The New Puppy

"We don't need another dog," Angela said.

"Of course we do, we used to have three, and now we only have two," I said.

I wait. I wait another week. And then, my Angela came through. She said, "there are Bichons in the paper."

"Really?" I said. "Let me see that."

"That's a local call, you know," she remarked.

"Umhuh," I remarked.

"You could go this afternoon," she pointed out, "after your PT appointment.
"Yes, I could. I guess I should call," I pointed out.

"Umhuh."

She knew that if I went to look, we'd have a puppy, and so we did. I picked TinkerBelle out at three weeks old, and I checked up on her every week. I even took the grandkids with me twice, so they could see the puppy grow.

Tink was the first of the litter to venture out of her box, and she let me turn her over for a tummy rub from the first time we met. Eight-weeks went by so slowly, I could hardly keep myself away, and Angela loved the phone pictures.

I brought her in the house and she was first overwhelmed by Cassandra, the one year old puppy, and then our new baby dog made a pass through Angela's arms for a big snuggle. Next, the kids got to hold her, and  finally, her feet touched the floor and she was able to explore a bit. Angela beamed as much as I, and the grandkids agreed she was "a cupcake," as the eldest remarked. "That's because her collar has cupcakes on it, and that's how sweet she is." There goes that adult-concept-thing again in our five-year old granddaughter.

"I'll add the third lead to the leash," Angela said.


"That would be great." I said.


Here's just another Best Thing About Being Married To A Transsexual.

Her's two of our doggies taking a snooze: Chloe Petunia, the one year old, and TinkerBelle, the baby.

They are Bichon Frise with puppy (hair) cuts.

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The Big Birthday Bash

I just love watching Angela work. She is a whirling dervish. No kidding. She never stops. She seems to be in several places at once. I look one way, and there she is setting up tables, I look the other and she's hanging a banner or a balloon. When the blow-up pools, yes plural, are filled, the playhouse open, and the  swing set dusted off again, it's time for the kids to arrive. There are nearly as many parents as there are kids, but that makes it all the more fun for the grown-up and the kids. We get to catch-up, while the little ones are allowed a little more freedom. Mommies and Daddies are close-by for small boo-boos, and call-out like "you are too little to do that," or "watch out for the littler ones." Our grand-kids are turning 3 and 5, and their vocabularies are turning 22 and 24: The now 5-year-old tells me, "the surface is slippery," when she comes out of the pool and steps on the cement porch. The now 3-year-old wants to know, "why can't the world stop turning so the breeze doesn't blow so hard?" When words and concepts like "empathy, levering myself up, and grip-strength" become common-place, Angela and I wonder what their teachers are going to do with them when they start first grade, not to mention kindergarten.

Angela watches the kids in the pool while others sit and talk, she helps hold the kids up to the monkey-bars, even the toddlers. She catches the older ones who's "grip-strength" doesn't last long enough for the 5 handholds. She pushes swings while Mommies fix hamburgers. She finds more paper for coloring while Daddies hand out hot dogs. She monitors games of chase so the little ones can catch the big ones, and she hands out spoons for the sandbox when the other toys run out. She even settles a few kid-sized arguments before they turn into traumas Moms and Dads need to deal with. When she finally sits down to eat, it's time to open presents. She happily takes her lunch to the new location to watch. Yes, I was there, talking, eating, sorting out kids, but mostly I was getting towels, band-aides, and food from the house. Other times I was being the potty-monitor so little behinds got wiped and small, wet feet didn't slip on the entry tile.

Yes, Angela is my overseer of all good things, and that's just another Best Thing About Being Married To A Transsexual.

Getting my exercise

We have an exercise room, and we do use it, sporadically. One of us gets The Bug, and we exercise every day for, oh, let's say two months. Then, we begin to fall off our regime until the next time. I bet the same thing happens to you sometimes, doesn't it? Well, our exercise room has had an old and fading carpet since we moved in more than twenty years ago. We've talked about changing it, but nothing came of that particular plan other than adding equipment. So, guess what, Angela got "The Bug." No, not to exercise, but to change the carpet. We're also in the midst of working in the garden, replanting grass on our two acres and doing lots of weeding (my elbow injury let the wild things grow for a couple weeks, and we got behind). Evidently, she felt we didn't have enough on To Do lists, so she asked for my help. Usually, my help means "hand me this, bring me that, &/or hold this." That is not what needing my help meant this time. We had to get all of that heavy equipment out of the room. Let me emphasis the word heavy. The bicycle was no problem, even the stepper wasn't too bad, but the darn treadmill was quite a challenge. You see, I may have pointed this out before, but Angela doesn't have the same strength she used to have as a man because she is a woman now -- duh! I'm just going to say it was a bitch, okay? Sorry for those of you who said, "No." Anyway, even that paled next to the Universal Gym. Taking it apart, well part of it anyway, lead to two backaches, two strained shoulders, and a couple bruises in unusual places. Moving, even the pieces, was heavy work.

The carpet came up easily, even the tiles lifted right out, but the linoleum under that was less enjoyable, and see a prior post to understand what I think about taking the glue off. Damn, it was a beast, and Angela did most of that, this time. Next came the Pergo wood floor. Outside of a few blue words, we got it in in under a day. Well, except for the small/tiny bathroom, which Angela did all by herself. That was a mistake as that little project resulted in several trips to the nurse's station in one of our bathrooms for hydrogen peroxide, bacitracin, and a variety of band-aids and gauze patches. We moved all the equipment back in, oh, my pulled/strained muscles, bruises, and promises to never do this again.

But, the last thing to be returned to the room was my Star Trek display cabinet. So, I got to go through keepsakes again, and that was more fun than I can tell you. Yes, I boxed up a few things, but most of it is still in the cabinet. I hope it doesn't take another change-of-the-carpet for me to go through it all again, but I'll enjoy the new arrangement/display until the next time.

I guess I was getting my exercise fixing up the room, but I'll soon be having to use all that equipment again -- as soon as my muscles stop complaining that is. Anyway, I'm actually glad Angela got this particular "Bug," and yep, this is another Best Thing About Being Married To A Transsexual.