26 things I love about my baby brother

Everyone knows I adore my baby brother. As a kid, he was my favorite toy. My sister and I particularly enjoyed doing his hair and make up. (In the photo below, we caught him applying his own eyeliner...) And, of course, he was always up for a swim. He practically lived in the pool. He would also fetch stuff, anything, if you asked him to. It didn't matter if it was all the way upstairs. He would go. (One day he wised up and realized that being the youngest didn't mean he had to be the slave, but it was fun while it lasted...)

As an adult, he's still a good sport. He's always up for a drunk dial (giving or receiving), always good for a laugh. He inspires me to be more of myself, encourages me in my endeavors (be it for good or evil), and holds me accountable when I am lame. He's my head cheerleader and my chief critic. I wouldn't be who I am without him.

So here you have 26 reasons why I love my baby brother:

1. He's well read. Amazingly so.
2. He's clever. He amazes my mother by solving the Jumble in his head before she can do it on paper. In fact, Mom often takes all day and even cheats, consulting the Scrabble word finder (man, is she bummed when the word she's trying to unscramble has more than seven letters...). Kevin is rarely stumped. He also composes haikus while doing manual labor.
3. He filled my iPod. I don't like everything that's on there, but at least I have choices. I thoroughly enjoy much of it, though, and I know full well I am not nearly hip enough to have found bands like the Moldy Peaches on my own.
   
4. He's cute. We both look like our father, which means we both look like boys. Although, ironically, as a kid his long hair often gotten him mistaken for a girl.
   
5. He's corruptible. Despite that fact that I have corrupted him (often), he does not blame me (outwardly) for any wistful feelings he might have towards his lost innocence. One of my favorite tales of corruption involves the time he helped me liberate a happy meal toy from a thrift store. It was one of those mini beanie babies, the turtle to be precise, and it was trapped in a bag of other crap which was not worthy of purchase. I freed it from the bag and asked Kevin to be my mule to get it out of the store. In my defense, I am really not much of a shoplifter. A pen thief, sure, and proud of it, but shoplifting is not my thing. I honestly only roped Kevin into this scheme because he was wearing clothes with pockets. Kevin, apparently, is a natural, however, as he did not even use his pockets during the heist. Too obvious, I guess, and so he slipped my turtle into his waistband and we walked out of the store. Please note that I am not particularly proud of this story. Little brothers should not, in general, be used as shoplifting mules. Also, thrift stores are for charity and I am probably going straight to hell for stealing from one. Stealing anything, in fact, should involve either necessity or ingenuity. This was a crime of opportunity and OCD. I had to have this beanie baby to complete my collection of the series and I was no longer able to acquire it at McDonald's. This was early enough into the beanie-baby-turned-happy-meal-toy craze that I had not yet gotten completely fed up with my local McDonald's employees and decided to resist collecting any of the babies at all. This decision came much later, on the second or third series, when I was stymied in my efforts to amass a perfect collection by one particularly surly and stubborn cashier. Having been a former employee of Mickey D's, I know darned well you can buy the happy meal toy separate from the happy meal. There is a button for it on the cash register. It is on the lower right side. This particular person refused to press said button and I refused to buy a meal which would not make me happy. It was over for me. Ruined... But the turtle came before all that.



6. He always says "I love you" before we get off the phone.
7. He once conspired with my future husband to lure me into the middle of our front yard and surprise me with the sprinklers. He couldn't have been more than 10 at the time. They laughed and laughed while I squealed and ran. I think it's sweet that they both recognize how important they are to me and so they work extra hard to get along.
8. He's talented. He wrote the music for my wedding (and, of course, he wrote and performed the ceremony). I also particularly like the song he wrong for our parents' anniversary. It's called "Opposite Noses" and goes something like this, "you've got a hook, I've got a pug..." something something something "it must be love..."
9. He's funny. We share a sick sense of humor. We often like to end our conversations on a gross note. For example, he likes to remind me about the time I passed gas out of both ends simultaneously in my sleep. Even though this incident obviously scarred him, he still loves me.
10. He has a reputation for being lazy. As our mother says, "He just sits down." He appears to embody that law of physics - a body at rest stays at rest - yet he's often up for a walk. I think he's misunderstood. He's just conservative with his energy.
    
11. He's smart. He scored 1500 on the SAT's (before they added that new third section).
12. He's not afraid to take risks. He once gave a chocolate rose to an older girl in school.
13. He can sleep anywhere. I still remember his neck, crooked at a 90 degree angle, as he slept on a couch in our crowded hotel room in Anaheim.
14. He's nice to animals. Even Rags, the pig dog, whose face we first saw together while not getting a ride home from Pooh corner. It's not like Pooh corner was very far - just a block from home, though it was all uphill - but somehow I felt like Rags was mocking us as he enjoyed our ride home. There he was on Suz's lap, as Mom and Suzanne were smiling, waving, driving up the hill. All I ever dreamed about on those walks home from school was a ride. Any little bit helped. I never forgave Rags for that look (or for chewing my shoe - the cute black one with the bow on it...) but Kevin didn't care. He's even nice to Lucy, the dog that, in the words of our mother, "barks and pees in her sleep."
15. He imitates my father well. It's spooky even. And he does a pretty good Mom.
16. He's afraid of moths. I never knew. Recently he was harassed by one in the Devil's Whore House. I hadn't really thought about it, but they are rather erratic and unpredictable. I find them annoying, more than frightening, but I can see where he's coming from. Ironically, after he shared with me his fear of moths, we went inside and watched Mothra.
    
17. He's not afraid of spiders. He used to keep a pet tarantula.
18. Kevin is a six year old boy whose mother loves him. At least that's what it said about him the "What Not To Name the Baby" book... Even that book couldn't knock his name.
    
19. Yet he once changed his name to "Simon" in elementary school. I always figured it was an homage to Simon LeBon, as my sister and I were devoted Duranies. Instead, it turned out that he had changed his name as a deductive exercise. There was a girl who rode his school bus who was rumored to have a crush on one of the two Kevins on the bus. He figured by changing his name, he could flush out whether or not he was the admired one. I'm not sure if his plan worked, but I do know that by sixth grade he was a quite the hot item and a trendsetter.
20. He's a Gemini. The Libra in me loves Geminis. They're every bit as artsy, with an even stronger pull in two directions. This is why we appear lazy. We are too busy deciding which way to go.
    
21. He saved me. From myself. I don't think I'd realized what a gloomy preteen I had been until he came along and brightened up my world. He gave me something to belong to when I needed it most.
    
22. He's not greedy. For Christmas once he specially selected which Tin Tin books he really wanted because he couldn't fathom getting the whole collection. (Of course, he got them all...)
    
23. Yet he's cunning. He strung out his potty training long enough that Mom was willing to negotiate big time. He began earning He Man figures for each intestinal sculpture he left in the right place. Soon he had the entire collection...
    
24. He's an adventurous eater. Frog's leg, crocodile, cactus... Even decorative soap on a dare.... Erik and I paid him a dollar for his efforts, but sadly we made him use it to buy a soda to wash out the soapy taste in his mouth.
25. He once consulted his penis for directions in San Francisco. I've always suspected that men consider their members to be some sort of built in GPS, but this day he totally proved it. We were wandering, somewhere between the Embarcadero and the Mission District, and he literally stopped, looked down, and, curving his fingers to represent recent turns we'd made, he discussed with himself (correctly) which way to go.



26. He says, regarding marriage, that he'd rather be lonely than annoyed, but I think if the right girl came along he might change his mind. The girl in this picture, however, is taken. Little Maribeth is all grown up and already married as of April 14th. Besides, she's his cousin. I wanted to include this photo for two reasons. One, no offense Maribeth, but did you cut your own bangs? And two, notice the pin on Kevin's shirt? That's right, that's the Fab Five he's sporting. My little brother has always been cool.
    

