It's Tuesday, And I Should Still Be Writing... Something Else

I'm still struggling to write and work on my dissertation proposal. There isn't one single reason why though. Part of it is the oppressive heat and humidity. Unless I'm doing something that gives me a joy that's filled with a sense of wonder, such as hiking (especially if there's a waterfall!), the heat is just too much.

I'm even willing to wake up early to avoid the worst of the heat and humidity of the day... which still means hiking when it's hot and humid. It's just not as bad as if we waited until the afternoon. Bonus: there are fewer people on the trails in the AM.

My depression and anxiety don't help the writing situation either. Some of that is my brain telling me I'm not that good at anything; some it is my brain telling me not to care about anything, even the things I legitimately care for quite a lot; and, although there's much more, some of it is my brain freaking out because there's so much information I can't figure out how to organize it so I can actually write. It doesn't help that when I feel super trapped by it all I can't enjoy stepping outside to look at my garden because it's so fucking hot and humid.

The latter two bits are why I'm REALLY having a hard time right now.

I've devised a few plans. Some I've had to throw out because I don't have a big enough table--just laying out all the books and articles on a giant table would be the best! But I can't. No table. I also have two cats that would sit on everything, mess it all up.

I've narrowed it down to two methods:

1. Use my various colorful flag Post-its to create a color coded system. Each color would point me to a specific area (in this case an area of critical pedagogy because that's the section I'm on).

2. Creating some columns, likely just handwritten, for each area. I'd then mark down which book or article and the page number of the information I need.

Although the second seems more tedious, I'm leaning towards it because sometimes you run out of Post-its, and I don't want to make things more confusing because I don't have anymore blue Post-it flags.

And, NO, I'm going out to buy more in this heat and humidity! Plus, that would just tempt me to stop and buy a fountain Mr. Pibb, and I've been doing so well at only drinking it if I'm at certain restaurants (Note: I drink soda during holidays like Christmas because it's often the only source of caffeine available to my body that doesn't make it hurt).
 

Working For The Weekend

I've always looked forward to the weekends. Who doesn't look forward to two days off in a row? Because of my career choices I've always still done a bit of work on the weekend--grading, reading, etc.--but because of Jeff's career choice I've always tried to savor it, make as much time as possible for us to hang out together. I still do this because that's what you have to if you're married to a journalist. It's what you really have to do if you're married to a journalist and also happen to have chosen an ambitious and strenuous yet rewarding career path for yourself.

But now I look forward to the weekend for an extra reason: I can *almost* forget about my hip problem. When Jeff is around it just hurts. It doesn't hurt so much that all I want to do is lay around, bemoan the grogginess caused by the meloxicam that helps me get a decent night's sleep but makes doing my work much more difficult. When Jeff is at home it's easier to not feel bad about the pile of work I need to do. It's not that I'm not doing my work. I think I've done more work this summer than I have since my summers of schlepping bags of mulch into customers' cars as they made rude comments about my being a woman. Apparently being a woman means I am exempt and/or incapable of loading bags of mulch into customer cars... oh, the stories I could tell about working at Lowe's. But I digress.

I'll I've done this summer is read, take notes, and occasionally engage in tasks and activities that are supposed to keep my stress levels in check. If one looks at my social media feed it appears as though I am doing far more of the latter.

 Farmer's Market!

 Good times at one of our favorite wineries in the area (photo credit-- Jeff).

 Hanging out with my crew.

Homemade pasta. 

 Look at how neat the watermelon looks. 

 Homemade ice cream!

Ruth, discussing the next Doctor with me. She's glad it's a woman but, like me, thinks after fifty plus years a white woman, as much as we love Jodie Whittaker, the BBC could have given us more than a change of gender.

But social media hides secrets. It doesn't tell the whole story. It even helps me fool myself for a fleeting moment. It hides my pain. It withholds the truth--sometimes Jeff has to help me out of bed, there are naps between afternoon outings and evenings of pasta, and Jeff, who never seems to want to take credit, often acts as sous chef. My Instagram feed looks like I'm non-stop, go, go, go. But I'm not. I have to pause for the pain. I have to ask for help. I know that social media allows people to craft their truths, make their lives look more interesting. I knew my posts often made it seem as if I wasn't doing any work. It often looks as though I'm just faffing about, drinking wine, and buying local produce out the ass. It wasn't until recently that I thought about how I might be using it to try to hide the truth from myself. I can't go hiking... so let's post this cute picture of the kitties... let's post this picture of that beef tongue taco I tried. My posts have become a shield from reality. I can't enjoy my favorite trails, visit the one or two left on list to see, or do many of the other items I'd planned to do. I can't do the things I was SO looking forward to this summer.

I can't hide from my reality during the work week. There's no glass of wine to be had on a balcony, no sous chef (P.S. Jeff usually cooks dinner during the school year-- he deserves credit)... there's no where to go really. All there is to do is read, take notes, cross my fingers that my hip doesn't hurt too much, and hope that at some point my body shakes off the heavy exhaustion weighing it down, physically and mentally, so I can finish writing a 200 word abstract. I can't hide from the fact that I'm still too groggy to edit this to the best of my ability... I'm too groggy to craft the perfect final sentence about how all of this sucks, I know life could be worse, and that I will get through this, succeed, etc., etc. I'm just too damn exhausted.

A Thursday With Maggie

My heart is nearly broken. Today I called the vet's office and said, "It's time." Those words were heart wrenching. Thank God I have a vet with a staff who knows each patient and their respective humans so well. I imagine some places would have made me say the dreaded words I refuse to say or even type today.

I've tried to distract myself today while desperately wishing I still had a class to teach. Damn you, summer block class. I know I should cherish each moment I have left with Maggie, but taking care of all the things I need to do before going back to school and buying donuts and Don Taco is much easier than laying here while Maggie ignores me. This is the first day she's ignored me so blatantly. My mom says she's preparing me for the future. Perhaps my mom is correct. Maggie has always been in tune with my feelings. So it's entirely possible she knows what is to come tomorrow and wants me to be ready for the first time she isn't here to head boop me as I cry. Maggie is the kind of cat who would do such a thing for me.

