Tag: Boxers

Moving Right Along

I don’t like moving. I know there are some military spouses that get “the itch,” but the only itch I have are my red ant bites.

Let the record show that I am not usually around for the move-out portion of any relocation. I typically pack up and run away. But no matter how many times I said, “Justin! I have grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle that requires I not participate in this,” he has only rolled his eyes and told me I’m spoiled.

It’s true. I won’t deny it.

Yesterday, after a thoroughly restless night of making and checking off lists in my head, I took my van in for an oil change. After signing the paperwork, I grabbed my keys and the dealership’s copies and headed out. “Ma’am. Those are my copies.” Of course they are—why would you make me sign papers meant for me.

From there, I headed to my next stop on my whirlwind tour of errands: the UPS store. I parked and looked at the store front, thinking, “why would the UPS store have tv moving boxes? Why did Justin want me to stop here??”

Oh yeah, just kidding—I was supposed to go to the UHaul store. So, off I went, to my actual stop on my tour.

While purchasing the magical tv box of transportation, I got a text from Justin, about an issue with our truck reservation. I paid for my box, thanked the lady, and walked out….all the way across a giant parking lot to my van…where I realized—I didn’t actually take the box. I turned around and the tiny cashier was chasing after me with the massive tv box. I have Moving Mush Brain.

Also, I’m beginning to wonder how Justin always does this by himself. I’m supposed to be the one with anxiety who freaks out about these things, but this man is in full panic mode.

Also also, I miss Bruce. So no less than 10 times a day I ask, “we made the right decision, didn’t we?” “Yes Sammi. He couldn’t breathe. You know that.” I do. But he’s been my travel companion on these adventures since just before I turned 24. He’s always been my copilot, and now the front seat will be empty (because I still won’t let my kids sit in the front seat, and Rufus & Emma are way too squirrelly to be up front. I don’t need a 75lb dog trying to sit in my lap while I drive).

See how well Rufus fits in my lap? I could totally drive like this…….

This is the point in moving where I just want to be driving to my next location. Let’s get this party started! 20 hours to El Paso, baby….except….we still have 3 more days of “prep.” I’m accustomed to a certain lifestyle! One that requires I not deal with any of this.

See?? Spoiled.

That Girl is Poisoned

Two weeks ago, as Justin and I were preparing to head up to bed, Nebula jumped onto the fence. As I made my way toward her, she shouted, “later suckers!” and headed off into the great beyond…or at least she would have shouted at me if she could, because Nebula is sassy.

Justin texted me the following morning (he gets up at 4am; nobody wants to be up that early): “Nebula is limping.” Of course she is. As I headed up to feed them, I saw her at the top of the stairs, but she disappeared before I got to her. I didn’t think much of it. Honestly, Nebula can be a drama queen, so maybe she was just limping for extra pity from Justin. A couple hours later, Xander announced that she was asleep in his chair. Perfect. She’s alive. And she’s asleep.

The day got away from me, and I didn’t give much thought to Nebula and her limping…until around 4pm, when I went in to check on her. And her leg was noticeably swollen.

Well, that leg is huge. So of course I call the vet, only to have their dud vet tech answer (she’s great at her job, she just doesn’t know how to interact with humans). I explained the situation and she told me they couldn’t get me in until Monday, but said, “you should probably find an emergency vet to take her to.” Ughh, that sounds like extra drama for a fat leg. I located a nearby emergency vet, but their website said they were only seeing critical patients. This isn’t critical; this is a fat leg.

I called back (and a more human-friendly receptionist answered). “I just called, because my cat is limping and her leg is swollen. Since the local emergency vet is only seeing critical, can I just go ahead and make an appointment for Monday?” Then the receptionist said, “if it were my cat, I wouldn’t wait until Monday. It could be broken…or she could’ve been bit by a snake.” Oh my glob, did you seriously just say that?! She recommended that I take her to the Auburn Veterinary School, and gave me their number. After calling, I had to catch an angry cat and get her into a crate. If you’ve never tried to put a cat in a crate, you’re missing out on a task that could easily be an olympic event. As an added degree of difficulty, Nebula is the pack leader of the Tailless Trio, with the other two members being 130lbs of boxers, and they were being super nosy. Rufus tried to put his giant boulder head into the cat carrier, which isn’t even possible. But there was a high level of concern.

Seventy-five minutes of psychotic rush hour drivers, and listening to Nebula pitifully cry her pleas. “Set me free. I don’t belong in here. I’m fine, really.” I fell for none of it.

At Auburn, the baby vet student came out to get a history. “And which leg is it?”
“The orange one – I mean, the front left.” This makes more sense if you know I’m terrible with left and right…and also if you can see the cat in question. But she couldn’t see Nebula, so my response just seemed foolish, I’m sure.

