reproduction

Babies; you like 'em, you want 'em: you have 'em. Me, I'm not convinced on liking, wanting, or having; and your 15 minute spiel won't convince me one way or the other. Don't waste your time, or mine for that matter. I think families are fine. I in fact, came from a family. I've seen how they work, I get the jest of them, I've seen them in action; both good and bad. I'm an optimist, always have been, but I also remember the joys of adolescence and what a huge pain in the ass I was to my folks during that time and them warning, "You just wait." I am also aware of a sluggish economy, tuition hikes, crime, and birth defects. I can't tell you that I don't take these things into consideration when pondering a self-inflicted population increase. Speaking of self-inflicted, I've only heard of terrible pains, such as passing a kidney stone, as being as painful as childbirth. That's like, "I knew cutting off my leg would hurt, but I did it anyway." Call me crazy, but I'm not a fan of pain, I receive enough pain by accident and am therefore not thrilled with the concept of choosing pain.


I am married, have been for 8 1/2 years. Surprise, surprise, I know, a gal as opinionated as me better have something going to keep an awesome husband like I have. We have a lot of fun together. We laugh all the time, go fun places, watch movies, and truly feel that being with the other makes our life better.


We do; however, experience a difference of opinion on the ol' baby-making front. He too is from a family, he was not hatched or kicked from the den like a baby fox, and happens to think that making small versions of ourselves is a dandy idea. When I present him with my list of concerns he thinks I'm being irrational and attempting to go against the grain. One of my chief complaints with people creation is the permanence. You are that kid's parent forever - you know f o r e v e r? Humans tend to live longer than dogs and he seems to think we've had ours for too long. I'd hate to see us end up with a 30-year-old deadbeat who still lives at home. Despite what goes on in Nebraska, you can't take your unwanted 30-something to the local humane society. Which, by the way, is well overcrowded and underfinanced, stop by and pick up a volunteer application, make a donation, or better yet, adopt a new family member - somebody else's attempt at breeding.


To those of you with offspring, be not offended. I'm sure you made the decision to procreate with careful consideration and an attempt to fill a life-long yearning. I have met children I like. My niece, for example, is a delight. She's smart, funny and respectful, not to mention adorable. I have also met children I dislike, possibly yours. A spanking is not a beating and may do you/us a world of good. Aside from behavior issues, what about those kids that are dirty, rude and plain ol' dumb? I sure don't want one of those and contrary to what my breeding friends say, sometimes that happens no matter how dedicated of a parent you were.


Mr. B and I may at some point have a small B. If we do, we'll decide on our own. We don't need your urging, encouragement, recipe, or reminder of what great parents we'd be or how old we're getting. What we could use is time and a heap of cash. You know that it costs at least $124,800, according to MSN Money, to raise a child to 18 years of age. That's before college tuition if you plan to assist with that cost. That's like the leg self-amputation example and then saying you're surprised at how much you had to pay for that pain!


Great okay, we got that settled. I'll let you know if we get a bun in the proverbial oven. Until then you don't need to ask; sometimes I just gain weight, sometimes I just have stomach flu, sometimes I just eat crazy food, if it's due to an occupant of my uterus I'll let you know.

So happy "practicing" to you and May your eggs be viable and your sperm be plentiful.

The fam: Bridget, Brandon, Buster and Bitsie.

a short rant on manners

Let me open with an apology and confession of my own guilt on this topic. I am sure we all have experienced those times when our "upbringing" takes a back seat the the total enjoyment of a stick of gum or fell victim to that burp that appeared out of nowhere. That being said; let's examine the real reason for this rant. "Adult onset lack of manners", is a horrible reality that strikes in a variety of situations. My most recent experiences with AOLOM happened at work, my job is in a "professional" office setting if you will; not a construction site or some other possible work setting, but an office. My job and that of the people seated near my cube, is phone sales. I repeat "PHONE". What do you think of the person seated most near to me loading her mouth with apple, chewing with her mouth open and then dialing?!! Oh yes, she did. I asked if she could chew any louder. She told me that I must have good ears and that she was just eating the apple. I said, "We know, everyone can hear it!"

