squishisms.com

I seem to have lost mine.

I’m determined to get it back though.

I’m tired of hating everything all the time. I’m tired of not believing anything will change, because there is nothing *I* can change.

I can change my attitude.

I will do what I need to in order to have the wedding I want. Anyone who takes issue with that is free to leave my life. I will get my dog leash trained. I will get Robbie’s dog pooping without crying, shaking or hesitating. I will keep my temper in check at work without cigarettes. I will lose the weight I want – because that is how I am going to deal with the stress of handling everything else – with exercise.

I was reminded on Friday that I am not alone. That there are people out there who love me, for me, with no strings attached. No expectations of me. They understand my situation and do what they can to help without bemoaning (or broadcasting) their sacrifice for me.

And because they’re there… I will find my optimism.

One of the reasons I am Childfree is that I know myself.  I would be a horrible parent.   I don’t like children for more than an hour or two at a time – and even then only if they are clean and well behaved.  I have no idea how to talk to them.  Conversations with my friends’ kids can often be painful, awkward moments for me…

I like dogs.  They trigger that mooshy/gooshy/maternal emotional response in me.  I have slightly more patience for an animal that literally cannot understand the words coming out of my mouth than a child who just doesn’t want to.  I know how to train and communicate with dogs…

At least I thought I did.

Bauer can sit and shake and stay and lay down and come(sometimes) and drop it, plays fetch and is learning to walk on a proper leash.  He knows what I mean when I tell him to get in his crate, or off the bed or couch.  He is learning to get Up in the car on his own, and didn’t foam at the mouth on Tuesday when we went for a ride without Ginger to comfort him…

But Bauer is not okay.  He is terrified and overly-submissive and agitated.  He cowers even when we try to feed him and hides in his crate if I raise my voice or have any semblance of an angry tone – regardless of who I am speaking to.  It’s worse with Robbie.  He gets too afraid to pee, and then either lets it all go subconsciously in acts of submission to Robbie – or in the middle of playing fetch because he just can’t hold it anymore…  and then he hides and shakes.  Or he’ll follow me step for step and sit right behind my feet when I tell him to go potty.

He’s always been timid.  We’re 90% sure the people before us were beating him.  But it was getting better…

And then we moved.

And suddenly it was much, much worse.  And I have no idea why.  Or how to fix it.  He wasn’t this spooked when we brought him home with us to the apartment – so I don’t think it’s the move itself that has him so worked up…

I feel like a horrible dog-mom.  My baby puppy is scared and hurting and sad and I have no idea how to fix it.  I am not even sure if maybe we haven’t caused it in some way – which makes me want to cry.  Both boys are Over It.  They didn’t sign up for puppy-drama and are frustrated at his lack of understanding that he is Physically Okay and Safe.  At having to clean up his messes when I am not home and… so I feel guilty for bothering the boys.  For bringing this poor, pathetic, high-maintenance dog into their home.

*I* am terrified he’s going to pee on something and irritate/frustrate the boys.  Which has me even more on edge.  And makes it even more stressful – which I know he picks up on.  He is eight months old and 42 pounds.  He is going to be a big dog.  Too big to be so afraid of everything.  I am terrified I won’t be able to fix it and something will happen and he’ll bite someone and have to be put down.  I have nightmares of it… or that I can’t fix it and Robbie decides he can’t deal and leaves us.  Or he asks me to get rid of Bauer/says we have to get rid of him.

I’ve scoured the internet.  I am trying everything listed to fix this.  I am not petting his head or standing over him or hugging him tight like I used to.  I am letting him win at Tug games and making a concentrated effort to not yell or use angry tones.  I am lying down on the floor if he starts to shake or get scared.  I am trying to distract him with a toy if the lying down doesn’t work.  I am making a point to exercise him when I get home: with a walk, or games of fetch/chase in the backyard.  I am making him sit and stay and shake to give him something to do that he is good at and try to build confidence.  I am letting him rest his head on the top of mine and praising him every chance I get.  I am using soft tones when asking if he wants to potty and then walking outside to stand in the middle of the yard in the rain so he doesn’t feel abandoned or punished for peeing.  I crawled with him into the living room to eat – taking a handful out of the bowl and placing it in front of him.  I let him hide in his crate as long as he wants to when he wants to…

But how long before it starts to work?

…and what if it doesn’t?

I was supposed to write this yesterday. The obvious choice, however; leaves a bad taste in my mouth….and that’s sad. And it makes me sad. Which is counterproductive to inducing feelings of gratefulness.

I understand that they don’t own Joy. I understand, on a certain level, that it is not something any one person, being, or entity can claim. But, the connotation for the word Joy, for me, now is something ugly and spiteful. And while, in some ways, I am grateful that the events of June and July strengthened some bonds – I mourn the loss of those that didn’t survive the explosion.