I sat in the parking lot waiting…and waiting…and waiting. My Mom texted me, telling me to lock my doors and not get out of my car. Ok, Auburn is a safe little college town. Besides, I’m sure if any predator is coming to Auburn to find their victim, they’re looking for a 20-something college student…not a nearly 40 mom.

I had lots of time to think about what could’ve possibly happened. Since she was acting fine, there was no way it was a snake bite. Also, she had no visible wounds, so obviously she didn’t get into a fight with anyone. Which only left one viable scenario:

Nebula obviously got picked up by a hawk, who didn’t know what he got himself into. She clawed her way loose, and fell to Earth, breaking her leg. It was really the only possibility that made sense.

After an hour, the vet called. “Her leg is noticeably swollen, but she won’t let me get anywhere near it without hissing. The only way I will be able to look at it, is if I sedate her.” Yes, yes, this makes sense. If you get anywhere near Nebula and it’s not on her terms, she will hiss at you. And you will most likely die.

Another hour passed. More patients were showing up, and obviously since it’s an emergency clinic, they deal with the really seriously patients first. Ms Dropped-From-50ft-by-a-Hawk was not high priority. The vet called again: “we sedated her, but she’s still hissing and won’t let me near her. So we have to give her more.” Lady, she weighs 9lbs. Just hold her down and look at her leg, so we can throw a cast on it and I can be on my way!

The upside to spending a random Thursday night in the parking lot at the vet is that there is some great people-watching, along with guessing what everyone is there for. There was a boxer who had to be brought in on a stretcher (and of course I have a huge spot in my heart for sloppy mouthed block heads). An older lady refused to follow the stay in your vehicle rule, and was wandering around at the entrance holding a small dog…or a ferret. Whatever it was, at that hour I can only assume that he was running an animal meth lab and something went wrong. The last of the “honorable mentions” was a large dog that took 3 humans (whose car bragged Creek Life) to control, wearing a muzzle, while the vet student held onto a backup Hannibal Lector cage muzzle – I can’t even imagine what he got into that late at night that required a bedtime visit to the ER.

Finally, after 10pm (which is really 11pm, since Auburn is Central and we live in Eastern, and it’s well past my bedtime), the vet called once more. “We finally got her sedated enough that I was able to fully manipulate the leg. We shaved it, and found that she was bit by a snake.” I’m thinking it’s game over. It’s been 24 hours since she set out into the wilderness to do whatever it is she does when she sneaks out at night. The vet continued, “so we gave her antibiotics, and are sending her home with medicine for pain.” Wait. That’s it??

When the vet student brought Nebula back, I asked, “there’s no worry about venom or anything?” And she blew my mind: “if this had been a dog, it would’ve been a huge deal, and most likely life threatening. But for some reason with cats, they’re usually fine.” She then warned that because Nebula was double-sedated, she would probably be extra sleepy for a few hours.

Thirty minutes into our drive home she came back around and started pitifully crying again. So much for hours of sleepy sedated mini-kitty.

When we finally got home, Nebula was back to her sassy self, full of hiss and spit. I set her free, and discovered that the shave job left Nebula with catpris. She looks like she rolled up the sleeve of her puffy sweater. And below it was this skinny little chicken leg. Justin said, “can you imagine how tiny she would be without hair?!” Yeah, Justin! Let’s just shave her and see! Except, I don’t want to die.

That Saturday, while Justin and I were sitting around being lazy, I said, “I still can’t believe that sassy broad got bit by a snake!”
“Seriously?? You can’t??”
“Justin, the only scenario that made sense was that she got into an air battle with a hawk, and broke her leg. So obviously between the two choices, snake bite is slightly more believable.”

I’m still waiting for her to come home, wearing a dead snake like a scarf. Hopefully she’s learned her lesson, but more likely, she’s out for revenge. Also, I think she might be venomous now, so if you see Nebula, keep your distance.

Walking Into Spider-Friends

I foolishly allowed myself to give in to temptation today. Yes, I attempted not one, but two social media debates today. Hi, I’m Sammi Steeves, and I’m an addict.

I don’t even know why I allow myself to get caught up in these things. First and foremost, I love a good debate. My best friend can attest, as she has seen her husband and me battle it out well into the night. However, there is a difference between a debate, and just repeatedly slamming your head against concrete…which is what “debating” on social media usually gets me.

So, while I allow my blood to stop boiling, and let my blood pressure drop below the we’re all going to die level, let’s discuss spiders.

I know. What?! I’ve lost it…possibly.