I'd like to think I taught her how to be so kind, but I didn't. She came that way. Jeff and I've even joked that she's part dog. She is literally the friendliest cat I've ever met in my entire life. We love cats, even cats with diva streaks, and while Maggie has one, it's never diminished her capacity to love us unconditionally. It's so great that my mom, who does and always will accept me for who I am and become even when she doesn't agree with certain choices, offered positive words upon hearing that I planned to get tattoos of Maggie's paw prints (even though I already have one of her silhouette!) on my shoulders in honor of the Maggie hug. I don't know if I'll ever have another cat who literally hugs me, but at least I've had Maggie and can honor the memory with the blessing of my mom no less!

Earlier in this process, I wrote about knowing when "it was time." When people tell you that you'll know, they mean it. You will know. However, I'd like to add two sub-points.

1. If your pet has two human parents, "the time" is less exact.

I knew before Jeff. However, I could not force Jeff into knowing with me. He had to see it on his own. This made me sad and angry. Don't be like me. I hate that I might have made Jeff feel like a jerk (I'm sorry, and I'm sorry that I can't tell you right this second because you are currently having a busy day at work.).

As I said a few weeks ago, shortly after getting Maggie, Jeff and I had a talk, agreeing that under the right circumstances, euthanasia is the best route to take with pets. If I could go back in time, I would talk about it more. Or I would make us agree to create an agreement of how we would decide when the time was right. It is vastly more complicated than simply agreeing that pet euthanasia is humane in certain cases. For instance, one of the things experts say to consider is the ratio of good days and bad days. However, what constitutes a good day to me is likely not the same as what constitutes a good day to Jeff. Because our schedules conflict, we've been seeing two different versions of Maggie. These are just a few examples as to why I wish we had talked more in depth or had set up a plan, even if it wasn't until the day we found out she was sick. Perhaps if we'd been more clear about our expectations, the time between me knowing and he knowing wouldn't have been as long. I could be wrong about all of this, but it's something to consider.

2. If possible, make sure your friend can go out with a bang.

Despite our sadness, we've been working to make the last stretch of Maggie's life as great as possible. She's been a wonderful friend and deserves nothing but the best. I refuse to wallow in my sadness until it's time tomorrow. I've allowed myself many tears, but we must, even if between cries, for her and for ourselves, enjoy the moments we have left.

Today we purchased a can of organic tuna. Tomorrow part of it will be put on a "good plate," and she will eat like a queen. I may even put the plate on the kitchen table. We're also going to grab a pie from our favorite coffee shop if they have one of her favorites-- she's a fan of lemon cream. If they don't have a flavor on her list of favorites, I'll bring her home a shot of their homemade whipped cream that she loves so much. I think we might take her out for a walk too. She loves the great outdoors.

And finally, on her last ride in the car, we will rock out like a hurricanes with a variety of tunes including the afore-refereneced (why yes, I made that word up!) Scorpion. It all started because (I have no idea how or when) at some point Maggie entered a room, and Jeff said, "Here I am!" to the tune of "Rock You Like a Hurricane." She must of been entering the room like a bad ass. Regardless, it became a thing. She is and will forever be our badass, sweet, friendly, hurricane kitty, and we will always love her.

Tuesdays With Maggie

I've often thought it would be neat to write a book about Maggie and her effect on my life, but the market's flooded. However, I recently figured out how to give it a new spin: I'll begin each chapter with a haiku about Maggie. 

Like Maggie (and Purrcy because I couldn't resist throwing in this one), you're probably wondering how on Earth I came up with such an idea. It all started because the Family Video Jeff and I pass by on the way home started listing exactly three movie titles on their sign, and they were listed in such a way that each week it was as if there was a new poem on the sign. Things really started to spiral when they posted this:

Get Hard

Maggie

The Warrior

If you know either of us, this title caught our attention for two reasons. The obvious: we have a cat name Maggie. And we're both immature at times which I believe is good because we have stressful jobs. Our sense of humor helps keep us alive. So we ran with it, reciting the "poem" in different ways to create different meanings. The notion of Maggie as a kick ass warrior... amazing!

Eventually the sign changed (twas a sad day), and we were less interested until I decided that Family Video should start making haikus out of movie titles. Somehow this led to Jeff making haikus out of Star Wars titles, and that somehow led to haikus about Maggie. It may sound strange, but she's totally a haiku worthy cat. I've got two so far, but I feel like with time and some solid theme development, I could come up with enough to give my future "cat teaches her human lessons about life" memoir a decent twist and edge in the market. I'm still working on a title, but for now, here are some lovely, wisdom-filled Maggie haikus.

Maggie has cancer

She's living life to the max

Cause that's how she rolls

Maggie is so dope

Cancer or not, she's chilling

Like it's a Tuesday

Maggie, The Doctor
Are chilling in the TARDIS
Prepping for stardust

I know the last one had no real wisdom, but I couldn't resist. See you next week!

Geronimo!

Allons-y!

The TARDIS arrived! Granted it is missing a light and a more permanent details, but for now this is perfect. 

Besides, the kitties don't care. Maggie's even mocking me, "Neener, neener! The Doctor picked me to be his companion! Not you, mom!"

"Purrcy can you believe it? I thought The TARDIS was just on some silly show mom watched... but it's really here!" 

I know Maggie and Purrcy actually have no clue why there's a giant blue box in the living room, but they don't seem to care-- it is a box after all. Maggie is content to just chill inside.

Purrcy on the other hand... well, he's gone nuts. Especially after I hung up a toy. 

I'm so thankful my step-dad was able to make my dream come true for Maggie (and that Purrcy is benefiting too). Not every cat can say they've been inside a TARDIS! I'm also thankful he's willing to help me update it and make changes. I have a feeling it's going to get lots of love for a long time... so she'll need to be fixed up every once in while. But for now, she'll do just fine. 

"Get your own TARDIS, mom."

Tuesdays With Maggie

Since "re-booting" Tuesday With Maggie, I've done a lot of research and contemplation. I've also made some memories with the Mags-- I'd like to think I'll look back at our ridiculous poses and smile.

Because her condition will likely require us to essentially "pick a date," I've Googled all sorts of phrases involving cat cancer, pet euthanasia, and when it's "the right time." I suppose I hoped it would give me a more definitive answer than what our vet gave us-- "You'll know." Apparently that is the most definitive answer one can get unless you find yourself in an emergency situation.