So here's to the next twenty six years of late night phone calls, evil schemes, and genuine laughter. To missing ferries, catching trains, and carpooling with the parents. To the books you'll read and the movies I'll never see. Here's to little adventures in big cities involving pirate dice and pubs with pints and to the death marches that always seem to precede them. To gross notes to end on and, of course, to Algorithms. Happy Birthday, baby brother.

goodbye, godfrey

Given my mood the last two days, I'd say that even though this adorable little sea lion weaner died within hours of his all-too-early-morning rescue, he's the highlight of my week. I retrieved him from behind a dumpster in the Embarcadero at 7:15 this morning. He'd been in the street earlier and was seen seizing, so I suspected he was suffering from domoic acid (in addition to emaciation). But then he released a bunch of runny black feces back at the site. Runny and black is bad, bad, bad and usually indicates some sort of internal bleeding. So I wasn't altogether surprised to find his noon feed canceled on account of death, but still I was sad. At least I got some pictures of him when he was still a bit perky and totally cute.

On another semi-good note, OC's follow up enema was deemed unnecessary today. Apparently, because I caught his problem sooner than usual, he was able to get the job done without sedation. Too bad I starved him all night in preparation for surgery just in case. It was cute at first, all the begging for food, but it soon grew pathetic and frustrating for all involved. Anyway, I was also thrilled when my vet decided not to charge me for the recheck.

Now I'm off to the grocery store, I guess. It's getting too late for take out (Morro Bay rolls up the sidewalks at 8:30) and there's really nothing much in the cupboards. This time I hope I get all the items I desire. You'd think that wouldn't be too difficult, but last time I went shopping, I bought a peach pie only to discover it had turned to apple before I got it home.

Wish me luck...

and today...

And today my stupid orange cat is vet bound (again) after missing just one day of meds. Really makes me wish I'd found that volcano yesterday...

today i...

Today I attended a meeting of my city's council. It made me want to throw myself in a volcano.

41 years ago today

My folks got hitched 41 years ago today. Or yesterday, by the time you're reading this, since I didn't actually start this tribute until nearly midnight... In any event, I was thrilled when I came across this photo of the young newlyweds. The stamp on the back says this shot was taken in September 1966, so they'd only been man and wife for a few months. Even without the date, you can tell they're newlyweds from the smile on my dad's face. That's the grin of a guy who's got God's okay to get laid on a regular basis.

I especially love that the VW bug is in the picture. If it's the bug I've heard so much about, it was Dad's other true love. If this car could talk, it would probly tell you about the time it once rolled into the river when knocked out of gear during a romantic rendezvous. If it could predict the future, it would cringe to know that it would soon be totaled when Mom crashed it into a pole in a parking lot (leaving it there and attempting to work her shift with a concussion...). Though I've never known the bug to have a nickname, I'd guess my folks gave it one. Based on their track record (Brownie, Greenie, and Big Red), I'd have to say that perhaps they called the bug Blackie?

I calculated that my parents have now been married to each other for 65% of their lives and, of course, 115% of mine. They celebrated this anniversary early and often, in their own quiet way. They saw an extra movie, had dinner out, spent some time in the garden (Dad planted all the new plants for Mom in the rain), and, best of all, they finally got a Tivo. They have no idea how much they'll love it because it isn't set up yet, but soon they won't know how they got along without it.

My parents are like my Tivo. I can't imagine a world without them. They provide me with information and entertainment, specially tailored to my personal preferences. They phone in every couple of days, keeping track of what's important to me. They're reliable, if a bit old fashioned (I have an old school Tivo, no dual tuner for me...), and when they are on the fritz, life totally sucks. They are my family's living hard drive - storing and sharing our family history, deleting the bad stuff to make room for the good.

I've learned a lot from my folks over the years. I'd like to think I'm applying their wisdom to my own happy marriage, but I know in my heart that all the credit for that goes to my uberpatient husband. I am spoiled and selfish and easily provoked. He coddles me and humors me and always lets me win. Still, my parents are the yardstick by which I measure my marital success.

Anyway, I'm proud of them. They've taught me that marriage isn't always easy, but it's always worthwhile. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.

today i am a man

I've always said it takes a man to catch a man. And by "man" I meant an adult male sea lion, of course. My previous attempts at netting adult males have varied - some spectacular, some pathetic - but all ultimately failed. Today, I have broken my losing streak and proven to myself that I am man enough to catch myself a big boy.

Okay, so Tapia isn't the biggest big boy I've ever seen. He's barely getting his sagittal crest, so he's not much more than five years old. And he probly doesn't weigh much more than 100 kilos (he was too big for our scale, so I can't say for sure), which means he's not much bigger than our average adult female. But still, he has balls (as you can see in this picture) and I took him down.

Now I must admit, I had a lot of help from my crew (three guys, three girls, all new to the sea lion scene). And Tapia himself assisted, by being lethargic and approachable. But he put on quite a show once we had him in the net. It's frightening, boarding back 200 pounds of pissed off muscle. I know, cuz I've done that much before. And I dare say, my girls did way less squealing than I would have. They did suggest perhaps we should let him go, that maybe he was feeling quite healthy after all, but I'd already seen the tell tale signs of domoic acid poisoning - back scratching, butt biting, and, as you can see in his mug shot, the lovely brown slobber. So we kept him.

True to form, I did have one complication. I was unable to free him from the net once I had him safely in the cage. Luckily, we were less than one mile from our triage center so we decided to secure the pole of the net just well enough to make the drive to our facility. It proved interesting, trying to free him from both the cage and the net inside his cramped pen, but that's all part of the fun, right?

The reason I had to catch Tapia myself was that I had already called in a favor from my rescue mentor turned calvary (the same gal who helped me clean up my dock rescue mess earlier this week). I'd asked her to join me on a rescue of a much more pathetic, abscess riddled sea lion pup who'd been sitting on a rock surrounded by ocean. His wounds were so obvious and painful, I just couldn't afford to miss so I begged my ringer to do my dirty work. She, of course, made his rescue look easy. The hardest parts were finding him (my first scout failed to see him and nearly sent me home) and getting him up the steep trail.

I'm happy to report that Popet is now pleasantly zonked out (on butorphanol and lorazepam), though I'm not entirely convinced he'll be alive in the morning. I would share pictures, but seriously, they're gruesome. My alarm is set to wake me obscenely early so I can give him more butorphanol at dawn. So I'm off, then, to sleep. My first night as a man.

patience is not my virtue

Early this morning I was called out to check on a sea lion in my neighborhood. The little yearling was on the skinny side of normal, extremely approachable, and reportedly lethargic. Before I arrived on the scene, however, he had decided to hitch a ride on a passing Harbor Patrol boat. Joy riding is decidedly not normal behavior, so he had me intrigued. When I found him, he'd recently ditched the boat and hauled out on a rather generous dock below a pier.

Now I've only had one dock rescue in my five year career. The opportunity just doesn't come along that often and, whenever it does, I happily extend the net to a more experienced volunteer. I've participated in a handful of others, though, so I know how it's done. It's all about patience, a slow approach, a swift swing of the net. Also, I learned the hard way, it's important to keep them on the dock once you have them in the net. So when my seasoned seal friend (basically my rescue mentor) didn't answer her cell right away, I thought, what the heck. It's worth a try. Though I was stealthy and brave, I really should have waited until he was more settled. He let me get within striking range, but my aim was awful. As you can see here (the wet spot on the empty dock), I got the body but not the head. In other words, I whiffed.

Conveniently, my sea lion soon came up on another, much less accessible dock. In the meanwhile, my rescue mentor had called back and she agreed to come down and check out the situation. She also brought her neighbor, we call him Good Neighbor Tim. Tim is much less experienced (in fact, before today he'd never really thrown the net), but by virtue of his height we decided he should be the one to descend the scary ladder and climb over the fence to access the dock. As you can see, Good Neighbor Tim was able to do what I could not. (Although I must say he too whiffed on his first try. He was given a second chance when the sea lion returned to reclaim his dock. Further evidence he was a good pick up...)

Here's a shot of Brindell, named for Good Neighbor Tim's granny, back at the site after a bit of breakfast. At 18.4 kg (that's 40.5 pounds, America) he was a handful to restrain. At least then I felt like I'd had a hand in helping him, though I know all the credit goes to my calvary. In any case, Brindell brightened what would have otherwise been an ordinary day.

cause for celebration

Today I had a moment of panic when I saw that my favorite harbor seal, Melissa, was no longer listed among the patients at the Marine Mammal Center. Suddenly dropping off the list without being included on a release notice is a very, very bad thing. Cursing myself for getting so attached to the first harbor seal of the season (a tough seal to be, just ask last year's Ree Ree, who, funny enough, came from the same naked beach, though not as early as February...), I typed up a brief but brave email to the professionals inquiring about her whereabouts. I was delighted to learn she actually had been released just this past Saturday, along with her boyfriend, Nigel.