Yesterday morning went like most. I woke up to Rufus grumbling and bringing me pants (which actually belonged to me AND weren’t sweaty and gross, so we’re making progress on that front). I went downstairs, and opened the garage to feed the–spider?!

When you live in the south, you have to pick and choose what terrifies you. Spiders now fall into two categories: Spiders that might want to kill you, and spiders that can be my friends. Wolf spiders fall into the “friends” category……most of the time.

This friendly neighborhood spider-friend was a little more than I was willing to handle at 5:30 in the morning. I am not exaggerating when I say he would have filled the entire palm of my hand, and I have pretty decent sized hands!

I have concerns…also, I brought you this sock I found. I believe you wore it to mow the lawn.

I froze. I looked at him (or her–how do you even know); it looked at me. I looked at the container of dog food, and then back at Rufus, who was looking extra concerned about the breakfast delay (although honestly, he always looks concerned). Rather than stepping past the giant wolf spider that just whispered to me, “I could eat you and no one would ever know,” I quickly reached over him, grabbed the dog food container, and slammed the garage door as he ran full speed at me!!! I nearly died. The door shut just as he reached the doorway. Maybe he was rabid, because I have never seen them run directly at a human. Hey Siri, can wolf spiders contract rabies??

With dogs fed, and my heart rate back down to normal (well, normal for me–it’s rather high, for no reason other than it likes to see me sweat), I decided that yoga was cancelled for the day. Or maybe for life. I can’t go back out there. Also, Someone better tell the cats that I can never feed them again.

No. I am better than this! I have dealt with Black Widows with more courage than this.

Shea came down for breakfast, and I tried to sucker her into feeding the cats. But, I opened with, “there’s a giant wolf spider in the garage…want to feed the cats??” She turned down that winning opportunity.

I’m not kidding, wolf spiders are all massive. But this was the Godzilla of wolf spiders. Clifford the Big Giant Wolf Spider. Arachnis Deathicus. And again, I conquered my fear of spiders a decade ago! Just ask the jumping spider who visits the living room every afternoon. We’re cool. We coexist. But this particular individual spider was just too big.

When I faced my fears and opened the garage door to feed the cats, he ran under a shelf. Since 7am yesterday, I have been praying to the spider gods every time I go into the garage: please don’t let him run out and touch my feet.

Spider Yoga is not something I am yet prepared to attempt. Thanks, Mr Wolf, you broke me.

Back to School

As a former NYer, August is still summer. It’s still a month away from school. It’s still hot. As a Southerner (I can claim “southern status,” because I’ve lived below the Mason-Dixon line for nearly 1/3 of my life–also, you should hear me drawl), August is the start of the school year. Summer’s over. And it’s disgustingly hot.

This year is like no other. Obviously. That is truly the understatement of the year. Even though I opted to keep my kids doing remote learning for the first quarter, I was grateful that the district decided to start everyone remote, at least for the first month. Which made me less of the bad guy when I informed Shea that she would not be going to middle school.

Xander is more than willing to never go back to school again. He can’t even fully appreciate the laid-back format of Remote Learning with Sammi Steeves. Normally, on the first day of school (or any school day, for that matter), I would have to wake him up at 6, so that he can make it to the bus by 7. Xander likes to hit the Mom Snooze Button, which requires me going into his room every 5 minutes: “are you awake yet? How about now? Xander? Xander?!” Then I sing. Loudly. Operatically. Obnoxiously.

Thanks to remote learning, I don’t start the harassment until 7:30. He would be 30 minutes into an hour-long bus ride by that point, so really, we should all be feeling pretty good about the extra sleep.

Truth be told, my alarm went off at 6:30, and I rolled out of bed and wandered around like low-battery Wall-E for the first 15 minutes. Where’s. The coffee. It isn’t like I don’t already get up between 6 and 6:30, but for some reason my Rufus Alarm didn’t go off this morning. My Rufus Alarm tends to go off some time before Justin leaves for work at 5:30–it’s a lot of snorting loudly in my ear, sniffing my nightstand (which instantly gets me out of bed, because even though he’s never done it, I’m convinced that this is the morning he will steal my glasses), more snorting with a hefty amount of nudging, and then usually he’ll bring me something from dirty laundry–a sock, shorts, a pair of underwear. He’s big on gifting. Sometimes I get a shoe, but rarely is it even mine. On this morning, even Rufus was wanting to sleep through the first day of school (he did bring me a ball of used painter’s tape later in the morning, so I wouldn’t feel forgotten).

Even though everyone was reminded over the past week that school would require getting dressed, there was still a decent amount of complaining. “But, why??” Well, Xander, if you wouldn’t sit top naked in class, I don’t think you should be top naked during google meetings with your classmates.