Before we'd even had Maggie for a year, Jeff and I talked about our feelings surrounding pet euthanasia. Thankfully we were both on the same page, agreeing that sometimes it's the best thing to do for your furry friend. It isn't about the number of years we spend with our companions but the quality of time we get to share with them. Neither of us thought to discuss it any further. Why would it be any more complicated than that? Unfortunately it is vastly more complicated, and not just in our case. There's even a scale designed to help owners determine when it's time.

I don't want or need the scale-- it seems too clinical, at least it is for me. But I understand why it exists. It was made for the very same reason I started researching when and what to do. We are humans, and we want to be in control with all of the answers. For me, my research only confirmed what I didn't realize I already knew-- I simply would, as the vet said, "know." I know with absolute certainty that today is not the day, but I know it could be tomorrow. I know this because I know Maggie. I doubt tomorrow is the day, but I see it coming soon. It scares the shit out of me. That is why I am sitting here writing this. Maybe some day someone will be just as scared as me, and they can find comfort in my words. Maggie is still enjoying life, but rather than eating out of a bowl, she prefers her food on a flat surface. She doesn't follow me around like my shadow anymore either. Stuff like this, the so-called little things, tells me the day is nearing.

I don't know if we'll pick the "right" day, but I know we won't pick the wrong day. Almost every site discussing this issue states something along the lines of "Better a week too early than an hour too late." I've found peace in this statement. I'd rather take away a few good days than give her even one extra bad day. Maggie cannot recover from this. So all Jeff and I can do is give her the best life in the time she has left and trust our instincts. We know Maggie. I've given her permission to let go, and I'd like to think that when she is ready, she will tell me. I told her (yes, I actually verbalized this) to just let me know. Sometimes humans need permission to let go, so I gave the same respect to Maggie, and I know that someday soon I'll get a look, one that doesn't go away.

For now, I am soaking up all the cuddles I can get, and I'm ensuring Maggie gets the most out of her last days, checking off as many bucket list items as possible. On Monday she got organic tuna served on a good plate. Maybe it's silly, but as humans we talk about our last meal. So Maggie at least deserves organic tuna on a good plate!

Jeff snapped this picture. Clearly we made a solid choice because this was the clearest shot he could get. Maggie has a few other items on her list (Taylor Swift has yet to get back to us, and her trip to the park has been delayed because of the heat-- if nothing else, she'll get one more trip to our back yard), but I'm really looking forward to her reaction to the TARDIS cat condo. I've always wanted to get her a cat condo because I thought she'd enjoy being perched up just a bit higher than normal. Sometime this week, we will find out what she thinks!

If she's not a fan of the TARDIS, I know she'll love the toys that I got to go with it. Both cats practically mauled me to get to these as soon as I opened the box. Wet food is usually ranked above catnip and toys. So they must be made with some strong nip!

No matter what happens--with the TARDIS or with Maggie-- I know everything will be okay. We've given her a good life, one filled with good food, toys, treats, sometimes human food (I'm pretty sure she's getting ham and gravy this week!), laughter, and lots of cuddles. She'll always reside in my heart, and I know she'll always be with me. I always thought she'd be here to watch my future human children grow up, at least part of the way, but I know she'll keep an eye on them from above. I don't actually know that, but in a way I do because if Maggie can't be with me, she has to at least be laughing at and watching over Jeff and me while lazing about on her catnip and tuna filled clouds. A life without at least her spirit is just too sad to even consider.

Tuesdays With Maggie

As you know, my step-dad is building a TARDIS cat condo for Maggie. I could really use an actual TARDIS right now-- I think this is the third post in a row that has been posted late. Ah! But hey, it's technically still Tuesday at least.

I've been on a Doctor Who kick lately, probably because I get daily updates about Maggie's TARDIS, and I'm also wishing the new series was out already. I need my fix! I still find the theme fitting, albeit in a sort of sad yet wise way.

At least twice during the current run of Doctor Who, The Doctor has been asked about his companions and their eventual departure--whether through choice or not. In "School Reunion," explaining to Rose why he left Sarah Jane behind, The Doctor said, "I don't age. I regenerate. But humans decay. You wither and you die. Imagine watching that happen to someone you..." The sentence only needed completing for a naive Rose, "You can spend the rest of your life with me. But I can't spend the rest of mine with you. I have to live on, alone. That's the curse of the Timelords."

And perhaps even more heartbreaking is the exchange he shared with the character of Jackson Lake in a Christmas Special:

Jackson Lake: Tell me one thing. All those facts and figures I saw of the Doctor's life, you were never alone. All those bright and shining companions. But not any more?
The Doctor: No.
Jackson Lake: Might I ask why not?
The Doctor: They leave. Because they should or because they find someone else. And some of them, some of them... forget me.
[pause]
The Doctor: I suppose in the end, they break my heart.

Obviously none of us are The Doctor. We could only hope to meet such a being let alone be anything at all like The Doctor. But we are like him in at least one way: we often refer to our pets as companions. Perhaps it's because they are more than just animals to many of us. They are our friends, our family, and we love them. We bring them into our homes knowing that eventually they will break our hearts. At some point, no matter how it happens, we will all feel like The Doctor after a companion is gone. If we didn't, this wouldn't exist.

The Doctor can fix and upgrade K-9, but our companions are more vulnerable and vastly more complicated than K-9. The Doctor cannot break the rules of time and space to spend forever with Rose, nor can he fix Donna. And I cannot heal Maggie. It's just not how it works.

But I knew this. Jeff knew this. Why did we set ourselves up for such heartbreak? Why do any of us? As humans we will eventually "wither and die" just as The Doctor says, but our furry family members will always do so before us (and none of us can even take comfort in knowing our pain and sadness can look so good in a GIF). I'd like to think it's one of our redeeming qualities as humans. We choose to find the capacity to love an animal knowing full well that he or she will depart our world before us, leaving what feels like a giant gaping hole in our world and soul. The animals may need us, but we also need them. We are better with them, better for having them even if only for a short while.

This doesn't make it any easier. It certainly doesn't in a situation such as this. I previously mentioned that Maggie reminded me most of Donna Noble. Shortly after posting it, I realized how fucking depressing having cat remind me of Donna truly is. Sure Maggie is sassy and fun, but as the days go by I notice changes in her that mean the conscious decision we must ultimately make to end her life is nearing. It's not a choice we want to make, but it is a choice we must make in the coming weeks or months. At least I've had the pleasure of knowing the most important cat in the world-- she's changed my life in so many ways, all for the better. My spirit animal might be the thirteenth doctor, but Maggie's, no matter how tragic, is Donna Noble-- the most important woman in the whole of creation.

