Yesterday was our wifia lunch. We hold these every Wednesday afternoon and rotate through the houses of our six group members. Jodi made a roast. I brought my green bean casserole (it's one of only about six things I know how to make.) Joia brought awesome mashed potatoes. Andrea brought the bread. Tiffany made a cheesecake. Absolutely delicious. (All of it but especially the cheesecake.) It was great to catch up with the gals after a week away. Only Sarah was out of town for the weekly festivities.
During lunch, Isaac sat in his bumbo chair nearly the whole time. He watched patiently as first William and then Kennan took his teething ring from him, smiling as they pointed to his eyes or his nose. Those two big boys did a great job being extremely gentle with little Isaac -- who is completely at their mercy at this point in his life.
During lunch, I asked Jodi for the cold, hard truth. The question. Did she or did she not take our Scrubs to more obedience classes while we were out of town? Jodi laughed, and I laughed, but there was a twinge of seriousness to my question. "I told you he's growing up," she replied in her sweet North Carolina accent. Ever since we have returned from out-of-town, it's as if all the things we've taught our dog over his 1.5 years on this earth, and all the things we know he knows, have come to the surface all at once.
Let me back up a bit. Whenever I complain about Scrubs' behavior on my online "Dalmatian Board", inevitably someone will suggest more obedience classes. I don't think this is a bad idea, but here's the truth. The dog is a star in obedience classes. He does everything I ask him to do. The reason? Awesome treats. What else. The guy knows how to do anything and everything. Roll over, sit, stay, climb, whatever. No problem. Give me my treat, I'll do whatever you want. However, incorrect motivation (i.e., no treat) often equalled incorrect behavior (i.e., you are crazy if you think I am going to listen to you.)
But since we have gotten home, the dog has been a superstar. An example. Yesterday I needed to go into the guest room. Whenever we get home from a trip, we inevitably allow the guest room to be our "dumping ground" for all our luggage and bags and trip paraphernalia. So I needed to go in and didn't feel like Scrubs tagging along with me, putting his head into every nook and cranny of our trip junk. So, at the door, I told him to stay. I didn't shut the door. I just told him not to come in. And he listened. He stood there and waited patiently until I came out. And he did this with no treat lingering over his nose. Amazing! Was this our polka-dotted pal?!
Another example. I took him to the bay to play Frisbee yesterday. Deuce's family wasn't there to let him out to play, so Scrubs and I decided to do some old-fashioned-Frisbee-bonding while Isaac giggled and watched wide-eyed from his stroller. Normally our Frisbee session includes a lot of Scrubs catching but not a lot of Scrubs returning. I have to walk to wherever he is, retrieve the Frisbee, and throw again. Yesterday, he decided he would play the game correctly. Throw after throw after throw after throw he caught, turned around, and ran back. Who are you and where is my Scrubs?
The plumber came yesterday, and I was able to leave Scrubs out to greet him without our pup trying to sniff and lick and throw his body into the guy from head to toe. Scrubs does a good job not jumping, but he wants to jump so badly he often barrels into you like a seventy-pound torpedo. Not this time. Perfection!
Jodi insisted that obedience classes were not part of her weekly work with Scrubs. I believe her. But I am still trying to figure out what she did with my dog while we were gone to return to me this completely new creation.
Now don't get me wrong. Scrubs is still not perfect. Yesterday evening, despite his run with JB, he was wound up quite a bit when I returned from a formula-run to Target (Where I spent quite a few minutes explaining why I was so pregnant and buying formula -- maybe it isn't just the Commissary that has forward cashiers.) We decided we'd let him chew the cover off a tennis ball while we ate dinner -- just not in the mood to argue that this wasn't the best idea. I'm still not sure where the tennis ball came from as all of his tennis balls are already coverless. He found it somewhere and decided he'd like it better if it wasn't so green.
At midnight, I quickly regretted my decision. I woke up from a very deep sleep to the sound of heaving. And heavy breathing. What was that noise? I know that noise? Oh yes. There's the unmistakable hack that accompanies the heaving and heavy breathing. Throw up. Vomit. I flipped on the bedroom light. Scrubs had left a nice present for me right next to my bed and was back in his own bed by the time I could see what happened, as if he knew nothing of the mess I was destined to step in. Bless my darling husband who decided that his pregnant wife need not be responsible.
Unfortunately, I had great difficulty falling back to sleep after this midnight rendezvous, and 5:30 rolled around way too fast this morning. I would have stayed in bed longer, but our sleepy son, who had decided he couldn't stay up a moment past 7 the evening before, was wide awake and giggling on the monitor. So up I go. I also have an OB appointment this morning and wanted to get changed and showered while JB was still home.
I got both of those things accomplished only to have my recently-burping-even-more-than-normal son coat me from head to toe (literally!) during his morning feed. Guess I'll have to find something else to wear to go to my appointment.
One nice thing about being seen in family medicine is that it is a "family" atmosphere, and you are allowed to bring your other kids to your appointments. So Isaac will join me for this morning's visit with Dr. G. I am hoping JB can get away as well even though he is at Fort Walton Beach (the county hospital across town.) I plan to talk to her about the confusion surrounding my due date. There is some debate as to whether I am due at the beginning or end of January. This is a big difference to me as it would be the difference between me being 26 weeks pregnant and 30. I'd feel better if it is 30 -- only because I feel 30 would more accurately correlate with my belly size. Yesterday during my "Moms-in-Motion" work-out class one of the gals told me she was having a fat day. Knowing she was due the same time as I was but looked incredibly smaller, I asked her how much weight she had gained. Eight pounds?!? Fat day. I could just hear Joia quip in with some dry and hillarious comment to the notion of being 26 weeks and having only gained 8 pounds. Needless to say my weight gain total is about 3 times that. So if she feels fat, what do I feel? Anyways, my husband tells me each day NOT to stress over poundage. Okay already! But I am hopeful Dr. G. can shed some light on this discussion this morning. We'll see.
All right, so this post turned out to be a conglomeration of a lot of nonsense. But hopefully it was some nonsense that was a little fun to read. I'll try to update later today with some post-OB information. I'm sure I'll also have some photos to share of Shea's visit to the Base as well. She's due to arrive shortly before dinner time.
In closing, a video from this morning. This was after the eruption of formula and ten minutes of screaming tummy time. Isaac decided to complete the morning by blowing "raspberries" while he ate his peas. Guess he didn't think they were such a good idea so early in the morning. If the first two hours of my day are any indicatino of the rest of my day, this should be an interesting one. (A quick note: Babies are only supposed to be introduced to one food at a time. Right now it is peas. I don't do it in evening because something always come up to sidetrack me. So we do mornings. JB assures me babies don't know the difference between breakfast and dinner food!)