A second example that happens at work and just reoccurred last week is non-double-flushing. We live in a "low-flow" toilet age; accept it. This low-flow lifestyle may, from time-to-time need a second flush, you're not being greedy, you're just practicing good sense; go ahead and take it. Often times there's a bit of "fighter poo" that manages to escape the first flush in a dramatic fight to avoid the septic, and is seen bobbing in the toilet for the stall's next visitor. NEWSFLASH - No One likes to see your poo. Give a second look and do a second flush and send it on its way. Less frequently seen and possibly more gross is "fighter fem prod." These offenders are not even supposed to be flushed, they belong in the trash receptacle conveniently located right in the stall. Should you feel the need to dispose of these products in a flushing manner, PLEASE give a second and look and be 100% certain that they have made it through to the happy hunting grounds of septic Heaven.

Whew - I feel better now. Thank you for letting me get this off my chest.

Thanksgiving

I love the holidays, I love my family, I love making new traditions. Whew, that said, let me tell you about Thanksgiving 2008.

I have a small immediate family and a ginormous extended family - 25 first cousins if that helps paint a picture for you. What I started planning back in September was an intimate, dignified, traditional holiday meal for the 8 people who make up my immediate family. This number of 8 works perfectly because I have a dining table for 8, and beautiful gold-trimmed china for 8. I had sent out the invites and made follow-up phone calls to these 8 dear people in my life to see if the Thanksgiving I was planning would work for them or if they had other arrangements in mind. All were agreed that what I was planning sounded lovely, as my sister and her family live in Michigan and my dad has been living in Kansas, and it's a rare occasion we're all together.

When my darling spouse's family learned (from him) that we were doing a Thanksgiving they wanted to be included. It is not as if I do not want to spend time with my in-laws, I love and enjoy them very much and see them ALL quite often as we all live in the same city; I was just hoping for a little time with my family who I rarely see. My mother felt the same way and asked if we could keep it private this once so she could spend an afternoon with her husband and youngest child. We proceed with Thanksgiving plan 1.0, making shopping lists, house arrangements and I even sewed a new holiday table runner for said table of 8.

Sadness falls - my husband's beloved Uncle John dies the Thursday before Thanksgiving. The memorial service is to be held on Thanksgiving day in Montana. With part of the Buell family headed West, the remainder of the Buell Thanksgiving Clan ask if we can now combine our 2 smallish groups into 1 medium-sized group for Thanksgiving and save on some of the work. I can't say, "no" to a family in mourning and with Christmas around the corner, I don't want my name to be Mudd. Plans proceed for Thanksgiving plan 2.0.

Word about free turkey with all the trimmings travels fast. Before long more and more relatives were wondering what they should bring to Thanksgiving and what time dinner was. My dad, who now can't even make it home himself, mentioned to his siblings that "Bridge was cookin' Thanksgiving." I can't be angry with Dad, he couldn't have known all the details of Thanksgiving plan 1.0 and 2.0. Add one uncle and uncle girlfriend. The son of uncle and his family want to know if "Dad is going to your Thanksgiving, can we go too?" What can we do at this point, say "no"? Add one cousin, one cousin wife and 2 cousin kids. The count is now up from 8 to 25. I do not have seating for a group of this size. Particularly not the beautiful dining room experience with crystal candlesticks and stories from days past I had been picturing in my mind since SEPTEMBER!! Ahem where was I?

Oh yes, moving forward to Tuesday of Thanksgiving week at 9 p.m. An attempt on creating Thanksgiving plan 2.1. An aunt of Brandon's wondered if she could bring her family, which could be 2, just she and uncle or 15 them, aunt uncle, 4 kids and 7 kids' kids. I looked at Brandon with
"the look" a wife can give and said, "tell them 'no' it's too late in the game to add 15 more." I'm sorry, I know I am in deep do do for this, but we were out of space and I was dancing on my last nerve.

