May 29, 2011
High Drama Saturday
This is really a dual-category post. I should have just called it "My Day, by Heather Noggle."
I started out the day with some work, and when it was clear the weather seemed to be ready to cooperate, the planning and prep work for a bike ride began. Here's the general checklist for the first ride of the season:
- Find bike (did that earlier)
- Put air in tires up to 102 PSI
- Ensure all tire patching/tire changing equipment's in the seat pack.
- Ensure all gears etc. are working properly, brakes, yes.
- Find water bottles
- Find sunglasses
- Find rearview mirror
- Find gloves
- Find and don cycling apparel
- Find shoes
- Grab all related gear - iPod, keys, ID, etc.
Got bike out and then proceeded to get on bike. Right pedal up, foot clip in. Push down, align left foot, clip. I did about 20 laps around the parking lot, fast corners, etc. And then it was time for the road.
Crossed over the main road that's too busy to ride to start my pre-mapped route. Felt good and natural, but a few miles in, I came to some train tracks I would have to cross to continue, and, nope, stopped train. Gave it 5 minutes, and then I shrugged, said "Plan B," and continued.
There was no Plan B, so I just kept riding as long as the streets looked decently safe. Tackled some decent-sized hills and noted my cardio conditioning is on the money. Also noted my leg conditioning is NOT - burning thighs most of the ride. But the brain and experience can do a lot. I remember how to attack rolling hills and how to conserve for big ones.
The nice safe path ended, and I found myself at an intersection with a busy street. No real traffic at that time of day, so, well, why not? I'm all comfortable - this is what I used to do obsessively for fun. And there I was, riding with the flow of traffic on a street with a speed limit of 60 mph. Wheeee! Did that a few miles and then took a turn that I thought would head me toward home another way, but I couldn't identify where I was, so back from whence I came.
Cyclocomputer's not hooked up, so I have to guess at mileage - somewhere from 10 - 15, probably 12. All went well - gentle soreness in shoulders and tightness in legs notwithstanding. I'm feeling GOOD.
Get home. Children and Daddy have been in the yard all morning. Playtime in the yard usually necessitates a bath, so both children were in the big bathtub, and Brian was folding laundry. I asked to run downstairs to cool off a bit, and when I sat down in my office in the very chair in which I am now seated, I heard it: DRIP, DRIP, DRIP.
Puzzled, I sought the source. Hmm. Something in my closet is DRIPPING. Doubleplusungood. Opened closet door, and, yep, it's coming from upstairs. Directly above me is the bathtub in which the children are bathing. Brain makes cognitive leap, connects, and ears hear "BOYS!!!!"
Said angels of my soul were dumping cups full of water out of the bathtub and onto the floor. Never you mind that everyone in the house knows this is both inadvisable and unallowed...it happened. Scolded boys are driven from their bathtime fun. We dried the older one (something he usually gets to do himself). The younger one was caught up in the drying process when he decided to...wait for it...urinate on the floor.
This is either funny or tragic (maybe for a split second both). We chose funny.
The rest of the day was uneventful until sitting became painful. But that's just a wound with a purpose - riding - I get to do more of it. :) hln
May 26, 2011
Pilling the Cat
Ugh! Adventure around the house.
Galt, our oldest cat, is 15. He spent a year outside with Ajax (after fighting the Great Urine Wars of 2009). When Ajax died, we thought we'd conduct the grand experiment of letting Galt back into the house (because Galt's a very personable doglike cat, and the children love him).
So, we take the old cat to the vet. Said cat used to weigh 15 pounds. Now he's down to a too-svelte 7.5 or so, and the vet wanted to run a bunch of tests on him. Said tests commenced with results soon following. The verdict: Galt's hyperthyroid and needs daily medicine.
Pilling a cat is about as fun as...you can fill in the blank here. In the interest of not being too vulgar, I'll say "bathing a snapping turtle who hasn't eaten in 2 weeks." Yeah, that fun. The first few nights were a dream. It went like this:
- Trap cat.
- Smile at cat.
- Stuff pill (using hand) in cat's gullet
- Stroke cat's chin and mumble sweet threats
- Free cat until tomorrow
Just last week a friend told me a cat pilling story that included cat antics, human cunning, and a bunch of cat slobber. Oh, no, that'll never happen to ME, I thought. I have this cat-pilling process all down.
Tonight...it took no fewer than 6 tries to pill this cat. And I'm by myself this evening, so once I let the cat go thinking he'd swallowed the pill, I had to coax him back into my loving, pilling arms again using every piece of wit I owned. I prevailed (somehow), and then it was like an infinite loop of pill chucking. Everytime this orange pill came outta the cat, it was wetter, slimier, and, well, less orange.
I still have all my fingers, though; I still have all my fingers THIS TIME.
Is a four-year old too young to pill a cat? That sounds like a good chore.
May 07, 2011
"You Didn't Just...Yeah, You Did"
So, this morning, I'm relaxing on my bed and petting my youngest cat while my children are finishing their snacks and about to pick up so that the entire family can embark on our Saturday morning adventure. Daydreaming a bit. Decide to go check on the all-too-quiet children. Yes, those children who were finishing their snacks.
So into the kitchen I go, all Mommy mode, and what do I survey?
Those angels of mine have taken the remnants of their Raisin Bran, crushed it to tiny pieces, thrown it to the floor, and are STOMPING ON IT. And there's not a small amount.
Ok, after initial "OMG!" shock to see such sinning in my midst, the children must see my eyes and the downturning of my mouth. I calmly mentioned this behavior is unacceptable, and Jimmy pulls an Adam on me "but, Mom, HE did it." At this point, I teach my four-year-old the term "complicit" and bade him a happy room dwelling.
But first there was the feet cleaning. Bran sticks to sweaty child feet something fierce.
Really glad this wasn't liquid - it's their first huge mess they knew they shouldn't have created, so, hey, not bad for me. I get out the broom and the dustpan and commence sweeping it up. And then I get the first bout of the giggles. The swirling bits of bran (all raisins gone, of course) kinda remind me of that toy where you take the magnet beneath some magnetic shards and make the pictures. I made a lot of pictures with all of this bran.
So, 10 minutes later, all good as new. Nervous children pondering what calm Mom is doing. I visit the eldest. I tell him "sit down" in an ominous voice. I explain it's inadvisable to make messes which you cannot yourself clean. I also remind him it was obvious he knew that the behavior was wrong and that the right behavior (if it did indeed spill unintentionally) was to find me instead of crunching bran with improper machinery.
Youngest just looks confused. Still with bran on his feet and a silly grin.