While I was on the web confusing myself about Melissa's outcome, I was also on the phone learning that today my sister was finally offered a full time gig at her preferred place of employment, the animal ER. Working there exclusively will require some creative child care arrangements, but will ultimately reduce her days spent at work each month from 23 to 12. Beside the obvious financial benefits, Dr. Suz's skills and confidence will grow considerably as she's exposed to more and more bizarre cases. Not only will she become the kick ass doctor she has the potential to be (and, in many ways, already is), but her stories should prove ever more interesting as she unloads them on me via Verizon on her drive home. Of course, now that drive home will be happening at 2 am, so it may be that my voicemail gets to enjoy them first, but I don't mind sharing.

On the home front, today was sweltering hot and Erik decided to add a coat of water sealant to our deck. This was the perfect excuse to do what I probly would've done anyway - sit around sipping margaritas and not doing laundry. Happily, OC decided to join me, avoiding sticky foot and his evil brother, Blackers (whose newest disparaging nickname is Teste, as in Testosterone...). The black one, normally the home body, seemed to make a point of walking across the wet deck and going in and out of the cat window sans stairs.

As far as parasites go, I have found no definitive evidence that I've been infected. Of course I am still following an aggressive treatment protocol just in case. I did, however, find the cutest louse on a web site that sells giant microbes. I have not yet convinced myself that I can't live without him, but he's definitely on my list of things I should own someday. In fact, I suppose I could sell giant microbes at Big Y Small, as they are both big and small at the same time. Of course, if Texas is anywhere near as hot as today was, I can't imagine getting anything done at all.

feeling lousy

I'm feeling lousy. Literally. I keep scratching at the nape of my neck and behind my ears because I'm told that's where the lice go. I have no way of knowing if my itches are phantom or genuine. All I know is I've been exposed.

I thought this entry, this long overdue catch up entry, would be all about my fabulous experiences on the boat release last Friday. Instead all I can think about is the possibility that pesky parasites might be breeding in my hair. For once I am grateful for my mother's pathetic stringy locks. It is infinitely easier to work a tiny comb through my puny ponytail than it is for my nieces to police their luxurious manes. And though I know they didn't mean to expose me to this menace, I can't help but feel I've been wronged. The child-free should never have to buy a Nix kit or a Rid comb. Seriously, the directions on the comb suggest you should distract your child with a book or a video game. Even the manufacturers cannot imagine that a bona fide adult might be in need of their product.

The sad thing? I know if I share my possible parasites with Erik, it will be the end of his long hair. He's been threatening to get a haircut for months now. In fact, he even got a trim recently. Funny enough, it was from a barber who also had (and hated) his own long hair. They commiserated about the power of girlfriends during Erik's brief visit...

Although I am obsessed with my suspected scalp squatters, I must say my visit to the Farallon Islands remains the most significant aspect of my recent travels. I was delighted in so many ways. For one, I didn't puke. I didn't even lose it when someone else hurled over the side of the boat only to have the boat pitch, forcing his vomit to land on deck, very near my feet.

I was also thrilled to learn that I did know a few of the animals on the boat. I had been bummed when all my babies were released on earlier trips and then I saw that Woodco, my most recent fur seal, was on her way back to freedom. (Monahan, by the way, is also feeling much better. Hard to believe after the condition she'd been in. Sadly, the two fur seals that came from our area the day after Woodco and Monahan came in did not make it. Just goes to show how crucial early care is in the battle against domoic acid toxicity...) In addition to Woodco, Spanokopita, the only sea lion on the trip, had also earned his wings.

And, perhaps best of all, I got to witness the re-release of Astro, the oh-so-rare steller sea lion. Astro had been released in Santa Cruz just a couple days before, after spending 10 of his 11 months of life at the Center. His habituation to humans proved troublesome, however, as he shied from the ocean and chased researchers around. We hoped that dragging him out 34 miles to sea would remind him he was a marine mammal, not a puppy. Still, leaving him there to face the world alone seemed cruel... especially when he refused to leave his carrier.

Sadly, my photos of the event are sorely lacking. I knew my digital camera was woefully slow but even when my subjects were still, the ocean was not. I have plenty of pictures of anonymous waves, but very few of seals. Luckily, there were actual professionals on the boat and you can see their pictures here and there. I especially dig the photo from the Chronicle of Astro's eye peeking out of his carrier. He did that a bunch (in between naps), though I never caught the moment myself. Here's a shot of the North Island, and Astro's new friends. There's no beach on this island (or any of the Farallones, really), just this rocky approach. What I found most amazing (beside the simple fact the seals can get up on the islands at all) is how high they'll go. I got an almost great shot of a half a sea lion who had made it to the island's peak.

Unfortunately, I found that I, too, could nap on the boat. I have long bragged that I can sleep through anything. On the way out I was avoiding nausea. On the way back, I escaped boredom (we were 3 hours out to sea and once the seals were gone there was little else to do...). I'm sure my rest was mostly chemically induced (I had three forms of antiemitics working for me and drowsiness was a side effect of two...), so I can't take all the credit. Still, I am proud. And I am permanently contorted as the left side of my neck will not stop cursing me for using a fish sink as a pillow.

Even so, a pain in the neck and a possible parasite load are small prices to pay for a once in a lifetime experience. Notice I say once in a lifetime. Not because I couldn't go again, just because I probly won't.

Besides, it seems I may never again go anywhere for any length of time for my absence once again upset my orange cat's fragile fecal balance. Although my hubby saw him at least once a day while I was gone (he lured him with Fancy Feast, aka Kitty Crack...), apparently it was not enough to keep him hydrated on the inside. When I finally laid eyes on my poor OC, he was looking haggard and uncomfortable. Again I was fortunate to get a late afternoon vet appointment and even more fortunate that my vet was willing to sedate him for a proper roto-rooting. It meant he had to spend the night (in fact, I barely got him back before close of business the next day) but it was what he needed. I'm bummed I didn't get him back all fresh from sedation as I really did enjoy the affectionate side effects of his pain meds the last time. Really, though, I'm happy he's here at all. As suspected, my sister (his medical benefactor) has begun hinting that I should get a job to pay for his treatments. And Erik (my very supportive husband) has begun suggesting we look for a suitable alternative home for him. When I was unresponsive, fighting off tears, he assumed my cell phone dropped his call... Some conversations are best left unfinished. Honestly, if I did think there was an ideal home for a medically needy small animal killing machine, I might consider it. He's clearly second in command, literally the red headed step child. Still, he's my cat.

As if he knew I'd need a distraction (and a pseudo apology), I came home to discover that on his own way home Erik had picked up roses at the farmer's market (lots of them, actually). He later got us take out from the Mexican place down the street and he didn't complain as I monopolized the remote control to get caught up on my soap opera. A few margaritas later, I actually forgot to itch my head (though the mountain of lice laundry reminded me of my possible predicament...). Maybe there is hope for me yet.

seal updates

So I've had a couple of elephant seal rescues lately but I didn't take any photos because the first animal, Matti, was just pretty depressing (major pyrothorax, since been euthanized) and the second animal, Charlene, came in too late in the day to get good shots. The ellies all look pretty much the same, anyway, so I figured it wasn't worth getting up at 8 am to go take pictures. I was, however, secretly hoping that Charlene's name wouldn't work out, since she came in on 4/20. I offered a backup name (Chronic) that may or may not have made it through the censors...

What was worth waking up early for was my trip to Sausalito on Easter Sunday. I stepped out of my box a bit and went to work crew with a volunteer I've never traveled with before. It was her first visit to the center, which can be rather intimidating without an escort. We missed a lot of action on the home front (another friend actually called and begged me to turn around, they were having that crazy of a rescue day), but we got plenty of action of our own.