They taught me that there is no Joy without honesty. Without accountability or an open mind. And in the last twenty four hours, sitting on this blog, this letter… knowing I couldn’t be True to Me and ignore the letter J and it’s obvious choice of word… I remembered that Joy is a Journey.

And every Journey has a beginning. My beginning was Seeking Sunshine. My Joy, my Journey, started, and will end, with Sunshine. Period. That’s a whole other blog though…for a later date.

And I am grateful for the Journey. And Journey too, but that’s beside the point.

The other obvious choice… is my past. Jordan. I’ve thought a lot about this name lately. Part of the planning a wedding thing, I suppose. I will be taking Robbie’s name – once he gets it changed. It is important to him to have his Grandfather’s name, and it is important to me to have Robbie’s last name. Family is more than a name, but I want that tie between us – for many reasons. This, by necessity, equates to losing my maiden name. My Dad’s name. My family’s name. My name.

I’m not big into the whole “family” thing. I don’t know if it’s from growing up apart from them, or just a random quirk…but I’ve never really got it. My Dad’s side of the family, especially, has not been a big part of my life. I probably wouldn’t know one of those relatives if you stood him/her in front of me, and they wouldn’t know me.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t love my family. My parents and sisters. I do. Very much. Despite their quirks and follies and because they put up with mine, and have for nearly thirty years now. Their choices and decisions have impacted who I am every bit as much as my own. They helped make me, helped prepare me for this Journey. They are part of me. I am a Jordan. And I am grateful that I am a Jordan. And when I change my name, I’ll be keeping that part of me, as my middle name.

I am also grateful for jalapenos, Jack Daniel’s, Jewelry, and my Job.

I had always heard that it was at 27 that a person was no longer able to eat anything they wanted and get away with it.  That at age 27 our metabolisms started to slow down…

And whether that is true in general or not… whether there were other factors involved in my weight gain or not, the facts are that in January, when I started gaining weight despite all my best intentions, all the things that had always worked before, I was 27.  I have monitored my caloric intake for the last two months now, and I am not consuming astronomical quantities of food…

So in the last year I have been adjusting my Diet.  And I am learning to appreciate a well balanced Diet.

Due to the changes I have made in my diet, I have learned I am not, in fact, lactose intolerant.  I spent YEARS thinking this was true.  Moderating my intake and passing up on queso because I didn’t have a pill with me.  This, in case you don’t know me very well, made for a VERY SAD PANDA.

I have never been so grateful for anything in my life as I am for the changes adding the recommended amount of fiber to my diet has made.

I have also had to try new foods, new recipes in my quest to win at what I like to call Tummy-Tetris.  In trying to fit the right amounts of the right foods into my body I have had to think outside the box – which has lessened the monotony of my meals.  I have learned to like new things – like red bell peppers and pizza on a chicken, and rediscovered lost favorites like a spinach salad with green apples, walnuts, sharp cheddar and raspberry vinaigrette.

I am bloated less often.  I have an upset stomach less often.  I sleep better at night and have more energy during the day.  I can tell the difference between being dehydrated and hungry…  which leads me to a small confession…

I don’t like to drink as much.

Yeah.  I said it. I’ll give you a minute to pick your jaw off of the floor…

My Diet is leading toward the Death of my Drinking.  Because as soon as I start Drinking, my lips start to chap.  After a few drinks, all I want is a glass of water as big and round as my head.  And since this leads to fewer hangovers and lower pill-bills – I can’t say I’m not grateful for the change.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still outdrink nine out of ten men if there is vodka involved… but I have less of an inclination to do so.  …unless we’re talking wine or mimosas – in which case: It. Is. On.

The thing I have learned to appreciate the most about making an effort to eat a healthy Diet is that the Devil is in the Details.

I’m a Virgo.  Details are my life.  They are the Devil on my shoulder where Diet is concerned.  They whisper naughty things to me…  I could justify some fried chicken, knowing it’s a bad idea, by putting it in a salad.  Or because two days ago I miraculously stayed under my limit for fat grams…  Bacon is better than sausage; let’s put it in everything(!) – I need the protein anyway…

Confession #2:  The Details make my naughty bits tingle.  (Yeah, I went there.)  They are my temptation.  What I withstand.  They add Drama and excitement to an otherwise Dull endeavor.  They are the conflict in the plot of my Diet.  They are the harlot; the gypsy in a red dress.  The Distraction from all that is rightandgood (and necessary for the Floating Wedding Reception of Awesomeness…).  They give me something to be proud of, every single day.

Without the Details, the Diet would be boring and I’d have lost interest months ago.