There's a special on "Ooh! Shiney!" on Aisle 4

As we were bustling to our flight yesterday evening, I smelled an Auntie Anne's pretzel shop and lamented that I really wanted a pretzel but that it would ruin my dinner. That's when Rich reminded me that I'm a grown-up now and I can eat whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want. Needless to say, I had a pretzel and even bought some trail mix for the plane. Rich is allergic to the grocery store, so I ventured out for a solo run this evening while he played hockey. I couldn't really decide which store I wanted to go to, but at the last minute decided on our large Farm Fresh grocery store. Farm Fresh is more expensive than Kroger but they have more exciting items and that makes the experience that much more pleasant for me. I was already wandering up and down every aisle because I couldn't really decide what I wanted, so this was far from a tactical strike to get a few essentials and out.

I bought chicken tenders because they looked prettier than the chicken breasts, nevermind that they're twice as expensive. I bought the boneless pork chops because they came in a better package and I ignored those prices as well. In fact, I think I'm going to repackage them in a container that doesn't have the price tag on them so that when my parents come over tomorrow they won't see them. Daddy may refuse to eat pork chops if he knows I paid over $8 for the package.

I'm considering using the online grocery option they have so I can pick out and purchase all our groceries from the comfort of my computer chair and then send Rich to retrieve them and unload them into the house. It may cost a little more, but I already systematically ignore most price tags (except their diet green tea - $3.99 a gallon is insane) so it could be worth it. Maybe then we'll eat at home if there are more staples in the house (and if I don't wait until I'm starving to decide on food). I'm no Rachel Ray, but we at least have food in the house. Of course, I just had a bologna sandwich for dinner at 11pm since I got distracted by the damn computer's video drivers, so this will not be a quick change in eating habits.

I think our dog is a Sagittarius

Mollie has been a bit of a weirdo the last few days. Two nights ago she started being possessive over food that wasn't even hers and downright neurotic about the damn rawhides littered around the house. I finally took the last bit of the one she was obsessing over and threw it out in the outside garbage can. I thought she was going to lose her mind trying to figure out where I hid her precious. She also has been getting in her crate to sleep on her own (which she hasn't done in the past unless she was nervous or scared) and wouldn't come upstairs with us at bedtime. I convinced her to come up with us last night and she planted herself between us on th bed, where she stayed all night long. At least she kept Rich and I from beating each other up in our sleep.

The dog trainer this morning suggested that she was just getting to an age where she was testing her boundaries and her "place in the pack." She stressed that it's very important in times like this that we continue with her training and remain consistent with her structure. The cynic in me thinks she tells that to everyone, though, if it means they'll keep bringing their dogs in for day care everyday.

I asked Mollie last night if she was upset about something and wasn't telling us. She didn't want to talk about it, but I think I figured it out. I think that yesterday was her birthday and she was upset that no one got her any presents. Since she came to the SPCA as a stray, no one knows her official birthday and we've been trying to guess her age for several months other than just "young." So I think her birthday was yesterday and she had hoped we would throw her a party or at least get her a card and when the day ended and nothing had happened, she got all morose. In psychology terms, we call that "scripting," Mollie.

I tried to explain to her that our family doesn't make a big deal about birthdays and we're more in the camp that treats people (and dogs) well all year long instead, but she still looked a little mopey. So I sang her Happy Birthday last night at 11:57pm before we went to bed (while Rich rolled his eyes at me). She seemed content and has been much more mellow today.

She's still lying in her crate in the dark, but Rich says this is the dog equivalent to going up to her room and listening to loud music while putting on dark eyeliner. I tried to tell him she's just a dog and she doesn't wear make-up, but he can be silly like that.

We're so close it's hard to tell where one of us ends and the other begins

The last time I woke up this morning - at 5:45am - it was to the sound of the cat puking somewhere downstairs. I admit, my first thought was, "maybe one of the dogs will clean it up and I can keep sleeping." But then my horrible-cat-mother anxiety got to me and dug its sharp claws into my sleepy subconscious, convincing me that if I did get up 30 minutes later to find out the cat had choked on some foolishly abandoned Draino, I would probably feel really bad about it. So I gave up and got out of bed.

The cat is fine, the dogs are fine and the carpet is fine. I, however, am very tired. Pseudoephedrine is a stimulant and I had a hell of a time winding down last night. Once I finally did get sleepy enough to go to bed, I snuggled up next to my husband who had only had four hours of sleep the previous night and was sleeping HARD.

From midnight to 5:45am, Rich proceeded to beat the crap out of me in bed. I got an elbow to the face twice, hard enough to make me yell out in surprise and he didn't even stir. He continued to crawl on top of me no matter how much I moved to the edge of the bed and at one point put his knee pillow on me before planting his sore knee on top of it for comfort. When I got up to pee he spread out at a 45° angle across the bed with his arms stretched out in front of him. There was approximately a 2 foot square available for me when I returned.

I shoved him back to somewhere close to the middle of the bed and I might have exclaimed a "dammit" or two in the process. It was like we were on a boat leaning to starboard and he kept rolling on top of me, all knees and elbows.

Normally I'm the spouse abuser in this relationship, taking up a "confidant starfish" position across the bed, his tender temples giving way to my elbows of steel. But last night his complete exhaustion and all those sinus-clearing uppers in my system made a bad combination. By morning, I was ready to get in the shower and to the office just to get some rest.

Here's hoping tonight fares better or we may have to get bunk beds. I call top bunk!