We started working in the harbor hospital where we found that Melissa's doing great. She's actually featured on the website as the first harbor of the year. I got some decent photos of her (including the one above) but since the most interesting ones were taken with my disposable camera, they're pretty grainy. She's up to 30 pounds now and is even eating whole fish. Luka is also doing alright. His bite wounds (from the abusive adult harbors at Pirate's Cove) are still healing (and some have abscessed) and he's been a little pukey, but he's still alive and kicking.

By the way, on the same web page, if you scroll down to fur seals and click on "check out new footage of our fur seal release" you can actually see Famous being released (at the very end of the video). Also, Shawna is on that page and she has also recently been released. Check out how fat she got and how sad her scars still look. Also, if you're watching the release video, you can see how small and crowded and scary looking the boat will be when I go on it this Saturday to release the remaining fur seals. I'm not really sure why I am going (all my fur seals have been released and I have a morbid fear of the ocean) but it somehow seems important to travel 27 miles out to sea through the so-called Red Triangle. At least I should have the nausea covered. I've got prescription and over the counter meds as well as those acupressure bracelets.

Anyway, while I was working up at the center, I did get to work with my most recent fur seals, Woodco and Monahan. They were still pretty fresh off the beach and Monahan hadn't yet aborted her toxic, domoic acid filled fetus, so they weren't being very photogenic. Friends who just returned from Sausalito tonight report that the two of them are now eating fish and looking great. Equally energetic are the scrawny sea lions I had recently, Spanokopita and Baba Ghanoush.

I also got this cute shot of Doughie, peeking at me from the pool.

I think the highlight of my trip, however, was getting to see Astro, the steller sea lion we've raised from a pup. He was picked up in Santa Cruz last June when he was just a baby. And although he is now over 200 pounds, he's still being bottle fed. He's actually due to be released this Wednesday (geez, that's tomorrow) as he is willing to eat live fish (the final exam for release) and he's at the age when he would naturally be weaned from mom. I must say I'm particularly proud of this close up (below) that I got when Astro was watching me restrain his neighbor, Woodco.

In any event, it was refreshing to make my semi-annual pilgrimage to Sausalito. I skipped it last year and had forgotten how satisfying it can be to work a ten hour day surrounded by poop and dead fish. It was a well-timed reminder of why I do what I do. I needed that reminder as things have been a bit rocky locally lately. We recently got our first ever paid staff person on site. Not a big deal, except for years I was actually aspiring to be that paid staff person (I had the grass roots support of my peers and many encouraging words from my would-be boss). Obviously, it didn't pan out. I grew accustomed to my life of sloth and they changed the requirements of the position so I was no longer eligible.

I am sure it's all for the better, but it's been a lot like getting a new roommate. Those who know me are groaning, because I am so not good with roommates... In fact, during a recent roommate type discussion, another seal friend of mine came up with a great new old tape for me to stew on. She attempted to shut down my opinion by asking me (and my friend who shares my opinion), "What happened to you? When I met you two, you used to be such nice girls." Apparently nice girls don't have strong opinions.

rough week for me and OC

I've been meaning to be a better blogger, but it's been a long week for me and my troubled cat, OC. It all started innocently enough with a Monday morning trip to the vet for vaccine boosters. I took both cats and decided I'd also have their blood checked (to confirm that I have not been poisoning them with their recently recalled canned food). The black one, being a ball of muscle and attitude, would not allow the vet access to his veins without opening some of her own. Rather than sedate him, we decided we'd wait and only test his blood if OC's came up bad.

OC, being the sweet cat he is, willingly received his vaccine, gave his blood and, being the generous sort, he even volunteered a urine sample. He did seem a tad stressed about the whole situation, but I didn't think much of it and I foolishly left with my increasingly lethargic cat. While driving home I was talking on the phone (to, of course, my sister) when I looked down and said, "I think OC is dead. I'll have to call you back."

I know what you are thinking. I should not be talking on my cell phone while driving. You're right. I'm pretty sure it's even against the law these days - though I don't think they're due to enforce it until June. And frankly, I am more dangerous when attempting to use my hands free device than when I'm just driving one handed... And, yes, I've heard that a cell phone user is as dangerous as a driver who would blow a .08. But then again, isn't .08 the legal limit and therefore it is legal to be that distracted / disabled? Not advisable, obviously, but not illegal.

But I digress. Really, what was upsetting was not my telephone intoxication but the fact that my cat did appear very much dead. Eyes open and glazed over, mouth open and gums pale, not responsive to sound or touch. I've seen it a lot in the seal business. My orange cat looked dead.

Luckily, OC was not dead. He was merely having a near death experience due to an adverse reaction to his vaccine. I rousted him to consciousness with a bit of stern shaking and he later required a steroid injection (Dexamethasone - which I've used before on two seals, both of which have died). I am disappointed that my spider senses did not see the incident coming. He had vomited in his carrier before we left the vet clinic which should have been a big old red flag. But though I like to think I am full of veterinary information (being related to a vet and giving injections to seals), I really only play one on TV. And so I did not know that the vomit was an omen that my cat would soon crash.

So OC spent the next 24 hours recovering from his ordeal. He slept a lot and didn't even protest that I would not allow him outside. The next morning he was perkier but I was a mess. I wanted to get the results of his blood test as soon as possible but after 3 phone calls (the first at 8:30 am) and 12 hours, I still had no news from my vet. Well, I guess he isn't my vet. He's my cats' vet. But I pay the bills, so I guess that makes him mine. Come to think of it, as I am just a parasite princess, you'd have to say that Erik technically pays the bills so I guess that means I was waiting for a call from his vet. In any event, I was both annoyed and relieved to finally hear from Erik's vet at 8:45 pm that I had not poisoned my cats with bad juju from China.

Wednesday was the calm before the storm. OC looked fine and resumed his normal life outside. Blackie was riding high as the night before he had brought in the biggest bird yet to be killed by my fiercely competitive cats. And Erik and I were relieved that the spicy Thai take out was gone. Now, I love my Thai take out, but even though it is difficult for me to ingest (and for Erik to digest), I am too ashamed to admit it is actually too hot. It took so long to convince the Thai food man to make Thai food this hot for such a white girl that I am reluctant to give him any hint that he has gone too far. Actually, that's not true. I have given him a hint. I used to order it "very, very spicy" at which point he would laugh with recognition and say, "ah, very, very spicy." Now I have made a point of using only one "very." In any event, the Thai food is still quite yummy, it just hurts a little.

Thursday afternoon started the next round of drama. OC came in and indicated he was having a bit of trouble emptying his colon. From the bulging of his butt, I'd say he'd been trying for a while. We were lucky to get a late afternoon vet appointment which got things moving just enough to keep us out of the ER overnight. Despite my sister's encouragement to continue the treatment at home (all I'd need, she said, were some rubber gloves, a plastic tube, and some warm water in a syringe...), I decided instead to let OC spend all day Friday back in the hospital being thoroughly evacuated. Of course again I exposed my lack of expertise as I did not stop feeding him in anticipation of his sedation. It only dawned on me at 7 am that perhaps his stomach should be empty. Personally, I was operating on the potty training theory (food in = poop out) and the food is love theory (food = love).

In any event, in between seal transports and seal rescues (both elephant seals, nothing very notable), I finally got my empty cat back. OC was so grateful to be home that he gave me tons of kisses. I learned later that his affection was most likely just a side effect of the pain med he was on, but whatever. I felt loved. Actually, I felt a bit dirty and molested. (He had accosted me on the way out of the shower so his shedding fur was sticking to my once clean places and some of his kisses were not in the most appropriate locations...)

Saturday he finally seemed all the way fine. It was a beautiful day so I let him outside while I cleaned the house, opening all the windows to release the stress filled air. Today, since it's raining, he is hanging out with me, his body guard. Meanwhile, I'm continuing to audition replacement canned foods. Today's sample was expensive (the label says "elite") and disgusting looking (actual circular bone looking tuna pieces) and so, of course, the black cat loved it. OC, who could use a little liquid in his diet, couldn't care less. He's all about the dry food.

Personally, I am all about the breakfast as I can't believe I am up this early (OC was my alarm clock, protesting the wetness of his fur) so I'm off to toast some waffles and scramble some eggs...

