10 pounds

This is what 10 pounds of taco meat looks like. You can't see the depth of the pans from here but I'm telling you...this is a shitload of mexi-flavored ground turkey! Yep. This is what you do when you're cooking dinner for 22 family member at Lake Powell.

That's right. I said 22. Family. Members.

You should see the bag of cheese that goes with this.

irony

Our Rhodesian Ridgeback, Morgan, is wearing the cone of shame. Why? Well, number one, she's old. Ten. In dog years, that's pretty old. Like ancient. Two, she started getting these old-dog lumps. You know how older dogs start to get those random bumps everywhere. She's had one on her butt for awhile but over the last few weeks it's gotten noticeably bigger. I sincerely hope that the bumps I see as I get older never, ever turn into dog-butt bumps. Three, she needed vaccinations and a good teeth cleaning (old dog breath, not so good. it's like cellulite - super cute when you're little and really awful when you're not) so we took her into the vet.


The doctor's first assumption was that the big butt lump was just a fatty deposit or something innocent, but when she looked under the microscope there were suspicious cells. The big C. Cancer. Shit.

They took her straight in to surgery, cut out the lumps, did a bunch of blood work, and fixed up her teeth. Total Bill? A little over 500 bucks, and we consider that a great deal. But still...FIVE HUNDRED BUCKS?! Wish we'd bought that pet insurance.

One day, we walked Morgan and this woman said...
"I can't believe someone would do that to a dog!"
Apparently very offended by her mohawk.
Which is perfect and valued by purebred Ridgeback lovers.
Can you imagine what happens when THIS scars up?

So anyway,  post-surgery she now looks like Franken-dog. Stitches here. Stitches there. Stitches, stitches everywhere. We're having to put towels and blankets down all over the house so she doesn't ooze all over the place. And she keeps knocking the kids down with her cone which actually seems like a fair payback considering they seem to think her stitches are some kind of puzzle they need to unwind. Poor dog.

Morgan in her glory days.

We got Morgan the year I had cancer, which makes her 10 years old almost to the day. Scott didn't really want a dog so he gave me this list of impossible criteria - no shedding, big but not too big, no barking, not hyper, likes the water. So I found Ridgebacks...perfect! And then my parents tracked down a litter in Missouri and decided to give Morgan to us as a 'recovery' gift.

She was supposed to arrive in Utah the week of September 11th but with all the security crack-downs after 9-11 they wouldn't ship puppies without a whole bunch of paperwork. Who woulda thunk? You can't ship a puppy on a plane because of that?! I get it but at the time I was so cracked out on drugs, I barely knew the whole thing had happened. Sad but true!

So my sister-in-law, Becky, who was a flight attendant at Delta at the time, hopped on a plane to Arkansas, picked Morgan up and flew her home as a surprise. It was so cool! Of course, immediately after Morgan joined our little family, I was back in the hospital on and off and for basically the whole month of October. So Scott would sneak that cute little puppy into my hospital room in a duffel bag. And when I got home, she would curl up on my chest while I snoozed away my drug-induced haze. She was the first of my kids to do that and it's just as sweet and tender and wonderful, even with puppy breath.

So I can't believe that it's 10 years later, and now my dog has ass cancer. In the land of strange...let's all hope she has the same happy ending.

moving day

Everyone hates moving. I am no exception. I truly believe that is the ONLY reason I haven’t put the screws to Scott to get a bigger, newer house. If I do, that means I have to pack all this shit up and move it. That thought alone is enough to keep this girl right where she’s at.

Maybe part of it is because we’ve helped move so many people. Scott used to have access to his brother’s furniture truck and now he has a big giant truck and a trailer so somehow we’re always the go-to’s for a move. We have gotten our paybacks from our friends by having them help move my parents and my sister multiple times but Scott and I have been firmly entrenched in this place for 10 years.

We helped my sister move into a little downtown apartment today. And when I say little, I do mean little. The bedroom has just enough room for a bed, an end table and her dresser and that’s about it. I stuffed both of her fairly small closets with clothes and have no idea where she’s going to put all of her shoes. We actually had to put a bakers rack in the kitchen to house all of her dishes and kitchen appliances. It’s so urban. Luckily, most of her stuff is black, white or silver. Makes for a good presentation.

Best part of the day? Natalie was unwrapping wine glass number 10 and says... “Tiff, you did an amazing job packing. Not one casualty!” At which time I fumble a bowl and it crashes to the floor like an audible exclamation point.

As we were digging through all of my sister’s worldly belongings, trying to figure out what would and wouldn’t fit, I had this strange urge to race home and start purging our home of all the extra crap we have. And we have lots of it. Minimize! Scale it back! Pare it down! Who really needs all of this…stuff?! Maybe if I get a head start on it now, when we get around to moving in a few years – or ten – the packing part will be easy.