but a guy who works for a pest control company should NOT have a flea problem. Something is wrong with this picture.

My husband finally called the company after we hadn't heard from this guy's manager. He ended up talking to a guy named "Tokes", the manager of the bug killers. Tokes assured my husband that he'd come out himself and take care of the problem. We had a good laugh that night about two guys named "Tokes and Nick" coming out to spray our house yet again. Kind of reminded us of "Crockett and Tubbs".

Anyway - this meant vacuuming the entire house from top to bottom which we've been doing every 2-3 days for the past two months, PLUS taking our pets in for yet another flea bath, thus padding the veterinarian's retirement account. When the pest control van pulled up, not two but THREE guys emerged and trudged up my front walk. "Tokes" led the way, a stocky black guy with a deep voice and a "fleas don't mess with me" look on his face, followed by two white guys of slighter build, the first of whom seemed to be the company's expert on the life of the flea, peppering me with questions about our flea history, and the other, "Nick", our original sheepish head-scratching guy who seemed a bit embarrassed to be bringing backup.

Tokes, Nick and unnamed guy sprayed the hell out of our house - so much so that when the kids and I returned home we could barely breathe. I am confident that the toxicity of the fumes that were drifting through our home will kill these little effers for good. No offense to Tokes, Nick and the flea guru - but I really don't want to see them again.

One Year

So we come back to what's really important about this week - the dreaded one year anniversary, which also happens to coincide with my husband's birthday. I have a feeling that we'll be doing more laughing than crying, because that's how our family operates. We don't do well with wallowing in self-pity, but we're great at finding humor at every moment, good or bad. I'm looking forward to seeing my family, sharing memories about Tato, and participating in the Walk to Defeat ALS for the third year in a row - our viking hat held high and smiles on our faces. And for every tear that is shed I'm sure there will be a laugh to go along with it.

My Tato's ladies :)