13 things I love about Sadie

It's hard to believe that it's been thirteen years since I found myself in a SF delivery room witnessing the birth of my second ever niece. I actually missed most of the birth, as it was my job to wander the halls entertaining her 2 year old sister, Zoe. The wandering went pretty well, as I recall, except for the time we accidentally took the elevator down to the morgue. In any event, we made it back to the right floor just in time to be welcomed in moments after the blessed event. As sleep deprived as the rest of the delivery crew, I remember only snippets. I recall in particular that I was forbidden by my 2 year old charge to handle the squirmy little infant. And of course I can't forget that while I was cooing over her sister, poor Zoe slipped and bonked her head on the bathroom floor.

In the thirteen years that have passed, I have had the pleasure of watching both girls grow into amazing women. Though I now officially embarrass them (usually unintentionally), they tolerate my company more than most adults. I treasure the times I get to spend with them. I am especially grateful for the very weird year of their mother's breast cancer. It was such a horrible time for all, but being together made it wonderful. I was sometimes the third parent, sometimes the third sister, sometimes just the whiny pain in the ass with the driver's license. Like all families, we are now permanently bound together by sharing an intimate knowledge of the smell of each other's farts.

In any case, today I celebrate the little girl, the second born, who took us all by surprise. And so, for your enjoyment, here are 13 reasons I love Sadie:

1. She has no price. She can't be bought. I once offered her $50 to eat a lollipop with a bug inside and she flat out refused. She will not be exploited for my entertainment.
2. She likes oversized things like fake money, big pencils, and large calculators. She helped me plan my future roadside attraction (which I will run when Erik makes me move to Texas) - Big Y Small - where everything is either gigantic or minuscule.
3. She's got groove. During the cancer, she spent many hours trying to teach me to dance. And I often saw her in my rear view mirror, caught up in a particularly good song.
4. She took very good care of her treasured pet duck, Curry. Curry and I had a somewhat adversarial relationship (he bit me and I cursed him) and Sadie didn't hate me for hating him. She did say, however, that if I were responsible for his death (something I sometimes threatened and instantly regretted the day he did pass on) that I would no longer be her favorite anti.
5. She's smart, freakishly smart with numbers, in fact. She likes to catch the clock when it's 11:11 and she gets a kick out of noticing patterns on the odometer.
   
6. She can lie. This is a skill I don't (usually) have. She once convinced me that her sister has received a necklace as a gift from a cute boy. Zoe, of course, insisted it was from her best friend. Though I had no reason to doubt either one of them, I believed Sadie. When the truth came out, I vowed to get revenge with another harmless recreational lie. Sadie was disappointed when I successfully lied but left her on the hook for less than a minute.
   
7. She likes teen stuff like makeup and manicures, Project Runway and America's Next Top Model and, of course, Wilmer Valderama.
   
8. She's got the gift of touch. She can cuddle her way into the most crowded bed and she holds her mother hostage with a half completed head massage. If she isn't a masseuse at some point in her life, it will be a crime.
   
9. She is a loyal friend. She's a secret keeper and a safe place.
   
10. She likes her boobs. Everyone should like their boobs.
11. She's funny. When she saw a car with the vanity plate, "Go Dog Go," she pulled along side and asked them, "Do you like my hat?"
12. She's not afraid to speak her mind, even to adults. She plays sports (especially softball - which I call Cryptonite because it weakens my superpowers) and in the course of her career she's had to deal with some difficult political situations. She has never shied away from sharing her thoughts with her coach.
    
13. When she's mad, she calls her sister Doughie.

I wish she were older because there are so many other wonderful things to share. She's photogenic. She's creative. She wants to be tall. She's a good sport and she loves her mother dearly. She's nice to little kids and people who are different. She refuses to describe people by their race. She's got style. She's not afraid to be herself.

Happy Birthday, Sadie.

fun with fur seals

Meet Monahan, the more photogenic of two Northern Fur Seals that my Friday crew and I collected off the beaches. Apparently she's an adult female (all white whiskers - who knew?). She couldn't have stranded closer to our triage facility if she tried, which was very thoughtful of her as we had two other animals coming in at the same time (another fur seal from the north and a big sea lion from the south).

Since we had such a busy day (and because the folks in Sausalito were tied up with big sea lions all their own), little Spanokopita had to spend a second night with us. Not a problem for me, as I found him quite adorable. I was, however, disheartened to see him growing more lethargic despite his improved nutrition. After a number of tubings and subcutaneous fluids, he finally offered a urine sample. I suspect it will reveal an exposure to the neurotoxic Domoic Acid (from the harmful algae bloom Pseudo-nitzschia) as this is one of the most common reasons we get clusters of sea lions and fur seals (and because water trackers have confirmed a recent bloom). Despite my suspicions of their condition (further supported by Spanokopita's sporting the trademark brown slobber), none of my patients had full blown seizures.

And because I truly do love him more, here's a picture of Woodco, the fur seal I netted myself. I was especially thrilled that Woodco was the first seal rescued in my recently refurbished net. It didn't matter that he, too, was in his happy place and hardly put up a fight. My heart was still racing and my adrenaline flowing. I got to feel like a hero without having to do anything extraordinary.

By the way, notice the lovely purple stripe on his back? Not my finest moment. Though I am aware that fur seals depend on the quality of their fur for their warmth, and while I am aware that we take extreme precautions not to compromise their coat in any way, and though we could easily tell the two seals apart as they differed significantly in size, I held poor Woodco and Monahan down while my friend marked them with different colored grease markers. This is a common practice for elephant seals who share pens, so we did it out of routine more than anything else. Clearly we didn't really think through the whole fur thing... Anyway, it gave us another opportunity to learn and another reason to admire our seal boss as she very diplomatically educated us without making us feel stupid. Of course, we still felt stupid and scolded ourselves all day, but at least she didn't make us feel that way.

Anyway, I am actually off to see her in person soon. I will be following my recent patients up to Sausalito and working a couple of shifts there. I leave in, oh, less than 8 hours and having finally finished packing, I am off to bed. Too bad that means I have no time to tell you of today's rescue, Soup. I tried not to rescue Soup (having put him on watch Friday), but he just wouldn't go away. But at least you can enjoy his picture.

saucy spanokopita

Today brought another sea lion pup I didn't directly rescue. Spanokopita came from the same area (picked up by our friends with State Parks) and weighs a full 4.4 kg more than Baba Ghanoush. He's still pretty skinny, but not so bad I couldn't share a full body shot.

Sea lions are squirrelly and bitey and fast, and so I've been delighted to get a sprinkling of them in the middle of all the elephant seals. Ellies are the ideal training models so I've had to share my toys. Coaching is satisfying in its own way, but handling is what it's all about. With the sea lions, I have no qualms about keeping all the action to myself.

So, it looks like I'm going to get at least one extra feeding with Spanokopita. His morning transport was postponed as the folks in Sausalito have their hands full (releasing one adult male sea lion and bringing in another). If tomorrow is as crazy as Wednesday was, he may even have to spend two nights here in Morro Bay.

And after my two days in charge are over, I'll be packing up and transporting myself to the Sausalito to work a couple days on crew. I can hardly wait to see all my patients in person again.

I'd write longer, but I guess I'm off to bed. Another early morning awaits.

baby baba ghanoush

Okay, so I probly shouldn't even count this rescue as mine. I wasn't even on the beach where he stranded. I was miles away, on a different beach, picking up a different species with the help of the fire department and the harbor patrol. I merely picked him up from the ranger station after his capture and helped get him fed. But this cute little sea lion weaner, Baba Ghanoush, is way more photogenic than the two elephant seals I did wrangle personally today so I couldn't resist claiming him as my own.

At just 13 kg, he is the picture of emaciation. I've intentionally spared you the full body shot. His saggy baggy skin is just so sad. I figure I'll get better pictures in the morning. (I had to brighten this one up in Photoshop. No flash photography is allowed and I took this just before his 9 pm feed.) But I decided to go with this one as I really wanted to get something posted.

The last two seal days I've had were much more discouraging and not as visually appealing. First I got to work with the otter we didn't want to pick up. She'd been steadily declining and regularly drawing a crowd despite, or perhaps because of, my signs. She was so very cute but, since she died on transport, I was having trouble putting a happy spin on her tale. At least that means she was a good pick up...