So here's to you, Maggie.

Tuesdays With Maggie

Normally I would be upset with myself for failing to get to this blog post until now-- I had intended to work on it about two or three hours ago. However, my nap lasted longer because in my haze of fatigue I set an 8 AM alarm rather than an 8 PM alarm. I don't usually like to take evening naps, but I clearly needed it! Oddly enough, my not being upset is because I had the best napping buddy a gal could wish for-- Maggie!

If I'm going to "oversleep," now is the best time. Each nap and moment of snuggles I share with her is a gift. I suppose it's funny it happened on the day I planned to blog about enjoying each moment and day like you may not have another. 

We haven't managed to check much off Maggie's bucket list yet, but we've at least made strides. Ever since I became a Whovian, I knew that I wanted a TARDIS cat tower. My step-dad had agreed to help me make one, but I never really knew when it would happen. It was one of those plans that I knew would eventually happen, but it might be a year or two before it came to fruition. It's not that my step-dad doesn't care, but life is complicated and busy-- for both of us. It doesn't help that we don't live near each other! 

After finding out Maggie was ill and there was nothing Jeff or I could do, I asked my step-dad about the cat tower. I told him it would be amazing if Maggie could be in a TARDIS before she died. Because he's the best step-dad ever (no joke), he agreed to start work on it. I had no idea he'd go out the very next day to purchase wood! Since asking less than a week ago, he's got a frame and two shelves (as of late afternoon today). 

If Maggie wasn't sick, this would not exist yet because I simply wouldn't have asked my step-dad to start work on it yet. Obviously I hate that Maggie's sick, but even in sickness, she's taught me a lesson. It's such a trite lesson, yet it's one that I still needed to learn. Life can be taken away at any moment (You'd think as a 28 year-old Doctor Who fan, I'd have figured this one out already-- the end of series two! All of the Donna episodes! Hello!). I can't just live out all my dreams and do as I wish at any given moment, but I should treasure each moment-- even the ones spent napping on the couch with Maggie. 

So aside from stepping into a TARDIS, what else is on Maggie's bucket list so far? 

• Eat Grandma's ham and gravy on one of the "good" plates.
• Take a trip to the park.
• Take a trip in the car without the kennel.
• Marriage equality becomes the law.  

Maggie apparently has her own bucket list. So far I've only figured out two items which isn't bad considering she's a cat, and I only recently discovered its existence. Number one appears to be the standard item of passing down knowledge to friends and family. 

She appears to be teaching Purrcy to how to properly pose. 

I'm pretty sure world domination is legitimately on the list. Thankfully I do not have photographic evidence of the events that led to what is clearly a post-domination chat and modest celebration. 

As members of a CSA we find ourselves in possession of a box of wonderful goodies each week. After moving items from the box to the fridge last Thursday, I noticed Maggie hop into the box. I didn't think anything of it even though it was on the stove top. The counter top region is typically off limits, but I'm much more forgiving because of the cancer. I was also much more forgiving upon noticing that she started to pee in the box. Instead of my normal, "Damn it, Maggie!" I put my hands on my hips, and offered up a "Maggieeeee." We threw the box outside to take care of later as we had dinner plans. We didn't think about the incident again until Sunday evening. 

I was innocently chopping up kohlrabi while wondering why there was a steadily increasing level of some strange odor. Just as I asked Jeff if he smelled it, I noticed a weird residue on one of the drip pans. "What is that?" I asked. 

After a slight pause, Jeff, with either a hint of uncertainty or concern or both, said, "It's not Maggie's pee is it?"

I essentially exploded. "Oh my God! Yes, that's what it is. Oh my God." I then left the room as the smell had become unbearable at this point. Jeff somehow managed to get the stove turned off, the drip pan outside, fans blowing, and the screen door open. 

Once the smell dissipated, it dawned on me that Maggie had figured out how to weaponize her pee. I have absolutely no idea how it happened (other than she obviously managed to get her humans to essentially boil her pee) because we double checked the stove after the initial incident. Maybe she has invisible pee? But holy hell, if cats want to take over, they should figure out how to get their humans to cook their pee.   

So Maggie is certainly living her life to the fullest! We'll see you next week with more updates on the cat tower!

Tuesdays With Maggie

Tuesdays with Maggie hasn't been "a thing" in quite some time. It started as a minor project for a social media course. In fact, this entire blog is a result of that class. It's a minor miracle it still exists in some capacity. But alas it does.

And of course there's no decent way to transition into what I want to talk about on this edition of Tuesdays with Maggie. Maggie is dying. I've "known" in the back of my mind for about a week or so, but we didn't get the official pathology results until today: Maggie has oral squamous cell carcinoma.

Now, I won't go into the details because that's not the purpose of this post (hence the link). This is meant to honor and celebrate Maggie and reintroduce Tuesdays with Maggie. I'm currently working on a bucket list for Maggie. So far I only have a few items, but as I come up with more and help Maggie check them off, I hope to share some of those moments with you each Tuesday (and throughout the week via Instagram).

Now some of you might be thinking, "A bucket list for her cat? That's weird." Well, Maggie and I are both a bit weird, and despite being different species, we are best friends. We both love naps, eating (although we generally only agree when it comes to dessert and my mom's ham and gravy), and Jeff. She has been with me for nearly my entire "adult life." By the time Jeff and I were engaged, Maggie was already a huge part of our lives, and if it was even remotely possible to have had her at our beach wedding, we would have had her there! From the moment she entered our lives, she's been nothing but wonderful. I will forever be thankful Jeff let me-- his girlfriend of only a few months-- get a pet cat... that I found on Craigslist. 

 

This image has always been a favorite of mine because even upon first meeting each other, both were curious (Jeff never had a pet cat) and welcoming. There was no adjustment period. Maggie just sort of slipped into our lives as if she'd always been there. 

Maggie has grown and changed with us. She even learned to love Purrcy, our attempt to help ease her anxiety (and if Maggie could talk, I think she'd agree that any human would struggle to walk past Purrcy and not give him a home). She's been there for every milestone, if not literally than in spirit. I even took a photo of her to hang on the hospital wall when I had to have major surgery. I'm pretty sure the nurses heard about her multiple times during my morphine induced haze.

