Living With OBD - Obsessive Ball Disorder

Maybe its because he no longer has them himself, but my dog, Jack, is obsessed with balls.

Can you see the manic glaze in his eye? There is a ball just out of view in this picture and he will not rest until he has it. Literally. Will. Not. Rest.

Inklings of the disorder were apparent when we first met Jack back in April at his foster family's house. Actually, it was one of Hubby's requirements - that he be "ball crazy" - when he filled out our application at Safe Harbor Lab Rescue. Hubs has some hopes of training him to be a huntin' dog... Obviously retrieving would be required.

Anyway.

The full-blown OBD was evidenced one Saturday when Jack & I went to hang out with our neighbors in our cul-de-sac's weekly-driveway-picnic-drinkfest that I attend occasionally when I spy them next door. Love my neighbors. Like beer. But not every weekend night. So, I brought a camp chair, a beer, and Jack out to socialize. Jack promptly found an old baseball with split seams and made the rounds begging for a throw until I look down after 30 minutes at a ball of red string. The baseball cover was later found after passing through Jack's large intestine - and here I thought it fell off with a hard throw...

With the then remains of the baseball in the trash and at loose ends, Jack decides to play Monkey in the Middle to my 14 year old neighbor, Matt, and his friend throwing a football. The monkey rarely got the ball but doggedly ran between the teens for another hour. Even after they switched to a baseball & gloves and spread farther apart, Jack would not rest. Worried that he was going to pass out, I dragged him by the collar into the house and to his water bowl in the kitchen. It is only when I turn around and see bloody paw prints tracking through the house from the garage that I realize that Jack has run the pads off his paws and still did not stop. This is dedication and adoration in the extreme. This is a massive case of Obsessive Ball Disorder.

I don't know if Jack learned his lesson after being unable to walk for two days and suffering through ball-restriction for a week, but I did. Never again will I underestimate the depth of his obsession. I now know, I must be the parent, the heavy, the enforcer.

I have to be the one to say "enough is enough, Jack, leave your balls alone!"

Mii Fit?

Some of you may remember when I boldly declared "game on" in I knew this day was coming... on April 20th and are wondering how the game is going.

Its not.

The game has been kicking my butt like I'm a one-legged-woman in the contest. In other words - I haven't lost. ANYTHING. Zip. Zero. Nada. And yet somehow this makes me a loser? Yes. Yes, it does.

But I have a new weapon in my arsenal. The Wii Fit. I have not missed a daily workout in almost a week. Okay, okay, maybe that's not impressive to you but I am impressed and that's all that matters! The Wii Fit activities: Yoga, Strength Training, Aerobics, and Balance Games, are so fun that I keep going even after I have hit my goal for the day. I warm up and cool down with Yoga stretches and in the middle have a blast. I even have my own cyber-personal trainer. The Body Test gives me daily feedback on how I'm doing and helps to keep me motivated - I want to get a stamp on my calendar! It's the little victories...

The only distressing thing is your Wii Fit Age which is determined with a Balance Test, your real age, and your BMI (body mass index). And my Wii Fit Age?

Older than I am. That's all you need to know.

This is day 6 - Game on! (again)

Tina vs The Tornado or Let's Get The Hail Out of Here!

A sunny Sunday afternoon doing errands at the Big Box Stores can be dangerous for your health!

Enter Walmart in the sunshine and leave in the downpour. This is not a new concept for Coloradoans where the slogan goes something like: Welcome to Colorado - if you don't like the weather, wait 20 minutes.

I waited a only few minutes and sure enough there was a break in the rain. On to Petco for a bag of dog food, kids in the car listening to the iPod. As I exit lugging the 30 pound bag (why did Hubs have to go on a 62 mile bike ride today!), the sound of a tornado siren is carried to me on a light breeze. I have only heard the siren once before but being a teacher I recognize it immediately. I scan the sky in front of me as I slog to the car, open the back, and heave the bag in. Turning down the tunes I ask the kids if they hear the siren. Its not until I am checking the rearview mirror to back out of my space that I see ominous gray-green clouds behind us. A quick peek over my shoulder and "Oh my! Is that a tornado?" Sure enough, swirling just north of us is a small funnel twisting our way. At this point we are fascinated, animated and slightly motivated. We keep our eyes on the twister as I head out of the mall.

Stopped at a red light, my twin, 12 year-old boys begin to panic in the backseat as the tornado looms closer and is most certainly churning our way. My 15 year-old daughter and I are amused by their panic still being only fascinated, animated and slightly more motivated. As we are pulling away at the green light the boys give a shudder of relief and rain starts to fall heavily. Really heavily. Like, really, really heavily.

Wait. Does rain bounce? And just like that we are being pelted by golf ball, ping pong ball, and "oh my gosh was that a baseball?" sized hail. Picture this: boing! - aahh!, smash! - aahh!, crack! - aahh! and this shrieking piggy went wee, wee, wee all the way home.

Suffice it to say, I was no longer fascinated, I was extremely agitated. Forget merely animated, I was over-stimulated and laughing hysterically between cringing screams as my boys looked on with horror that I may actually be enjoying this (note to Boys, this is how your mother freaks out). And finally I was beyond motivated to get the heck out of dodge but realized that the faster I go, the bigger impact each icy piece of hell would have on my poor battered SUV. Gravity + velocity = destruction. Obviously this equation escaped all the morons who were speeding past me on their way to an insurance claim.

Despite my nerve-wrackingly slow crawl home, our car did not escape unscathed and is pocked with many little dents. But I claim a victory with no broken windows. Our house weathered the storm as far as we can see but roofers will be checking out our lid. Our poor yellow lab crawled out from under the bed when we stumbled in the garage door. And Hubs? He was chillin' on our bed with his iPod after his long ride and missed the whole thing.

But you want to know what I am most upset about? All the container plants on my patio that are now leaveless and flowerless shadows of their former glory. Argh! But really? We are counting our blessings, looking out unbroken windows.

G-N-Oh-no-we-dint!

For any of you who may have gotten a little too rowdy at your last Girls Night Out - a poem:

We've been here for hours

Yet we're still shouting.

People are staring.

That couple is pouting.

After only one drink,

Shrill laughter abounds.

By the end of the night,

There are sillier sounds.

Hubbys, jobs, kids,

These topics all covered.

On to new sex toys,

Positions discovered.

Try not to gossip.

Its hard not to fall.

Nothing is sacred.

We women tell all.

So one last drink,

Now it gets gushy.

"You're my best friends!"

The hugs are all mushy.

Our make-up's all gone.

We'll sing one last song.

Ten-minute goodbyes,

With tears in our eyes.

On home into bed

With a friend-happy glow.

Regrets in the morning

'Til your next GNO.