Then the next night, last night, I worked with my second ever adult harbor seal. Adult harbors would sooner die than strand so, not surprisingly, both died within hours of rescue. My first adult harbor was years ago and she died right after we tubed her (presumably from the fishing gear in her digestive track). Yesterday's seal had a much more obvious ailment - a gigantic shark bite that removed most of his femur. It isn't often when you're actually glad to see an animal die but this guy needed to go. I actually didn't work with him when he came in for which, I think, I am quite grateful. I was just on clean up detail, after finding him dead at 11 pm when it was time for more pain meds. I got some really great gruesome shots of the wound but somehow I don't think you need to see them. At least the seal got some good drugs before he passed. The other blessing is that he was a boy. This means we don't have to keep an eye out for a newly orphaned pup.

And so, even without these two dismal days to contrast, today was a good day. The coordination alone was a challenge. All three seals were called in within 10 minutes of each other and they were each in distinctly different directions. Amazingly, not only did we recruit enough help (including one guy who had to sit on the beach and wait for us for two hours), we also had a chance to get lunch (take out) and stop and pee (the real miracle).

Tomorrow will be an early morning with three mouths to feed, two pens to clean, and a transport to prepare so I guess I'm off to bed.

pictures don't do him justice

So yesterday, on my last of three seal days in a row, I did get a chance to return to the green elephant seal with my camera in hand. Looks like he'll be sticking around and molting (a process that takes a couple weeks) and so the people of Avila will have to learn to live with him. This photo, disappointingly, doesn't quite capture his amazing greenness. I could have pumped it up in Photoshop but then that would be cheating, wouldn't it? (Not that I'm above cheating, mind you. I'm all for it in board games and team sports though I think it's all wrong in relationships and risky in taxes.)

Perhaps a close up does a better job? In any case, at least there you can see the barnacles he's collected. And you can see the patchiness of his soon to be molted fur. Anyway, he was the closest thing I got to seal action yesterday. I hung signs at a popular harbor seal haul out and followed up on a couple of long shots (taking long walks on empty beaches), but that was it.

Of course the animal that was on my mind most was Thornberry, my first fur seal pup from last year, as he was being released at the Farallone Islands yesterday. Did I ever mention that he turned out to be a hybrid (half fur seal, half sea lion)? Pretty exciting to me, anyway. Looking back, I do recall noticing that my second and third fur seals looked distinctly different from my first, but I had no idea it was all about the DNA.

So as a refresher, here's Thornberry (on the left, half sea lion) and Cranny (below, all fur seal). I see it in their profiles, their coloration, and even the shape of Thornberry's body. Their differences are also likely to be more than skin deep. The sea lion in Thornberry will make him thigmotactic (liking to cuddle), but the fur seals around him aren't into that sort of thing.

After whistfully imaging my baby's first day back in the big ocean, I learned this morning that I get to go on the last of three fur seal releases. On April 28th I will discover if I suffer from motion sickness while traversing shark infested waters. Even if I weren't familiar with its ominous nickname (the Red Triangle), we TMMC volunteers have had first hand confirmation about the sharks there. During one ill-fated release a couple of years ago, volunteers saw Swissy meet her untimely demise at the water's surface. Very very ugly for all involved. I do think someone got pictures of the event, though you can imagine we're in no hurry to publicize them. Ever since, we don't go to the Farralones during peak shark season (August). Still, it's a valuable release spot for animals who are likely to be habituated to humans. After spending most of five months in rehab (basically the whole of their lives), these fur seals need a little distance from our world. Anyway, I'm not going to let a little vomit and predation keep me from having a good time. It's never stopped me before...

my name is luka

Yesterday I had the pleasure of covering a friend's seal shift. It ended up being a 14 hour day so, of course, I was nothing short of delighted. The highlight was Luka, my second harbor seal rescue of the season.

Harbor seal rescues are, by definition, heart wrenching. Because harbor pups are routinely left on the beach while mom forages, we tend to avoid abducting them until we're absolutely certain they're abandoned. Even so, when you leave the seal overnight, you wonder if mom really is coming back or if you've just left the pup at the mercy of the rising tide. When you pick them up, you feel like a kidnapper, ruthlessly tearing a pup away from his mom. The harbor pup vocalization ("ma, ma") only amplifies any feelings of guilt.

Luka's rescue was another story. She was lucky enough to be born at Pirate's Cove, our nudist beach, probably just about 10 days ago (which we know because her umbilicus has only recently fallen off). The naked people there are quite familiar with the harbor seal routine and so they waited to report Luka until she'd already been on the beach a couple days.

The first rescue team checked on her Wednesday. She was skinny and dry, but vocal and still energetic enough to return to the water on her own. Thinking they'd get to see her reunite with mom, they stuck around to observe. Instead, to their horror, they watched as the adult harbor seals rebuffed poor Luka, slapping her, biting her, and keeping her off the rocks. Still, once a seal is in the water, she's no longer stranded, so all they could do was go home.

I went trolling for her the next morning, which I guess is not technically trolling since she was officially on watch and it is policy to go check the next day. It just felt like trolling because I so very much wanted to pick her up. As expected, I found our little pariah pup, all outcast and alone on shore while the other moms and pups played in the shallows nearby. One of the not-yet-naked regulars confirmed that she was the same seal they'd been watching for days so I felt even more confident in my decision to abduct her.

I tried to wait and share my rescue with my helpful Thursday crew. Luka, however, had other plans and decided she was more afraid of me than the mean adult seals in the water. So I had to prevent her escape and carry her off the beach in my arms. When I needed help at the base of the steep trail I had to wait for the second person to come along. The first not-yet-naked guy to arrive did not approve of my agenda. He felt I should let nature take its course, even if that meant watching this pup slowly starve to death...

Luka ended up weighing only 6.7 kg (1.3 kg less than the much younger Melissa) - further evidence she was a good pick up. And unlike Melissa, her midnight feed went flawlessly. Just a mild case of the hiccups and a modest, runny stool sample. Such a relief.

Anyway, today (my real seal day) was relatively quiet but equally charmed. I checked on an otter we don't want to pick up and left signs to warn people to stay away. Of course signs always tend to draw attention to the animals on watch, but whatever... After that I snuck in a trip to the grocery store and a stop at Subway. There I had a chance to chat up the owner (who apparently wants to become a volunteer) and he refused to let me pay for my lunch. After that I got to see a green elephant sea, covered in algae and barnacles and ready to molt. I'm still kicking myself for not bringing my camera. On the way home, I bought groovy new blue boots for my impending trip to work with the seals in Sausalito. Best of all, I found a piece of yellow sea glass during my sunset walk. In my ten years of glass hunting, I have never found a speck of yellow. Even kitty dinner time passed with little drama, which is great as I am still bitter over this gigantic bruise the black one gave me a couple days ago. I know it was just a lucky shot too close to a vein. It doesn't even hurt, though it did when it happened. Still, it just seems wrong. Cats should not stab the arm that feeds them, you know?

the boo boo cream debacle

I promised an update about my taste of motherhood, so here's an excerpt from a letter I penned to my beloved during my visit:

Two words: SLUMBER PARTY!

Got Savannah and Maddie in bed (for the third time) just before midnight. Promised I'd check back at 12:01. Lost track of time tiring Gracie so found the two Thomas girls snoozing at 12:12. GG was another story. We tried Milky (Pediasure - she drank/ate three today), dancing (to old 30's & 40's tunes like "There's Nobody Here But Us Chickens"), reading (five books - we all got one ((Savannah, Maddie, Grace, Me, and Uncle Kevin)) plus Grace snuck one on the side since she's a baby). We determined story order by drawing straws / smiley faced papers. Savannah cheated (as she does in all games) and swapped her sad face with G who'd gotten the bored face. Madisyn drew first place (the smiliest of faces) and carefully picked her book (it took her 10 minutes).

Maddie finally settled on Dora at the Beach. Savannah picked Miss Spider's Tea Party - a counting book that was hard to find even though I knew it was on the shelves. For Grace - Hop on Pop. Uncle Kevin - Go, Dog, Go. (Which Savannah ended up reading for us - smart girl.) For me - Skippyjon Jones - about a siamese cat who thinks he is a chihuahua Zorro and talks about things that end in "ito".

