Not Much Sleep

We recently rearranged our bedroom and the girls aren't having it. Grace's favorite spot near the air vent is now covered by a dresser. Pippa's ability to lounge across our pillows and still watch the activity outside is gone. In an effort to find their comfort again, they've decided the bed belongs to them. 

Below are accurate depictions of how I have woken up in the night over the last week. 

Brett sleeps just fine and it seems I'm the only chosen victim. I want you to know that I do push them off. I do! But they are pulled back on by some kind of magical magnet which I'm beginning to realize might be me. I wake up in the night because a foot or arm of mine has fallen asleep, and that's when I realize the beasts have returned. 

In Other News

Big Guy and I went to a real live concert. It was a thrill. They sectioned off squared chunks for four people and spaced them 6 feet apart, and I think that's how all concerts should be from now on. We had personal space and snacks! We shared our square with Alex and Jessie and had a picnic supper. It was a soothing good time. Brett and I attempted a public selfie and we both got embarrassed. 

"Quick quick! Hurry!"

Grace destroyed The Spite Garden.

Last week we had one of those nights where it comes around to suppertime and you realize that you didn't pull any meat out of the freezer for supper. Now between you and me, I've been cutting back on meat in general, on principle. Veggies are always my favorite part of the meal and when you learn what they do to the poor critters...
But instead of turning it into a spontaneous vegetarian night, we thought we'd run down the street to a soup and salad spot that we love. But alas, they were closed. They shouldn't have been. The sign displaying the operating hours would suggest that we were there within the parameters of their most productive times, but the lights were off and the door was locked so we quickly arrived at plan B. 

"Let's go to Edison," I suggested, a swanky-for-James-Island place just minutes from our house. We pulled into the gravel lot, giggled our way to the front door, swung it open and stepped inside. Everyone in there looked up at us. I scanned the scene. What a well dressed lot of people, I thought to myself. In the same moment that Brett said, "I think it's a party," a man in a suit seated next to the door politely said, "We're actually a wedding group," and then he glanced at the door and then back up at me. Brett had already abandoned the scene. I smiled at the man. "Well I'll just go then," I said cheerfully. It felt like a walk of shame back to the car. It's the only time I've been put out about Edison having so many windows.  

"How about Rutledge Cab," Brett suggested, "They've got milkshakes." So we ventured Downtown. Grabbing a quick supper after a long day was turning into another chapter of our long day. The parking lot was full and happy eaters watched Brett back the car into a narrow space. One man really started at us and I wondered if he could tell that we'd just been rejected from a dining establishment. Brett pulled open the heavy wooden door and asked the hostess for a table for two. 

"I'm sorry, we're full right now,  she said. 
"No problem," Brett said, "What would the wait be?"
"We're full for the night," she said frankly, and then waved her hands at Brett like he was a bug she wanted someone to get rid of. 
"Do you think it's you?" I asked Brett.

We got back in the car. "Maybe God doesn't want us to have supper tonight." We backtracked to a favorite from our dating years, when Brett lived just around the corner. 

"Must be under 6 feet to eat here," I said, as though reading from a sign on the door. 

"What!" Brett gasped.

"Just kidding."

We were relived to be sat on the patio right away. A spontaneous alfresco supper is good for the soul, if not taxing on the wallet. We had a great meal, but the two things Brett ordered were sold out for the night and the only burnt out lightbulb in the place was over our table. 

I'm excited to tell you that Brett is almost done building our dinner table. He's been out there planing away in our hot garage. There was epoxy and funny angles and a chalk pen ordered from Amazon. Our yard is full of wood shavings and Brett's fingers are bedazzled with scabs but just a bit more sanding and a waxy sealer stain coat thing, and it will be done. 

He's never done any woodworking before and he just... made this. He constantly impresses me.

We've been having a lot of our Sunday Dinners over at Ellen and Lee's house. Little Livvy goes to bed just before adult suppertime so eating at their place means no rushed eating or hurried small talk. 

I've just realized that I haven't taken any pictures of their new house. This one is all I have.

During supper last week, Mom threw all of her built up wrath at Dad's hairdo. His whole life the man has wanted a ponytail. Sure, there is a chunk missing on top but he's surprisingly open to the combover even though we've all told him that it's horrendous. An amusing conversation about Dad's longish hair turned into a marital skirmish with the peanut gallery offering commentary. Dad hasn't cut his hair in weeks. His thick black curls are longest at the base of his neck and with a little effort, he can make the tiniest little ponytail. Now, everyone we've run into thus far, loves the look. Dad has a dignified salt and pepper beard that makes him look like a Mediterranean politician. Everyone loves the beard. Everyone also loves the hair. It is earthy and free. 

There we all were, frolicking in the decadence of Dad's assorted head hairs when Mom spouted her disgust for it with vehemence. 

"Woah," all of us kids said in unison, stunned at such an outburst from little, sweet Nancy. She thinks he looks "ridiculous" and is too embarrassed to sit next to him at church. As though everyone doesn't know they are married. She thinks the hair is lowly or something like that and even though she made this clear, she wouldn't stop talking about it. Outraged laughter filled the room as we defended Dad's do. 