Maggie is more than I know how to describe-- part of that could be the massive amount of sadness weighing me down. But if you ask the people who know me or the people who are lucky enough to know Maggie, they will likely give you a similar yet vague and wonderful description of her. She's just one of those once in a lifetime pets who changes your life forever. 

Her bucket list isn't long yet, and I'm open to suggestions.

But first up is a trip to a park. Girlfriend deserves a wild adventure! There will also be plenty more naps, wet food, and treats. And if we are lucky, Taylor Swift and Cat Olivia Benson will send us a tweet. Maggie may not be a famous Internet cat (I wish she was simply because I think she is so amazing. I mean look at those posing skills!), but at least I know that Jeff and I have given her an amazing life and will continue to do so in the next few months. Here's to you, Maggie!

As A Good Friend Would Say, "Frustration Station!"

I try to blog at least once a week, but something always seems to get in the way. It's not that I'm lazy or have nothing to blog about... I'm just absolutely distracted by God knows what, and then the week passes, and shit. No blog. Unfortunately, I may or may not be able to keep up with it like I want to for at least the next few weeks. Why?

Quite a bit has been put on my plate at work. I won't get into because it will either make you sad or it will make you cringe or both. I also avoid talking about work on my blog because I grew up in a world in which you did not talk about work on your blog. I've alluded to the fact that I'm a teacher ( I think, if not, now you know!) so just imagine the possibilities, or don't. Regardless, the "stuff" that occurred sort of made me go into what I've been referring to as turtle mode. After the semester ended, I went into my shell, and I've only come out a few times.

I've also been dealing with hip pain for an entire fucking year-- that's a year without running. Holy hell. We finally got to the MRI point. I was oh so lucky enough to have to get an arthogram before me MRI. I hope you never need either. Tomorrow I get the results of the MRI, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to cry no matter what. The doctor will either tell me I have the labral tear he thought might be there, or he'll tell me nothing was found so he has to send me to another doctor. It's a lose-lose situation. I think I've only staved off the tears because I haven't seen the MRI or heard my doctor officially speak any of these words yet. Here's hoping I can hold back the loud "Fuck, balls, shit, piss, cock, mother fucker!" until I get back to the car.

And in other terrible, horrible news, my Kitchen Aid Mixer is also hurt. She can be fixed though! But I'm spoiled rotten, and it's hot as fuck down here, so I won't be sharing any wonderful recipes with you because I won't be baking anything unless it's a box of brownies. Seriously, I only use my hand mixture to whip up the frosting for the Angel Food cake. Oh, and to mash potatoes. That's pretty much why it exists. 

So, yeah. No delicious cookies or cupcakes for a while. Which deeply saddens me because I was ready to make Strawberry Mimosa cupcakes. Thankfully our bounty of local strawberries will freeze up nicely and still workout well for the cupcakes. If only I could flash freeze them so they would thaw to a near perfect fresh berry. Or maybe we could live in a world where strawberries are always in season... or at least longer than two fucking weeks. Next year better be better! This is two short seasons in a row! Gah!

We've Got a Musing and a Gem... and a Silly Kitty!

So I've been a bit busy lately. Between work, weird work occurrences, physical therapy for my hip bursitis, and just typical life busyness (this word looks weird), I feel like one of those poor beheaded chickens. It doesn't help that the weather has been rather wonky... tornado warnings in February! And I have to say, it's super weird and kind of scary not having cable during a storm (we canceled a while back because it's pricy, and we have yet to get the stuff to make the local stations work). I miss turning up the volume to extra loud so I can hear Jim and Nick (the weather dudes, obviously) while I hide away in the bathroom with the kitties. Thankfully, I'm safe as are Maggie and Purrcy and the husband.

Unless Purrcy decides to get more daring. Although, I'm not sure how much further he can take it, considering he's sprained his paw in a toaster, tried to put his healed paw in the hot toaster, got stuck behind the refrigerator because I guess he thought jumping behind it was a good idea even though we weren't home, and he had no escape plan, fallen from the top of our refrigerator into a pile of glass shards created from his fall, and whatever else he does while we're sleeping. But I digress.

Despite a jam-packed schedule, I managed to do some baking. Since I'd had such a terrible run of bad luck with new recipes, I tried out a Martha Stewart recipe because Martha has never steered me in the wrong direction.

I went with her Chunky Peanut, Chocolate, and Cinnamon cookies... but I omitted the peanuts. Still delicious! So how to make these bad boys and girls?

Ingredients:

•  2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt 
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 3/4 cup unsalted butter (I used vegan butter because I'm lactose intolerant)
• 1/2 cup smooth peanut butter
• 1 cup packed brown sugar
• 1/2 sugar 
• 2 large eggs (Use an egg replacer to make it vegan if you want because my chocolate chips are vegan so I assume it would work out just dandy!) 
• 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
• 1 1/2 cups chocolate chips 

Directions:

1. Preheat the oven to about 350. I say about because you all know I have a shitty oven. 
2. "Whisk" together the flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon. That's right. I whisked it... with a fork. I'm not Martha!
3. Cream the butter and peanut butter together. Martha says to do it for two minutes. I just guessed. 
4. Cream in the sugars. Again, Martha says to mix it for two minutes. I guessed! 
5. Mix in the eggs and the vanilla (Note: Martha says to add the vanilla at the end with the chocolate chip cookies. That seemed strange to me becuase no other recipe has you do that, at least that I know of. So I added the vanilla at the "normal" time.).
6. Gradually add in your flour mixture that you so gracefully whisked together. 
7. Once combined, fold in your chocolate chips. 
8. Refrigerate the dough for about fifteen minutes or until it's kind "firm."
9. Scoop dough on to parchment paper lined baking sheets (seriously, screw oiling the pan anymore). 
10. Bake for 10 to 13 minutes (I baked mine for 11 minutes, but I like a chewy cookie.).
11. Enjoy! * 

 * I forgot to take a better picture of the cookies, and I'm too focused on eating them to take another picture.

Introversion Can Be A Bitch

I came across this today...

I'm not sure if Khalifa actually said it (also, the uncapitalized "i" irritates the ever living hell out me). Regardless, it's true. I am shy. I'm also introverted-- no they are not one in the same. I just happen to be both. But I digress.

People rarely get to know me. They think they know me, but they really don't know me AT ALL. And it's not that I don't want them to know me. In fact, I can think of a few people I've tried to get to know, to let them in, past my facade. I've failed. Or have they failed? Maybe I'm just supposed to be the chick that bakes, writes blog posts laden with f-bombs, and is married to your really awesome co-worker.