After storytime (aka "bedtime") we were only 15 minutes behind schedule. We wanted to be in bed at 9:30, attempting sleep at 10:30. Only then does Savannah tell me that 8:30 is their normal bedtime. Oh well. So Kevin and I leave them chatting while we enjoy a cocktail and a breath of the fresh, night air.

Next thing you know, Maddie reemerges with Savannah as her mouthpiece to announce that younger sis can't sleep cuz of a bum leg. We'd checked it earlier for scratches or contusions - it was the right leg at the time. Now she wasn't certain of the origin - right leg? left leg? knee? shin? But whatever it was, she couldn't sleep.

We applied kisses. (On G and Savannah, too. Grace's right cheek, Savannah's leg.) And then I found Grace's "Boo Boo Cream." Maddie was a true doubting Thomas. She quizzed me about the Boo Boo Cream as if it were Snake Oil. I showed her the label - clearly marked "Boo Boo Cream" with pictures of various species (fish, cat, dog?) being healed. Still, she scowled and doubted me.

So I lied. I insisted it was real. I swore to its efficacy and was insulted by her skepticism. Savannah, of course, being five and almost six, and being covered in an incredible array of glittery tattoos (one on each foot, each cheek, each boob, each butt cheek, one on her belly, her thigh, and her forehead, another on her future cleavage, on on her lower back, the "tramp stamp"), went along with it, whispering in my ear, "it isn't real, is it?" which I answered with the shake of my head.

So all was well. It was Bedtime 2.0. Then, suddenly, Maddie and I were all alone with our Boo Boo Cream. Savannah and Grace had slipped off, called away by the siren's song of Uncle Kevin's iPod full of old time tunes. As I campaigned the finer points of falling asleep first (best pillow, deepest sleep, choice bed position), Maddie asked one more time about the Boo Boo Cream. Since she had already professed to feeling its effects, I considered telling her the truth. Suddenly, I couldn't stop the words as they fell out of my mouth like so many poops in the potty.

"No," I said, "I was kidding."

She wailed, as she's apt to do, and swore she'd NEVER trust me again.

"You LIED. You LIED. My boo boos will NEVER feel better."

I tried to explain about placebos, how they're real, they work, and you can play them in Scrabble. My protests were drowned out by Maddie's despair.

This is when big sis and little G returned. Thick in her fit, Maddie announced to the returning Grace, "Guess what? The Boo Boo Cream's not real. Anti Jenni LIED."

I said, "What? Are you going to tell her about Santa, too?" which no one caught and I immediately regretted so I tried to distract her by asking her about her ear piercing.

The Boo Boo Cream by now was not at its designated spot by the toy toaster. It was lost under Dora or Nemo or whichever character was on the blanket of the girl who'd last used it. As Savannah looked for it, I suggested it had disappeared because Maddie stopped believing in it. When Savannah found it (under her butt, of course, where most things are when you are looking for them) she said, "Look, I believed and the Boo Boo Cream came back."

Immediately Maddie was converted. She began to sing high praises to the Boo Boo Cream and never let it leave her sight. She even brought it with her as we left to join the others in their late night dancing. It was obvious as we came down the hallway to find Savannah, Grace, and Kevin boogieing their hearts out, that bedtime number two was over.

The dance session finally ended with an apple juice break and some negotiation for which toy we could take to bed. Maddie got a doll and three dresses (four pieces), so Savannah tried for four people, a horse, and a carriage. She finally ended up with the horse, a person, and a smuggled in husky dog. I picked Tinkerbell and Fairy Minnie Mouse for Grace.

For bedtime number three I tried to settle the Thomas girls with the Sleepy Song. (A song Erik made up which works incredibly well on me. It involves much sighing and yawning and is sung very, very slowly, "Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy.... Oh, so sleepy... So tired... Eyelids... so... heavy... Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy...." It's so effective, he is forbidden to sing it while I drive.) Maddie mocked me, but I could tell it was working on Savannah. I let them have books too (but drew the line at the light up/singing Nemo book) and decided to put Grace down separately.

I left to find Grace and Uncle Kevin doctoring a stuffed Dalmation (G checking the pulse with the stethoscope) and we continued dancing. Ring Around the Rosey was a favorite. Then we started flipping Grace. First it was one on one, as she just climbed me. Then we did it tag team - each of us taking an arm and turning her by her feet.

After getting her hooked on flipping, we'd only do it to reward her demonstration of the sign language we'd been teaching her. Please, Thank You, I Love You, Dog, Cat, Fox, Owl - Bat, Bear, and Bunny got her a triple - Play, Apple, Candy, Juice, Horse, Donkey, No - she knew more but she soon tired. She went willingly off to bed where we found her cousins still sleeping.

We stole G's pillow out from under Savannah's head (I warned her not to use it) and bedtime number three was complete.

I wish that had been the end of the story. I was simply too tired to later report that Maddie had woken up crying a couple hours later. Apparently the Boo Boo Cream was powerless against growing pains. Had I known she was prone to them (and had I had any Children's Tylenol), I might have been able to help her out with something more than a placebo. Fortunately, snuggles seemed to do her some good and she was able to sleep in my arms on the couch. We only got about four good hours before the dogs started their morning routine (whining which becomes whistling which blossoms into impatient barking...) but everyone knows that the best slumber parties involve very little sleeping.

feeling doughie

Ah, finally my first elephant seal pup rescue of the season. Here's roly poly Doughie, whose energetic rolling almost makes me question why I picked him up. Then I recall he was only 37.2 kg (which I guessed nearly dead on), well within advisable limits and below birth weight. And, of course, he was dehydrated, lethargic, and covered with flies.

Little did I know my first ellie might well be my last. Being gone for two weeks, I missed the height of elephant seal activity. As the hospital nears capacity, we get a bit choosier, leaving borderline seals on the beach for observation. So far everyone I've put on watch has been gone the next day so I guess that's a good thing. Still, I may have to go work a shift up in Sausalito to get my fix of these stinky, cackling sea monkeys.

Until then, it seems I am prone to a bit of lethargy myself. As you can see, I have been slow to update my blog. Doughie came in on Wednesday - a full four days ago - and even he couldn't get me writing. Much of my writer's block, however, I think stems more from self restraint than sloth. I am overflowing with juicy stories of my family's quirky insanity - all of which are not necessarily appropriate for public posting.

Then, of course, breaking my sugar fast has put me right back on that beloved nutrition roller coaster - sweet sugary high followed by delightful food coma nap. Even though I recognize the deleterious effects of sugar on my life, I regularly return to the shrine to worship its greatness.

And so I am feeling decidedly doughie. But I'm not particularly down. I love lethargy. I remember learning once that the Koala Bear sleeps nearly 19 hours a day. The other five hours he spends eating Eucalyptus, which is somewhat intoxicating. Ever since then, I have longed to come back in my next life as a Koala. Of course, wild Koalas are victims of predation and habitat loss so I think I'd like to specify that I'd like to be a captive Koala. Probably at the San Diego Zoo. It's the only zoo I've been to that doesn't leave me feeling sad. I learned, ever since my Price is Right experience, that it is best to be quite specific when communicating your dreams.

In any event, I think I have also been reluctant to write as I would have to update you on the two Melissas. Harbor seal Melissa, to everyone's surprise and delight, is totally thriving. She's already graduated from a private condo to the big pool. In fact, when a second seal was introduced to her pool she swam right up to him and slapped him repeatedly. So glad to hear she's a bossy little tank. And yet another reason to head northward and work a couple seal shifts.

Meanwhile, as many have already heard, the real life Melissa has passed on. I learned of the end of her struggle while visiting my folks and I was fortunate to find this picture of Melissa as a baby (hanging out with her older sister, Amanda, her grandmother, my Aunt Fran, her great grandmother, my grandmother Margaret, and her mom, my cousin Ka Ka). Though I know that each of these women is strong enough to survive such an unspeakable loss, I am heart broken for their suffering.

nearly belated birthday wishes

I'm fond of celebrating birthdays of all sorts. While I seldom ever send a card or, even less frequently, a present, I like to think I am at least good for a phone call. To be honest, though, I tend to honor the birth of those I care for with little more than a warm and fuzzy thought. But, of course, I'll use any excuse to enjoy cake and cocktails.