"I have to say," she started again. 

"We get it, Mom, " Ellen said, "You don't like the hair."

"I think it's handsome." I said.

"You hear that," Dad aimed at Mom, "handsome."

"I wish I could grow that beard," Lee admitted. Brett stayed strategically giggly and quiet. 

"Now now, just because you don't like it, doesn't mean you get to ruin it for Dad," I said.

"I ought to cut it in the night while he's sleeping," Mom suggested. 

"Your tongue is sharper than scissors," Dad said, and we all howled with laughter. 

The Good Stuff: Live

For the first time, I have made one of my juvenile video montages, but I have done it in chronological order. Mostly. 

This one starts in July of last year and oozes on through to, well, June actually but it's close enough.  Enjoy watching Livvy grow, the grass turning green to brown to green again, and Papa Union's front porch dance moves. 

Money Pit Pip

While I was in the Keys, Brett was tending to Buddy and Bobo as well as our gals. We have noticed over the years that Grace gets feisty when she and Pippa are brought to play with Buddy. The last two times they hung out with Buddy they got into a fight so we figure Grace is jealous about having to share her boyfriend. I reminded Brett to only bring one girl at a time when visiting Buddy, but Brett is a brave wild man and chose to risk it. And it was fine for two days. On the third day, Grace's jealousy got the better of her and she bit Pippa while they were all playing on the dock. 

A tussle ensued. Locked in the brace of the other's jowls, Grace and Pippa tumbled off the dock and into the water. Brett watched as they tried to wrestle with no traction. He briefly considered letting Pippa drown Grace. "Enough of this," he thought to himself. Eventually, when he saw no end in sight, Brett emptied his pockets, took off his shoes, and jumped into the water to breakup the fight. 

I'll fast forward. Pippa's bite hole wouldn't stop bleeding. Though we've both looped around to being supporters of the Don Hon DIY School of Medicine, Brett took Pip to the animal hospital. Stubborn as her leaking wound was, they did a blood panel and found no platelets. Healthy pups have around 300,000 platelets at anytime. In her blood screening, they found 2. Without platelets your blood can't clot which is why Pip wouldn't stop bleeding. The doctors asked to keep Pip overnight so they could monitor things. So Brett went home to Grace, who had been locked in the bathroom for the 5 hours he was at the hospital, and found a huge hole in her neck that he could hear air passing through. He drove back out to the hospital with Grace. They patched her up, and Brett and Grace got home around 11:00pm. 

I'll fast forward again. Turns out Pippa has an autoimmune disease called ITP (Immune-Mediated Thrombocytopenia). Rare but not shocking, the doctors tell us. Her liver attacks her platelets leaving her without any when she needs them. When your platelet count gets too low your body can bleed and bruise internally for no reason. ITP can be caused by a cancer, which our vet has mostly ruled out, but they're still testing things. That is called secondary ITP. It can also be caused "spontaneously" and this is called primary ITP. That's what they think Pippi has. In learning about all of this, we now see evidence of it in the past, which makes us feel bad that Pips has been "sick" all this time. 

Anywho, she stayed in the hospital for three days and and came home with a huge swollen face, a fentanyl patch on her back, and countless drugs in her little body. We felt awful for her but watching her stagger around and face the wrong direction and cross her eyes really cracked us up. 

We had a tough two weeks there with constant pill administering and keeping the girls apart for own peace of mind. The wounds from the fight were minor. In fact, the one staple holding Grace's neck hole together fell out so Brett jammed it back in with a pair of pliers and Grace had almost no reaction. She's incredibly stoic. 
While I wanted to blame Brett for taking the girls to the dock, we probably wouldn't have found out about Pip's dern disease until things got really bad. We decided we both win. Or lose. 

Now, were almost four weeks in and both girls are healed up and off antibiotics. While Pip was on drugs she was especially cuddly and she followed me around all day and sat so that part of her was always touching part of me. I held warm compresses on her swollen face (the doctor told me to - I'm not insane) and she understood that I was caring for her. My heart felt like popcorn. 
But now, we've moved through the fog of pain medication and Pip has turned mean. At the moment, the vet and I are doing drug experiments to determine Pips average platelet count and how much medicine she needs daily to keep things stable. Yes, Pip will be on medication for the rest of her little life. She's our Money Pip. She is currently taking a medication that makes her extra hungry and extra grumpy. So now she's following me around begging for food all day and it is SO annoying. If I get up and walk anywhere, Pippa darts out from wherever she was sulking and she arrives at my feet within seconds. 

"I'm just going to the bathroom, " I'll tell her and then she lets out a grumpy huff and stomps off. I've caught her eating Grace's food three times this week. If we are eating, Pip is there. She presses her nose into our legs, whines, and licks the air around us. She grew accustomed to getting a snack every four hours during the foggy pill days because each of her six medications required food. That part is over now and she doesn't get it. 

My little cuddle puddle buddy is missing. The medication she's on now is one that notoriously makes people (and pets) irritable and sassy. And she is. She stays by herself most of the time and doesn't want to play with me like we usually do. We start tapering her off of this medication today so I'm hopeful that my fuzzy friend comes back.