But that's not me... well, it's not an all-encompassing description of me anyway. That's the problem. Now, you might be thinking, "You're not trying hard enough. You just don't put yourself out there enough." But that's fucking bullshit.

A few people know me. A few of them may even read this (Yeah, I'm talking to you.). And I'd like to believe they'd testify that I'm worth getting to know, that I do "put myself out there." They know about my fears, my biggest accomplishments, all of the "whys" and "hows",  my mind-boggling obsession with figuring out if the comma (especially that last one) goes inside the quotes or outside the quotes because across the blogosphere and in books and magazines the standard appears to have changed, my obsession with food-- particularly cheese and ice cream despite my lactose intolerance. They know I'm so fucking complicated that no blog post could ever convey the depth of my soul (I'm just that deep!). Actually, that sentence might because it's one part facade, one part reality, in a way that isn't discernible. Hell, Jeff just asked if I was okay because I'm not chatting with him because I usually chat with him even when he doesn't want to chat which is weird because introverts aren't usually chatty, but I am really fucking chatty.  

So why am I so God damned invisible? Forgettable? Or do you just avoid me because you all are just afraid to tell me that my baking actually sucks?

17 Reasons Why... I'm Married?

So I was browsing through my Facebook feed, prepping for a wicked nap. But then I came across an article about being undateable, and it enraged me. So much so that I couldn't nap. According to Ashley Fern, "being single in your twenties is currently some sort of epidemic that comes without explanation." What. The. Fuck.

Being single is totes cool. If anyone tells you otherwise, fuck them. But that doesn't mean being non-single is uncool. At all. Especially when your seventeen reasons for being single totally fucking suck. Fern says her reasons are "possibly satirical." What the fuck does that even mean? Either they are satirical, or they aren't! You can't have it both fucking ways. Satire and no satire may be one of the only true binaries in existence.

So here are Fern's seventeen reasons... except instead of making me undateable, they make me fucking awesome and/or my husband fucking awesome:

1. I'd rather stay in than go out. I binge watch Netflix with my husband. Sometimes I binge watch it by myself. How scandalous!

2. I'm old, so I hardly ever go out. But when I do, I PARTY. And you know who is semi-cool with it? My hubster. Why? Because he's not a fucking dick. The semi is only there because he loves me, and he doesn't want me to have a hangover because hangovers suck donkey balls.

3. Fern says she is undateable because she doesn't want to meet your family. Dude. That just means you're like everyone else in the world. I love my in-laws, but I wasn't exactly "Yay! Jeff, I want to meet your family! They're going to love me and my weirdness and my cursing and all my other baggage!" 

4. I wasn't excited to introduce Jeff to my family. It's no that I'm ashamed of my family, but we have our quirks. So again, just like every other human being, I was nervous about Jeff meeting my family. Why? Because families are weird. They interrogate the hell out your new mate. Granted it's to ensure he or she is truly worthy of joining the family and its unique but cool weirdness.

5. Fern says she can't commit to what she wants for lunch which therefore means she should be alone. Major fucking slippery slope. I can commit to what I want for lunch because I order the same fucking thing... if you can get me to commit to a restaurant. I still got married though. Committing to Jeff and committing to food are super different. Life partner does not equal (is not even similar to) food. This is where Jeff being awesome comes into play-- he puts up with my indecisiveness!

6. I love having the bed all to myself. But we own cats so it's never going to happen. BUT. Fern wants the bed all to herself so she can use half of it for sleep and half of it for laundry. Get a chair for that shit. If you have a bed all to yourself, enjoy the fuck out of it. Don't sully it with laundry! Seriously. That's why people started putting fucking chairs in their bedrooms. For unfolded laundry!

7. I love my best friend (What up, bestie?!). But that never stopped me from dating. Seriously. I don't get this one. How can you love your best friend so much that you have no more room for romantic love? Satire or not, this one makes no fucking sense.

8. I don't tolerate bullshit. Why would anyone tolerate bullshit? I know dating can be filled with bullshit, but that's why you dump assholes and bitches, and marry the good ones, a la Jeff. Also, if, like Fern, you think understanding and patience are bullshit concepts, you're a moron who's handing out your own brand of bullshit. Or we just took a giant U-turn into Fern satire.

9. Sometimes I'd rather hang out with my guy friends. My bestie is a dude. Most of my friends have been/are dudes. Why? I have no idea, but it's not because there's less drama. Guys are some of the most dramatic creatures I've met-- which to Fern's credit, she kind of admits, but then she says, "Boyfriends who let the girl wear the pants in the relationship can be even worse." Dude. It's not 19-fucking-50 anymore. Also, who's to say the people reading your article/blog-thing want a man. Maybe they date chicks.

10. I have trust issues. And Jeff understands that about me because he's awesomesauce.

11. I have an unhealthy relationship with Netflix. I believe this was covered in the first reason. Why we must repeat it, I don't know. But we did. So who cares that I watch a shit ton of Netflix? Jeff doesn't care. He teases me, but we pay for it. So I'm going to fucking use it.

11a. Fern didn't have an 11a, but my God, she has shitty reasons for not dating, and it's really fucking grating on my nerves.

12. Fern's after-work schedule doesn't allow for a relationship. I don't get it. You had time to write a shitty fucking article about being undateable. I think you have time to date.

13. Fern may have finally figured out how to be slightly satirical. Romantic notions make her want to vomit, but she also bitches about wanting someone tall, dark, and handsome. So either she's going for satire at this point, or she's really fucking confused. P.S. I don't like traditional romance so you actually can be dateable and only want a big ass bag of chocolate for Valentine's Day even though you hate Valentine's Day because it's stupid and made-up.

14. Fern likes her pint of ice cream sans man. Fuck that. I will cuddle with Jeff while eating ice cream that he so kindly picked up for me because I was feeling sad. It's nice to have a husband who knowingly lets you eat your feelings while cuddling with you and watching Netflix.

15. Again, it's not 19-fucking-50. You don't have to be great at cooking and cleaning, Fern! Our bed hasn't been made in days. So there!

16. Fern wants a relationship so she can have free lunches. What-the-fuck-ever.

17. Fern says she's too picky. No fucking shit. I just... fuck it.

The point is, Fern doesn't fully understand satire. Or dating. Or how much glorifying the single life enrages me (glorifying marriage also enrages me because it's just fucking life).