Today, with a sickly sweet strawberry margarita and a decadent treat from Little Debbie, I wished a private Happy Birthday to a woman I admire, Mary. (Yes, dear readers, my sugar fast was short-lived, an agonizing two weeks... I may try again, perhaps in moderation, but not until after the Easter candy goes on sale. I mean, seriously, this year they have green peeps...)

I mostly only know Mary through her amazing daughter, Wendy, a friend of mine since fourth grade. But you can learn a lot about a person through their offspring (sorry, Mom and Dad) and so I have long been in awe of my Mary. Wendy is, after all, one of the most dynamic women I know - intelligent, honest, entertaining, easy-going, athletic, attractive, accepting, and fearless, all with an underlying tinge of delightfully dorky. What is not to love? Ever since the day I walked into their home to find them dancing together, the country western tune, "I Wanna Bop With You Baby," playing loudly enough to drown out my knocking on the door, I knew that these are two women I wanted in my life forever.

That day was nearly twenty years ago and since I am the first to admit I'm not the greatest of pen pals, I have occasionally fallen out of touch with my oldest friend and her super cool mom. Now I enjoy my "long lost" status, as my life seems so much more interesting on fast forward, summed up in sound bites and amusing snippets. During our most recent re-reconnection, Wendy and Mary inspired me to start this oft-neglected blog. Though I'm only a bit better of a blogger than I am a pen pal, I have so enjoyed this public outlet for my private thoughts. I'm constantly amazed (and sometimes self-censored) when I realize just how many people are keeping tabs on me through this site.

Now I have the pleasure of having a window into Mary's world through her blog, Random Thoughts. Already I have been humbled by reading her homage to her sister, and her thoughts on complaining. As if to underscore the lessons life is offering me, Wendy recently echoed the niceness of her mother by noting that my blog entry on Naomi Largo was a tad mean spirited. She also expressed dismay in my love for blood sports, particularly the Ultimate Fighting. Unable to contain my inner evil, I then felt compelled to admit I had once egged two testosterone-laden friends into a more-than-mock battle at a drunken gathering. It wasn't my proudest moment (though apparently it makes the highlights reel), but I knew it would be okay.

Mary now lives in Florida, which means my birthday greetings are officially belated. Perhaps I should have held off on the sugar rush until this entry was complete? In any event, I am eternally grateful that on this day so many years ago such a wonderful thing started.

Happy Birthday, Mary.

the joy of motherhood

I hope you'll forgive the last two weeks of radio silence. As my sister spayed and neutered on the island of Pago Pago, I developed an even deeper respect for moms who blog. I had a three year old for exactly 7 days and, while it was exhilarating, it was exhausting. I barely found time to brush my teeth, let alone record our adventures on the internet.

I'm certain I will give a full report of my trip home soon, but tonight I feel like it is just important to get something posted. To inspire me, my troubled cat, OC woke me from my slumber just a few hours ago. At first I ignored his protests. He's on house arrest for having made only 3 known appearances during my 14 days gone. I'm used to hearing him complain before he needs to use the box. Then an hour or so later, more crying and then some barfing. Gross, but not a big deal. Probably just over full from having unrestricted access to food again. Lord knows how many times I have longed to purge after a bit of a binge. It wasn't until I entered his domain to locate and eliminate the evidence of his bulimia that I saw he was also straining to eliminate out the other end. Yep, the Buttless Wonder was plugged again.

I was surprised and relieved when my sis answered her cell phone at 4 am. She seconded my suggestion that he should go to the ER to address his issue. This is important as she is OC's benefactor. She had to agree to pay for all his butt related medical bills before I, as an unemployed parasite, would agree to take him into my home. I guess it was also surprise and relief I felt when I discovered, after getting dressed, that the ER was no longer quite necessary. OC had succeeded in clearing his colon in no fewer than 3 places on the carpet and one good one on the hardwoods. So I woke my sister again to get her blessing to wait until 9 am and save hundreds of dollars on his treatment.

You will thank me, dear readers, for resisting the urge to photograph and share his efforts. I will say, zen as I sometimes try to be, I nearly cried when I noticed after an hour of cleaning that I had missed a spot (of both vomit and poop) behind the couch.

Rather than end on such a gross note, I will share this one gem from my visit to motherhood. Last year, my inner cheerleader made up a rather infectious cheer for my youngest niece. It goes:

G-R-A-C-E,
Gracie, Gracie, she's for me....
Ggggoooooooo, Gracie!

More recently, I made up cheers for my other young nieces and in return, during my visit, they made up this one for me:

Anti Jenni, Anti Jenni
She likes me, she likes you

Anti Jenni, Anti Jenni
She likes pee, she likes poo

Gggggoooooo, Jenni!

Indeed.

15 things I love about my relationship

Today is the last day I can legitimately call Anniversary Season. Having married on Leap Day 2004, Erik and I still haven't actually had our first official wedding anniversary. However, since our original anniversary was February 26th twelve years before that, we figure we can pretty much celebrate the whole week. We do the same thing with our birthdays which are also three days apart.

In any case, I'll be spending the last day of anniversary season in airports on my way to play super anti. Much as I appreciate the miracle of travel, I dread the actual task of doing it. I generally have horrible experiences in airports. There I have seen the grossest public restroom ever (which, in desperation, I had to use). I have also used, as a kid, the airline supplied barf bag. I hate the smell of peanuts (why peanuts? just about any other nut would be less aromatic and less likely to trigger allergies. and why always honey roasted? I mean, I'm all about the salty and sweet, but something about honey roasted peanuts is just wrong...). I'm haunted by a sound bite an airline official once made on one of those pseudo-educational shows I watch. When explaining the cost-benefit analysis of using stale air over fresh, he commented that, "everyone gets a little fresh air eventually." And just ask Erik about the time I ran the wrong way through the SF terminal...

So rather than focus on the 8 hours I'll be spending breathing stagnant, recycled, germ-ridden air, my skin slowly amassing a film of other people's farts, my neck crumpling under the strain of our collective discomfort, I will spend these moments honoring the most important thing in my world, my relationship.

So here are 15 reasons I love my marriage:

1. We don't fight. Erik says there's no point. If we fight and he wins, he beat a girl. If we fight and he loses, he lost to a girl. And so, though I may try to pick them, we never have a fight. I just win.
   
2. We always stop for kisses at red curbs and red lights.
3. We often see great wildlife together. Most recently we saw 25 of the Hearst Castle zebras on Christmas Eve. We've also seen a sea gull suffer brain freeze while eating ice cream outside a Rite Aid. And then there was the mountain lion at East West Ranch.
   
4. We also encounter and rescue needy wildlife on our walks. We've escorted a mole out of a parking lot and we've moved a fish from a shrinking puddle into a pond. And of course, he's helped on some of my most amazing seal rescues ever including Spelunker (it took us 2 hours to dig 200# of comatose sea lion out from under a rock) and Homer Ray (an entangled yearling that was too close to open ocean for my taste).
   
5. We hold hands a lot. Even while watching TV.
6. We generally have a pretty clear division of labor. He does all the penis work and I do whatever's left. He makes the money, I spend it.
   
7. We negotiate. We often trade away hurt feelings or embarrassing memories. I can't get him to come to the table with the Jen-ran-the-wrong-way-through-the-airport story, however, because he thinks it's so cute.
8. We play games. Not just real games (like Yahtzee) but made up games (like Neck, and Hole) which are generally just ritualized forms of rough housing.
9. We laugh a lot. Many times at each other.
   
10. We're so different that we constantly marvel at how the other one thinks.
11. And yet, in so many ways we're alike.
12. We both come from crazy families. They trade off being craziest. Right now my family is winning. Or would that be losing?
13. We're young at heart. Some would say immature. In any case, I love the little boy in him and he pampers the little girl in me.
    
14. We stop for sunsets. The world would be a better place if more people paused each day to appreciate the earth spinning on its axis.
15. We both think we're the luckier one in relationship.

Happy anniversary, Smoocher.