Thursday morning arrives! Birds are in the oven, sister and sister's husband move furniture around to make room for guests, veggies get chopped, niece gets a bath, cans and jars get opened, tables get clothed; things are moving along! Doorbell rings! The first of the guests arrive! It's Mom with Grandma and Uncle. The doorbell didn't stop ringing for an hour. People came piling in and nearly all of them brought at least one pie and a side dish. Okay, so we have plenty of food; which everyone consumed mass quantities of and then hit the pie parade. The funniest quote of the day came from Brandon's grandpa Sam. Grandma and Grandpa are in their mid-nineties. They're plenty old by most accounts. My grandma is in her mid-eighties and a retired chef, needless to say everything she cooks is to die for. Grandpa Sam is now a fan of my grandma's cooking too. When my grandma arrived to our house, we put her to work making real gravy, you know the kind; smooth, savory and delicious. I made my rounds to the various "dining rooms" to see if I could help anyone with anything and Grandpa Sam flagged me down. He called me near to him and asked, "Who's the old lady who made the gravy?" I answered, "That old lady is my Grandma." Hysterical!! you played on the football team with Jesus, who are you calling old?? Anyhow, Grandma was flattered that her food was so well received and Grandpa was happy because we sent the leftover gravy home with him. If you're thinking that some matchmaking is being done, you're mistaken. Grandma Cook was seated right beside him while he stalked my grandma's gravy, just like she's been for the past 72 years.

You, you are, you are a smelly beaver.

First off, this is not an X-rated post, not even R-rated. Jeez people, heads out of the gutter!!

Beavers are the school mascot of my mom's school. She in fact, teaches at the same high school she graduated from, so by most accounts, she's the biggest beaver of them all. I'll mention here that Mom does most of her shopping at the school store. No joke. My sister and I lovingly refer to her wardrobe as "Beaver wear." Beaver sweatpants, shirts, t-shirts, socks, the whole deal. She'll even slip us Beaver wear in our stockings at Christmas, and I'm not sure what's worse, Beaver wear or coal, because we grew up in the neighboring school district (Dad's Alma mater) and had a pretty intense rivalry for most of our school days. We were the proud, Dells Chiefs. We had no business in Beaver wear.

In addition to the cheer at the top of this post, we had another one that Dad said was just not nice and we shouldn't say it. I'll share it with you now, "Chiefs Eat Beaver Meat!" Which was probably historically accurate, so we plead not guilty on that one.

Reedsburg Times Press photo

Anywhoo - Mom's psyched 'cause the Beavers are going to state! This year's football Beavers had a great 10-3 season and will meet the Comets (13-0) from Waupaca at Camp Randall tomorrow for the Division 3 Title match up. Mom's sister, my aunt Shirley's grandson is on the team so a whole car load of Beaver Alumni will be following the school buses down to cheer on the team. I can hear it now, "Go Beavers, Damn the Comets!"

Oh and good news, Mom says if the Beavers are victorious, we'll all get new Beaver wear for Christmas! I bet even if they lose, so will we.

It's exciting for the hometown and for my mom, so GO BEAVERS!

Darkness

It's that time of the year; when it's dark on the drive to and from work. I hate that. I've not officially been diagnosed with S.A.D. or anything, but it really angers me that the best part of the day be spent at work, and by best part, I mean the 93 minutes of sunshine in the early afternoon.
I've discussed this with Mr. B and proposed a move to sunnier climates like Florida, Arizona, really anywhere but the balmy-Midwest, would fill the bill.
There is the possibility that my dissatisfaction with my job adds to my distaste for missing the sunshine while engaged in "professional pursuits."
Speaking of, I am blessed to be employed and to do darn near whatever I please, don't get me wrong, but where are the "dream jobs"? Who really gets those? Where are the people excited to go to work, to pop out of bed? I want to be you, or to at least know your secret. Is it a line on excellent pharmaceuticals? Were your parents coal miners? Do you dislike your home, spouse, pets?