Call Me Potato Head

It's come to my attention that my post evoked sadness in people. Some people felt sorry for me. Please know this was not my intent. I was not seeking a pity party. If it makes you feel sad or feel sad for me, that's fine. I just need you to know that my intent was not some self-loathing-please-feel-sorry-for-me blog. Rather, it was me speaking out against what people think I SHOULD be doing with MY life despite their lack of knowledge of what it's actually like to be me and live as me.
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You know those metaphorical bubbles that surround each of us? Mine isn't very large, partially because I'm a tiny person, but mostly because I'm not ashamed of who I am, what I do, etc. I mean, I recently took one of those quizzes circulating Facebook...

My response? I laughed because it's kind of true, especially when I'm online. You see, computer mediated communication has a disinhibition effect, Basically, I say shit I might not say in person. Most of what I say online, I would actually say if I were standing right next to you. Depending on who you are, I might not say what I'm about to say. Thank God for computer-mediated communication (do blogs count?) because your desire for me to birth a child needs to fucking stop. 

Yeah. I typed it. And you read it. 

Don't get me wrong. I want to have a baby. And it's not some far off in the distance thing either. I even remember the exact moment I realized I was ready. I was watching fucking Twilight (whatever the last one is called). I was sitting in a fucking movie theater, watching a fucking stupid cinematic (ha!) rendition of a ridiculous "book" that I stupidly like when I realized I was mentally ready to have baby. There was some husband gazing involved in all of that, but it's hard for me to get over the fact that I had such an important revelation during fucking Twilight.  

All of that was more than a year ago. I'm not pregnant. We aren't trying (I really hate that word. Blah!). Why? We (really just me) are not financially ready to have a baby. Literally. No one is ever financially ready to have a child. Kids are fucking expensive. And I also shamefully accept help paying for my bills. I don't want the money, but not taking it would be irresponsible. And if you think this is all bull shit. Think again. The people who want me to have babies the most would turn on me if I actually had said babies because I'd be just another person shamelessly sucking off the teat of the government. Except! My mom wouldn't let that happen because she's just like that. And this is why someday I plan to repay her with a condominium. At least I hope-- I hope I have the money to do so, and I hope she actually let's me do it. She's one of the most selfless and understanding people I know.  

But anyway.

I know what you're thinking. I have a job. I could apply for another job. Yeah. Been there done that. I, a well-educated chick with an advanced degree, applied for bank gigs, secretarial gigs, state gigs, any gig other than fast-food and prostitution (is there an application process for that?). I even applied at Menard's, and they wouldn't hire me! I worked at Lowe's Home Improvement for fucking years, and I knew a former employee of the very Menard's I applied. Nothing. 

So I continue to teach part-time at a local community college. I quite like it minus the fact that I can't provide for my family in the ways I want to provide (I seriously make what equates to about minimum wage, and I don't even have job security since I work on semester to semester contract basis*). I can't even justify having a baby. So every time you tell me we should have a baby, a little part of me dies inside because I feel guilty and ashamed. But mostly I feel sad. I have a wonderful husband, and I know he'd make a great father. He even wants to be a dad, like yesterday. 

So the next time you tell me I should have a kid, remember you're not jut expressing your desires, you're also stabbing and twisting a knife deep inside my soul. I can't have what I want, and I remind myself every damn day. Society reminds every damn day, especially since I'm slowly but surely creeping along to thirty. So I don't fucking care what you want. If you so desperately want me to birth a child for you, buy the fucking diapers, the fucking food. You may also want to save up for possible complications related to my size and my pre-existing health conditions as well as college tuition. And, oh, by the way, do you have money for my student loans and car insurance? No? Then shut the fuck up.

* I refuse to break it down because it makes me more sad, and you can Google it anyway. I make somewhere in between all those numbers they throw around. 

Consolidation

Since 2011 I've been running two separate blogs-- one contains random musings about cats and politics and trips while the other contains recipes for sweet treats. I've decided to consolidate them because, well, it's easier. I think it will help keep me on a more strict blogging regimen too (I've been doing a terrible job!). So what's the plan?

1. I'm moving everything to this blog. Past posts will still remain at the other blog-- An Itty Bitty Baking Girl-- because people, including myself, have "pinned" certain posts. But in one giant move (I hope), everything from "Itty Bitty", or at least part of it, will be here.

2. To help keep things organized, I will label things accordingly. My musings will simply be labeled "Musings." I'm still thinking of a clever baking or cooking label (I may just go with "Darling Gems" since that's the name of my pipe-dream bakery), but regardless of what it becomes, it will always be tagged/labeled with the same name.

3. I will post about baking and cooking on Sundays (or Mondays if I'm running behind). My "musings" will be posted on Wednesdays or Fridays depending upon the week, but I promise to try and maintain some level of consistency.

So here's to the future of my blog! And below you will find some of my favorite posts/recipes from An Itty Bitty Baking Girl.

Chocolate Angel Food Cake... a Twist on Grandma Darling's Legendary Cake

I recently lost my Grandma. She was an amazing woman... I know everyone probably says that about their grandmothers. But Grandma Darling or Midge or Mildred or Millie or whatever else you knew her as really was an extraordinary woman-- she volunteered at church and the hospital until she was physically incapable; she judged no one; she loved deeply and gave the best hugs; and she baked one heck of an Angel Food Cake. She cooked and baked all the time--she lived on a farm after all. Ask my Aunts and Uncle, even my older cousins. They'll tell you about the chickens without heads and buckets of lard. Grandma may have left the farm after Grandpa died, but she took her Angel Food Cake with her, and it was and will always be legendary. 

Losing her has been one of the most difficult experiences of my life. But one must move on, especially when your grandma was Grandma Darling. The toughest loses didn't stop her. So I'm pretty sure she'd want me and the rest of my family to keep on trucking. So what did my mom and I do? We baked and Angel Food Cake.

My mom and I are a bit adventurous, and we love chocolate. We've both made Grandma's legend, not as well of course (I'm not sure anyone has), but we did what Grandma Darling would have done, what she did do for more than twenty-five years after losing the love of her life, Grandpa Darling, we baked, and we baked well. More importantly, we baked with love.