Then comes the fun part. Fill out an “All About Me” form. Typical first day of school stuff.
“Mom, how do I spell Trampoline.”
“T-R-A-M-P-O-L-I-N-E…Why??”
“My teacher wants to know an area where I need improvement.”
Ladies and gentlemen, we’re a solid 5 minutes into the school day.
“Xander, she means what school subject needs improvement.”
“Ohhhhhhhh!!! All of them.”

By this point, I foolishly assume he has the hang of it, and get back to cleaning out the fridge. Then I hear Shea: “Xander, you can’t put ‘backflips’ under After School Responsibilities.” Ah, yes. While most children are doing homework, or taking out the trash, I obviously require that my children do no less than 10 backflips.

I double-checked the sheet before he submitted it. The child used “backflips” to answer 5 questions, including, “when it comes to learning, my strengths are……” backflips. I fail to see how that is a learning strength, but what do I know–I can’t do a single backflip.

Happy First Day of School!!! Only 179 to go!

March: In Like a Pandemic, Out Like a Tornado Watch

My goal for Coronapocalypse was to be better about writing every day. The problem with that is my world went from “pretty darn uneventful,” to “what day is it!?” These are weird times.

Also, March has been the month that kept on giving. We started with what seemed like the potential for good–after 18 years, the “war” in Afghanistan might actually come to and end. NYS had its first coronavirus case, and Washington state had announced its second Covid-related death. Way back then, life was still mostly normal.

Now we can sing, what a difference a month makes. 31 super long, painful days.

Of course, it would only be fitting for a month that started with potential (and slowly–no, rapidly–snowballed out of control), to end with me receiving a Tornado Watch alert. Not as bad as a Tornado warning, but certainly worse than the daily pollen alert I receive.

There are so many interesting aspects of living in the south. Fifteen years ago, I stood out like a sore thumb. At my very first job in Georgia, after being asked where I was from, I was then asked, “are you gonna speak Yank to us?” I guess I can try? I’ve never been good a picking up foreign languages.

One of the “interesting in a bad way” aspects can be the extreme weather. While we don’t have snow days, we did have a “flash flood day,” way back in February. Picture white-out conditions, but with rain and flooding. So much flooding.

Alabama isn’t part of “Tornado Alley,” but it is located in “Dixie Alley,” which I didn’t realize was actually a thing. Dixie Alley is known for a different style of tornado. The wetter style, I guess.
My children are professional Tornado siren experts. In 2015, a tornado touched down less than a mile from our house in KY, and the second that siren went off, they curled into little balls on the floor, tucking their hands over their heads. “Come on, Mom! get on the floor like this!” Yeah, I thought the on-post fire department was just being overly cautious…until we drove past the uprooted trees. Oops, I guess tornados are serious.

Our Tornado Plan consists of everyone cramming into a 6’x4′ bathroom. 4 humans, 2 boxers, a pug, and 3 cats. Yes, it will be a wonderful bonding experience. Thus far, we have yet to activate the tornado plan, although there have been moments when the kids were ready (Shea even packed a bag full of stuffed animals, and had to be reminded we would barely have room for the living creatures). Shea believes the best way to increase our space, is to make use of the under sink cabinet–cat storage, if you will. At one point I believe it was suggested that Justin could join them, but since he isn’t even flexible enough for child’s pose, I don’t think it’s going to be possible to get him into a space 4 feet wide by 2 feet deep…and only 3 feet tall. We haven’t tried cramming him in there, but logistically speaking, I don’t think it’s going to be possible.

Our Tailless Trio: Rufus, Emma, and Nebula

Our pug, Bruce, is 14 years old, and poops if you scare him. Awesome defense mechanism. I’m sure it will really go over well in our confined quarters. Rufus, has no concept of personal space, which I’m sure will be the perfect trait for Sardine Can Bathroom. Emma gets extremely bouncy when she’s excited. Or if Justin acknowledges her presence. Picture Tigger, in a bathroom, with too many individuals. Then sprinkle in 3 cats, and keep in mind that two of them are frequently tormented by the boxers; the third cat has no tail, and therefore is just like the boxers…I guess?

via GIPHY

31 days ago, we were still planning for Spring Break; it has now come and gone, Social-Distancing-style. March 1 began 734 hours ago, but if you ask anyone, they’d probably tell you it has felt like 734 days. Instead of school days and weekends, we have school-at-home days and the 2 days a week you have no rules. Well, limited rules.

Two more hours until this Tornado Watch is lifted. I will watch it touch down before attempting to cram anyone in the bathroom.

What a difference a pandemic makes.