Is it possible that you, dear reader are an employer looking for a hard-working, creative type with a gift for gab and grammar? Feel free to contact me with positions you wish to fill.

Memorial to Cocoa

Cocoa, Brandon and Bitsie Buell

October 15, 1999 a special day in dog history, our history, Cocoa’s history. A litter of Shih Tzu puppies made their way to the planet and one of those, a boy, was destined for our house; the long way.

He was initially purchased by a family as a companion for their little girl. Cocoa’s breeding and some environmental factors proved too much for them and an unhappy and mistreated Cocoa found his way to Fuzzy Paws Shih Tzu Rescue. When our search for a companion for our little girl, Bitsie led us to Petfinder.com, we found Cocoa and were approved (after a rigorous approval process) to adopt Cocoa and be his forever home. Have you been through this process?? I wholeheartedly understand the intentions, but at the time, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand how good I had to be to get a dog somebody else already didn’t want. Cocoa taught me, over time, why not just anyone could have been his family.

Can I say that we were elated? The day we got the call I was in the car on the way to Oshkosh (an hour’s drive from Madison) to meet him and pick him up. He had been lovingly fostered by Barbara Pressley of Diamond Dynasty Shih Tzu. The drive home was very fun, I chatted and chatted at Cocoa the whole way, he by the way, just sat in his bed on the front seat and let me do the talking. I thought this will work out just fine, as Bitsie had bonded with Brandon, I thought “finally a dog of my VERY own.”

On our drive home, I called Karis Finley and asked her to come by when I got home to meet Cocoa and help make him feel welcome. The four of us, Bitsie, Cocoa, Karis and I were getting along swimmingly; made a couple of potty trips and enjoyed some treats while we waited for Brandon to get home. We quickly learned what “skittish around men” meant. That final trip potty before bed was the last time we saw Cocoa for seven days and seven nights, he took one look at Brandon and zoom, he was gone!

Let me tell you about the force that came out for those 7 days to look for our Cocoa, a dog that none of them had ever seen and I myself had only “owned” for 2 hours before I lost him. The crying begins. Friends from work, people from the rescue, family from out of town, friends and neighbors all hit the streets, hung posters, called the police and tried to keep me, Cocoa’s bad mommy, from losing my mind. We strolled the streets of Cottage Grove, squeaking toys, shaking treats and calling his name. We had just about lost hope, when another “Cocoa spotting” came in. Someone had seen the poster and miraculously then saw Cocoa and called us. We picked him up at the Cenex gas station, crying our eyes out and thanking that mystery angel profusely. He had been found in an empty lot immediately next door to our house, but we had been responding to a “Cocoa spotting” that had come in hours earlier and were a couple of blocks away.

Whew! With that crisis behind us it was time to address the matter at hand. It was now the second week in October and Cocoa’s third birthday was just around the corner and he had been formally introduced to no one. I am goofy and I like a party, so a big homecoming/birthday party seemed just the way to introduce our baby boy to our dog-loving family and friends. Please see the picture of the party. My dad and I took the pictures, so that makes two. Count the remaining people and the dogs in the picture. That’s right at perfect 1:1 people to dog ratio! We had so much fun and the guest of honor even got to open his gifts in front of everyone to a bevy of “ooohs” and “aaahs”.

It turns out that when you throw elaborate parties for your dog and shower them with goodies, they feel as though you work for them and are higher up in the “pack” than you. This became evident one night when I inadvertently scared him and he charged me and bit me in the face. A time later I suffered a bite to the nose and a trip to the emergency room. Through these trials we learned a great deal about Cocoa, dog behavior and ourselves. The vet suggested he be put down. I refused this suggestion and asked what the other options were. Actually there was just one option, Cocoa was to serve his quarantine and we were to take him to see a behaviorist. When friends and family learned what a behaviorist did and cost, we got more votes for the first suggestion. This recommendation was not even a consideration to us as we had promised each other, God and Cocoa that we were in for the long haul. As in the same way we are our parent’s responsibility, Cocoa was ours and we were going to “love him through this” which we did to a fair bit of success.

