The Misadventures of Cheri

Mortifying my kids one swimsuit at a time

If you’ve ever thought of getting a beagle . . . .

. . . . let me be the first to warn you.  I’m not saying don’t get one, but I am saying buyer beware.  Here is the latest excitement compliments of my beagle, Gwen.

Last night the hunky hubs and I had a Christmas date.  We went to sushi and gorged to our heart’s desire.  I need a moment to pause and remember just how good it was.  Okay, I’m back.  Then we headed down to the remodeled Kiggins Theatre to see “It’s a Wonderful Life” on the big screen.  A side note to all the locals:  go to Kiggins!  You will not believe how wonderful it is now.  They actually heat the theater!!  They put in all new seats and you no longer have to worry if the spring you just sat on is carrying the Hepatitis C virus.  It’s beautiful.  And if you really miss the old Kiggins, you can buy two virus infested, split upholstery, squeaky, unmatching  original seats for $50!!!

When we returned home, Austin found one of my synthetic thyroid hormone pills on the stairs.  {Yes, I have a hypothyroid.  I used to be hyper-, but when I was 17 I drank radioactive iodine to kill the thing off.  And if one more person says to me, “Oh yeah, everyone has a hypothyroid, don’t they.  You know doctors just say that to get you to take the medicine and stay their patient forever, blah, blah, blah,” I won’t be responsible for my actions.}  After Austin enthusiastically greeted us at the front door (not really) he headed upstairs.  He bent over and said, “Oh yeah, this must have been what she ate.  He found one of my pills.  He then showed me the prescription bottle he found that had chew marks all over the lid and was completely empty.

Did I mention I just got my three-month refill?

{Insert panic here.}

It was 5:45 p.m. so I hurriedly called our vet.  Of COURSE they close at 5:30.  I knew I only had one option . . . the super expensive 24-hour emergency vet.  In my ever efficient thinking, I called said ER office.  I told the receptionist what happened, hoping against hope that she would automatically know what effect 90-ish levothyroxine 200 MCG pills had on a 30 pound beagle.  Sounds reasonable, right?  As soon as I said “90” she interrupted me with, “90?  Do you really mean nine-zero?????”  I replied with, “Uh, yeah.  She’s a beagle, what can I say?”  To which I was met with, “You need to get her in here right away.  I’ll alert the doctor you’re coming.”

Tyler loaded the kennel in the car and I threw my coat on over my yoga pants/not-fit-for-public-viewing t-shirt combination and dashed out the door.  At least my makeup and hair were nice due to the above mentioned date.  Sometimes you just have to grasp the little things . . . . Anyway, as soon as Gwen saw the kennel in the car she went her typical outhouse rat crazy and ran into the neighbor’s yard with glee.  This is how she always celebrates and it was my first clue she was going to be okay.

She generally whines with anticipation when she’s in the kennel.  Not this time, so I went from relieved to worried.  I finally heard the tag on her collar jingle and realized she was sitting up looking at me (at this point it was dark out).  Apparently she only freaks out in the kennel when the chihuahua is with her.  The chihuahua definitely has a way of bringing out the worst in yourself.

We arrived at the vet and she was her typical crazy.  So much so that I couldn’t even fill out the paperwork.  A tech came and got her and assured me that we brought her in well within the window of opportunity.  We figured that she couldn’t have eaten them any earlier than 4:45 (when Austin took Amber to a sleepover) or any later than 5:30.  At this point it was a little after 6:00.  The poor tech tried to weigh her so they knew how much puke medicine to give her.  Gwen wouldn’t stay still for a single second but they were able to get an approximate weight.

Thankfully I stayed out in the waiting room and didn’t have to see how the procedure brought about the desired result.  The doctor talked to me and said she puked up as much as she possibly could, but some might have gotten into her system.  He told me they wanted to keep her overnight to monitor her and it would be around $700.

I don’t really remember if I said anything because at that point I blacked out.  When I came to, I muttered something along the lines of, “Need call husband to do I.”  My amazing hubs had been furiously Googling levothyroxine and dogs.  It’s apparently quite common for dogs to ingest these pills.  (Idiots)  After his research and our strong desire to not pay $700, we decided to have them give her a charcoal treatment and bring her home.

And guess who is just fine?  The side effects would show physical signs and she never displayed any.  This morning she’s sleeping in her favorite spot and probably thinking, “Did that really happen?”

Yes, Gwen, it did.  And I have the receipt to prove it.

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The Worst Christmas Song. Ever.

I heard this little gem last year for the first time.  I cannot tell you how much I detest this song.

Before the big reveal, let’s get a few things straight.  I love the original; most of us probably do.  Also, I am neither ultra-traditional nor ultra-conservative.  I like it when artists remix traditional music.  Sadly, I don’t think these people count as artists.  I could auto-tune the heck out of a song and call it a remix, too.  In the dictionary sense it would be a remix.  In the good taste and creative sense, it would not be a remix.  It would be a tragedy. Thankfully I know my limits.

The song is “Angels We Have Heard On High” {love} remixed {in the dictionary sense, not the good taste sense} by Family Force 5.  FF5 – as they are lovingly called by their dozens of fans – is self-described as “Part party-bangers, part grimy rockers, FAMILY FORCE 5’s booty-quaking beats and face-melting synths” (emphasis theirs, not mine).

Their remix doesn’t really seem to fit with their portrayal of themselves.  But I’ll let you be the judge.  If you can’t stand to listen to the whole thing, I beg of you to go to 2:04 where things really fall apart   the freebasing of acid obviously started they take artistic license to a whole new level.

“Flap your wings in the air like you just don’t care.”

I have no words.

None.

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In those days

Tonight at my Bible studies’ annual Christmas party, I heard the words that stop me dead in my tracks.  Every. Single. Time.  It doesn’t matter what time of year it is.  It doesn’t matter where I am.  But my feelings  intensify this time of year.

The words come from Luke 2:1, “In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world.”

I can’t explain it.  There are no other grouping of words in the English language that come close to evoking the emotion these do.  Even tonight, after hearing them for the 7,600th time in my life, I teared up.

Simply put, those words quiet my spirit and soul.  I think of my Savior and I am ushered into astonishment.  That  God would send His son into this world for us.  That He would suffer and die a horrible death just for us.  Because He loves us.  I don’t love people that much.  Giving my son for a sorry bunch of humans?  Nope.  But God did.

And I am astonished.

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