Piece Of Cake Indeed

I’ve come to the conclusion that tea won’t solve everything despite what Beloved thinks.  It won’t even make things better, unless you really like tea.  Then I guess it can calm you or at least provide the comfort of something warm and familiar.

And while I’ve come to the conclusion that nothing really solves everything, cake comes close to it.  Yes you read that correct.  Cake.  Not just any cake, but good, cake.  Cake made with quality ingredients.  Delicious cake.  Cake made with passion or love and offered as a wonderful comfort.

Feeling hungry?  Cake is the very thing.  Need something sweet?  Cake.  Need a comfort from a loving person who isn’t near you!  Cake will work.  Feeling out of sorts?  Cake helps pull things together.  Feeling blue?  Cake will help lift your spirits.  I think you get where I’m going with this.

Frankly I’d offer cake all the time if it were the thing to do.  But there are calories and fat content to watch.  There are so many factors to consider, so I don’t always offer it,  but when I’m in need of something, like I was today, I got cake.

Besides cake and treatment work well together!

Advertisements

Letting It Out

There is something to be said about a good tantrum, fit being pitched or flat-out meltdown.  If nothing more, it’s a great way to get out pent up emotions and energy.  And let’s face it, it makes a huge statement.

I haven’t had a proper tantrum in years.  They tend to be frowned upon when people reach a certain age.  You know, typically beyond toddlerhood.  Now there are times when people have no other means or ability to cope or express themselves.  And that’s a slightly different situation than me having a tantrum because I’ve had enough of things or was denied something I wanted.

And if I’m honest, I don’t really want to have a tantrum or pitch a fit. But it is tempting at times.  Like when I’ve explained myself a thousand times over and still the same person wants me to repeat myself again.

In those moments, for the briefest of seconds, I envision throwing myself on the floor shrieking NOOO.  Of course the floor is dirty.  And hard.  So I’m not really going to do it.  And I wont shriek neither, because I really dont want a sore throat.

But I will, after those briefest of seconds, recognize I’ve reached that point.  I will remove myself from the situation and suggest we reschedule if someone needs it.  And I will sail off into something better.  Or at least a better outlet for emotions and energy.

Power Of Word

What crosses your mind when someone says they are unhooking?  This was a question posed in a recent campus staff survey which found its way into my inbox.  The survey had helpful options to choose from such as:  a) separating members of a couple; b) separating from a potentially unhealthy friendship; c) free styling; or d) something else.

Naturally, I chose something else.  One cannot simply unhook.  You can unhook something, like the dog’s leash to her collar.  You can unhook your arm from someone else’s arm.  And so on.

One of my coworker’s took advantage of the last option and typed her answer in all upper case, bold font.  What she wrote was “bra”.  That’s what she thinks of when someone says s/he is unhooking.

of course we were wrong.  We should have thought of a couple splitting up.  But mostly we should have chosen the last option and then typed in “social media”.  Because evidently everyone needs to unhook from social media to have a healthy mind frame.  (Which is also news to me because social media is not my life nor does it equate to my self-worth.)

I am suppose to, at some point this week, address the power of unhooking in my classes.  My coworker is going to introduce her discussion with clips of women burning their bras because to her, that is liberation.  I will probably go a slightly different route, something to do with a boat…

Running Freely

The four-footed one thinks nothing of running obstacle courses.  She will run under or over things.  She jumps, and crawls and zigs  and zags with the best of them.  She loves agility courses.  She does not, however, enjoying following others.

Agility classes, she is supposed to love, are a massive power struggle.  If she’s supposed to go over something, she will go under it.  If she is told to stop, she must run flat-out.  Stay means go and on and on it is.  But let her run the course her way and she’s a delight to watch.

I’m not overly fussed by this.  She is a free spirit and I love it.  Beloved wanted her to find a hobby she would enjoy with him.  Except she doesn’t want to do things any way other than her own.  Beloved has been told he must be in command of the dog.

So Beloved and the dog have gone to many lessons to learn to work together.  Alas this hasn’t come out as Beloved hoped.  She listens more closely to him, but she’s a wild toddler in a play ground when you bring her to an agility course.

He has given up on her and him flying through these courses as one.  Instead the go to them for fun, he letting be ready on her thing while he runs in the center of it.  They come home tired and happy and that, to me, is worth far more than any award.

A Hostage Burrito

A strange thing happened to me today.  I got up extra early because the dog insisted she go outside.  She ran outside to heed the call of nature and give a quick bark before running back in.  She’s no dummy, she knew she could still get time in bed with how early it was.

We both got comfortable, settled down to have some more sleep time and all was good.  When we woke up next time, I was unable to get out of bed.  Sure my joints hurt, and yes the dog was sitting on me.  So both of these items would slow me down, but not prevent me from getting out of bed typically.

Instead I was trapped in my bed because I had somehow rolled myself up in blankets as if I were a burrito.  And the sheets were holding me hostage.  They did not demand any ransom, content instead to treat me as a human burrito.

Eventually I got out of the sheets and on with my day.  Being the type of day that it was,mi was forced to take a nap a little later on.  So I grabbed a blanket and stretched out.  The dog opted to rest with me.  Once again when I awoke, I was a human burrito hostage.  Why is this happening?

Irksome Names

My over has a self-cleaning option.  However as much as the option is there, it still requires an awful lot of human interaction.  I first have to e,pity everything out of it.  Then I have to fill a tray with distilled water.  Next I need to turn the oven on and let it do whatever magic it does for hours at a very high temperature.  When it feels it has cleaned itself, it will start the cooling off and unlocking process.  At some point I need to relieve the tray where the water was and use a towel to actually remove whatever the oven cleaned.

Heres the thing.  That’s not self-cleaning.  It’s helpful in part of the cleaning part, but honestly.  My oven is trying to take credit for work it hasn’t done.  I mean sure I’d say I used the self-cleaning feature on the oven, so it gets some credit, but I’d never say I cleaned it all by myself.

Dont ask me why this irks me so, just know that it does.  Could be the lack of humility on the oven’s part.  Could be the silly way marketing people think up names of features.  Perhaps it’s just the fact that I wanted to get the oven clean and not have to do anything to make that happen.

Someone

Someone who is a small as a shoebox really shouldn’t be so full of fury as to scare full-grown adults away.

Someone who is as small as a shoebox shouldn’t, theory,be able to rattle the door and make the windows shake with such passion.

Someone the size of a shoebox should be, well, manageable for a full-grown adult.

Today someone the size of a shoebox managed to scare away the postal carrier with her jumping on snarling on the window and the door.  The postal carrier had a parcel that required a signature.  Not really a big deal.  Except I was home alone with this shoebox sized creature.  And I discovered that managing her while trying to open the door and sign for the parcel was, well, unmanageable.

So I bribed the four-footed one with a treat, out her in a room and signed for the parcel. Once I closed the door, I ran to get the four-footed one from th room I stuck her in.  And realized that someone the size of the shoebox should not be underestimated.  Because good things, strong things, come in small packages.  Sometimes packages the size of shoeboxes.  Now if I could just figure out how someone the size of an adult can’t manage this shoebox sized creature.