Cocoa didn’t bite anyone else and we learned to read the signals he sent. Cocoa’s breeding had given him something similar to the “Cocker Rage” you hear about happening in spaniels. We learned to watch for the signals and to diffuse Cocoa when it looked like he’d be having an episode.

So for the next few years or so, we enjoyed our Cocoa and our Cocoa enjoyed us. We took him to dog parks, pet stores, parades and to Castle Rock Lake. Cocoa also really enjoyed his time with his “best friend” and former neighbor, Sadie Hermsmeier. Sadie is a beautiful Golden Retriever (who says dogs from different AKC groups can’t be friends?) Cocoa never understood how Sadie could move so quickly and Sadie appreciated that Cocoa would just sit and watch her run. Luckily for the Hermsmeiers and their dog boutique site, good-doggie.com, Cocoa was not camera shy and was willing to “model” for them. We jokingly said he was a “plus-sized model” as he tipped the scales at a whopping 25 pounds, a tad bit over the shih tzu breed standard of 16 pounds. We tried putting him on diets and increasing his exercise, but like so many Cocoa just couldn’t drop those extra pounds. We also commented that by his round build and negative profile (his nose was practically behind his eyes) he is what a real bull shih t would look like.

The days of our happy dual shih tzu home, were cut radically short. Much due in part to his breeding, Cocoa had some looming health concerns his whole life; that as much as we loved him, we couldn’t cure him of. In the early hours of July 9, 2008 Cocoa had a coughing fit and we rushed him in to the emergency vet at about 4 a.m. The vet on staff tried to perform some tests to see what was happening. As she would insert the needle into Cocoa’s veins they would explode and she couldn’t draw enough to complete the tests. While we were there, she also noticed that he was covered in bruises and broken blood vessels, additionally his throat was swelling shut, and his coughing continued. She delivered the news that we didn’t go there to hear. Our Cocoa was suffering from 1 of 3 conditions that without the blood work she couldn’t identify exactly or save him from, cancer, renal failure, or a disease that I am unable to remember the name of. How could this be? We had loved him through the aggression, the weight gain, the carpet accidents and the snoring. How could we be standing in an emergency vet’s office in the middle of the night with no option to love him through? Brandon and I both broke down into tears. I called my family and told them our situation, they knew and loved our boy as well and I wanted them to be current with what was going on. We made the decision to end Cocoa’s suffering and we buried him at my folks’ farm. He always enjoyed his time there and to us it seemed just a little bit closer to Heaven.

We never thought that when he arrived at our door that we’d truly love him as much as we did. We never imagined that losing him would hurt as much as it did and we didn’t expect the outpouring of love and sympathy from our friends and family that we got, but they did.

Offer up your home to an animal in need. God put us here to tend to the creatures; by showing them compassion we show Him compassion. Tell those you love, you do and if you knew Cocoa, smile when you think about him.

Good ol' Lake Delton

There's a place in South Central Wisconsin - the Wisconsin Dells/Lake Delton area and that's where I'm from. Specifically more the Lake Delton part, but being small, we Deltonians attend the Wisconsin Dells school system, so to save time and explanation; we generally say, "I'm from the Dells."
You may recall that beautiful, man-made, Lake Delton (the actual lake, not the town of the same name) is now not so much a lake, but a mud hole. http://www.channel3000.com/news/16559796/detail.html
There's a new lake on the horizon and an opportunity to "adopt" the fish that will be used to restock it.
Visit: http://fish4lakedelton.wordpress.com/ for more information or to adopt fish.
When I heard about this project I thought it seemed like a fine way to complete Christmas shopping for my father and father-in-law and to do something good for mankind and future generations of "Deltonians."
Dad, if you have somehow found my website, try to look surprised if indeed you are honored with fish adoptions for Christmas.