Now Grandma never made this version... I think she was stubborn. But I know she was proud... after all it still requires the ever tedious sifting of flour and sugar! So, I urge you, try this cake. Go forth, be bold, and enjoy the chocolatey goodness of the Chocolate Angel Food Cake... and remember, when life gets tough, do as my Grandma would do, bake!

Chocolate Angel Food Cake with Frosting

Cake:

1 1/2 Cups Confectioners' Sugar

1 Cup Cake Flour (Swan's Down is the best.)

1/4 Cup Baking Cocoa

1 1/2 Cups Egg Whites (about 10 eggs)

1 1/2 Teaspoons Cream of Tartar

1/2 Teaspoon Salt

1 Cup Sugar

Frosting:

1 1/2 Cups whipping cream

1/2 Cup Sugar

1/4 Cup baking cocoa

1/2 Teaspoon Salt

1/2 Vanilla Extract

Cake:

1. Sift together confectioners' sugar, flour and cocoa three times. Set aside.

2. Beat egg whites, cream of tartar, and salt until soft peaks form.

3. Gradually add sugar until stiff peaks form. 

4. Gradually fold in cocoa mixture.

5. Spoon into an ungreased Angel Food Cake pan... preferably one with legs. Trust me! Life will be much easier!

6. Run a knife through the batter to remove air pockets.

7. Bake on lowest oven rake (if you have a gas oven) at 375 for 35 to 40 minutes until the top springs and has dry cracks. Make necessary adjustments for electric ovens and altitude differences etc.

8. Cool completely, with the pan upside down (cake pan legs should come in handy!).

9. Run a knife around the edges and the center to loosen, and remove cake.

Frosting:

1. Combine ingredients in a mixing bowl.

2. Cover, and chill for one hour.

3. Beat until stiff peaks form.

4. Spread over the top and sides of cake.

Enjoy!

There's Nothing Wrong with Plain Jane Cookies

I've been doing quite a bit of baking lately. Unfortunately I haven't blogged about any of it. What can I say? It's that time of year-- I may not be the student anymore, but I still feel overwhelmed at the end of the semester. There's so much grading and reading and listening to speeches and grading and listening to excuses (that I've heard at least twice before) and some more grading.

So dear readers, I do apologize (all five of you... or maybe ten?) for not blogging about my favorite meal of the day. If it's any consolation, I ate very little of my creations... until now. I'm on my fourth cookie. Everyone else liked the brownies with a bajillion ingredients and the chocolate covered cake bites, but it was all too much for me. I like the simple things which is why I'm obsessed with my organic take on this blogger's brown sugar cookies. 

I only have one picture... I went jogging. Yes, I went jogging and then measured out oodles of sugar. Needless to say I wasn't exactly focused on taking pictures of my soon-to-be-dessert. I just wanted to reward myself with these wonderful cookies!

Please enjoy...

Ingredients*:

1. 1 cup organic, unsalted butter, room temperature

2. 1 and 1/4 cups organic brown sugar

3. 1 organic, cage-free egg

4. 1 teaspoon organic vanilla extract (Personally, I'm obsessed with Singing Dog Vanilla Extract.)

5. 2 cups all purpose, organic, unbleached flour (I wonder if using gluten-free all purpose flour would work?)

6. 1/2 teaspoon sea or kosher salt

7. 1/4 teaspoon organic baking soda

Directions:

1. Using your beautiful KitchenAid Mixer mixture, blend butter and sugar.

2. Add the egg and vanilla.

3. Gradually add the flour, salt, and baking soda.

4. Mix until blended.

5. Refrigerate dough for two hours.**

6. Preheat oven to 350 degrees, and bake cookies for about 12 minutes.

7. Enjoy! Oh, you should probably let the cookies cool first. Now enjoy!

* As always, I use organic ingredients when possible. It's just a personal preference, not a requirement.

** I have no idea why the recipe said to do this. My guess? The dough was really sticky before it chilled. So I would be patient if possible.

Be Nice to Your Producer... Because He Might Give You a Cookie!

I've been in a bit of a baking frenzy. Thankfully I have somewhere to send my treats too, or else I'd be in trouble (Thanks Jeff's co-workers! Be nice to him tomorrow because he's bringing you cookies!)! Maggie usually tries to con me out of some, but not this weekend...

Although after her nap Jeff did spoil her with a few nibbles of his turkey burger. Ah, the life of a cat. But I digress. So what did today's agenda entail? Baking of course!

I may have also jumped on the Instagram bandwagon. What can I say? I like the clean and neat borders. I also did a bit of grocery shopping, and I happened to snag this...

I know. It's pretty awesome. Now for the fun part. Cookies! Last week I tried making cake batter cookies. Everyone loved them, but I thought they could be better. I found the recipe from the blog, Lovin' From The Oven, but I didn't have the exact cake mix it called for. I figured what the heck. Well, the cookies tasted great, but they were really, really, really thin. I thought it was my use of organic ingredients, or maybe my oven just sucked (because it really does).

Being the perfectionist that I am, I had to try again with the "correct" cake mix. It must be Funfetti magic, because this batch turned out wonderful, organic ingredients and all (Minus the Funfetti of course!). They aren't puffy, but they aren't too thin. They have a bit of crunch, but the center is a bit soft. Perfect! At least in my book.

I highly recommend these cookies. They are super tasty, and the batch size is perfect for keeping them at home and not fretting about munching on too many sweets--about twenty or twenty-five cookies. So here's my adaptation...

Ingredients:

1. 3/4 cup organic, softened butter

2. 1/2 cup organic cane juice/sugar

3. 1/2 cup organic brown sugar

4. 1 organic, cage-free, and preferably local egg

5. 1 egg yolk... that's cage-free, organic, and local!

6. 2 teaspoons organic vanilla

7. 3/4 cup organic all-purpose flour

8. 1 and 1/4 cups Funfetti cake mix

9. 1/4 teaspoon organic baking soda (I used a touch more because my first batch scared me into it.)

Directions:

1. Mix together, or as my mom would say, cream together the butter, eggs, sugar, and vanilla

2. Mix in the flour, the cake mix, and the baking soda (I prefer to mix them together first)

3. Refrigerate the dough for at least thirty minutes

4. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees

5. Grease a cookie sheet or two

6. Spoon the dough on the sheets, and bake for about 8 minutes

7. Let the cookies sit for a few, and then move 'em to a cooling rack

8. Enjoy!