This event, the loss of Lake Delton in June '08, the discussions on refilling and restocking it got me thinking. Thinking about the fun I had growing up there, visiting the Bartlett show, eating at one of the restaurants on the lake, boating with my husband while we were still dating, and learning to fish from my dad.

I have a particularly funny Dad and Bridge boating/fishing story to share. Like most, I am like my dad in at least a couple of ways. I look like him (Mom, I know I know, you say I look like you) I act like my dad, share his "temper", I try to see humor in everything, and I enjoy fishing and boating. We also share a love of Dairy Queen's Snicker-flavored frozen treats.

One evening during my teens, Dad had just gotten a new bass boat and we wanted to see how fast she'd go and then reward ourselves with frozen, Snicker-flavored heaven in a cup.
Dad and I are zooming around the lake about dusk, fewer F.I.B.s at that hour, creating more free space to see what "top-end" on the new Skeeter meant. We make a few trips around the lake, trailer the boat, and head off to DQ for our rewards. Now we are standing in an actual electronically lit environment that is not short on patrons, F.I.B. or otherwise, at that time and simultaneously notice the array of dead bugs across each other's forehead. We quickly brush the lifeless remains from ourselves (it's just not polite to eat ice cream with slaughter on your head) and take our turn at that counter laughing hysterically. I wish you were there, but maybe with the size of the crowd that night maybe you were and you've been laughing about the people that came in with foreheads full of bug guts.

New Nose

I am one of those people prone to mishaps. I regularly trip on my feet, I fell on stage during an improv show dislocating my pelvis, and I've smashed my nose with a butterfly machine to name a few. (I tried to find a picture of a butterfly machine, but none were quite right - it's the machine in the gym that exercises your upper arm.) When one side of the machine doesn't move, the side that does, comes screaming into your face with incredible force and your face has nowhere to go. Turns out that the butterfly machine-nose meeting did not go that well and didn't assist in my ability to breathe. In fact, I crushed the left nostril/airway closed - a self-inflicted deviated septum if you will. My dear husband; who took excellent care of me following my rhinoplasty, also took some pictures of the before, middle and end of my journey toward a new, functioning nose. The middle one is gross, shield the eyes of young children before proceeding.

Moments before surgery 10/10/08

A few days after surgery - pretty huh?

11/6/08 - new nose, all healed and functioning beautifully!

Halloween birthday trick or treat?

Maybe I'm sentimental about Halloween, but even at my ripe old age, I remember the "good houses" with the full-sized Snickers and the jackasses that thought tootsie rolls would pass as fine trick-or-treat fare.
My best to you for a wonderful Halloween no matter what you end up doing. I'll be getting older and dining at my FAVORITE, Bubba Gumps, sometimes life is like a box of chocolates, but you never end up getting a whole box of chocolates while trick-or-treating either.

Thursday - post 1

Since this is my first post, I guess I'll lay some groundwork. I have a husband, a job, a house, a car and two dogs. My husband is also a B.B. and to save time we just call each other "B", I guess uttering an entire name takes up too much time. He also has a car, job, half of my house and one of the two dogs prefers him to me. I'm at said job right now - I'm tied to a computer so, as long as my work gets done, I think I will blog regularly with some success.

I was lucky to have the best parents in the world. I also have a wonderful sister, a new brother-in-law and the cutest niece ever. Believe me, there was a time during adolescence; however, I would have traded any and all of them for a can of Pepsi.

So that's a good start for groundwork - I'm sure additional information will be added as needed in the future.

Okay, so it's Thursday the 6th of November. We just elected Barack Obama the next President. I'll try to refrain from political talks, but I believe we're in for some interesting changes.

This also means that I have been 31 for 6 days now. Eesh - 31 is old. I remember when my parents were this age. Wasn't Kennedy in his 30s when he became president? Although it seems old, someone in their 30s has no business being president. I don't like to floss, foreign policy should be left alone.