The One With My Big Black Book

Saturday, as I was sitting in on my first day of tutor training, I realized that I was going to need a way to keep track of all the things going on in my life starting in the fall. Gone will be the days where I come into the office at 8 a.m. (OK, 8:30), check my Outlook calendar and go on with my day. Managing three jobs, all that require appointments with individual clients, and school will require something a little bit more. So I bought one of those big, black day planners with all the time broken down by hour. I think it will help me keep track of all my appointments in a portable manner until I can afford one of those palm pilots that everyone seems to have nowadays.

When I started filling out what I already know -- my fall school schedule -- I realized just how busy I'm going to be trying to work and go to school fulltime. Maybe not my best idea, but we'll see how it works out. I guess if I have to cut something out, I'll just cut something out.

I think I'm really going to like tutoring. I really enjoyed the training. I think it's going to be a challenge, but I'm actually partial to high school kids when you're talking about dealing with anyone under the age of 18, and I think this will be fun in the same way that dog training is fun -- that you're really making a difference to someone. Only now I'll be making a difference to rich kids instead of dogs. But whatever works. The company really runs their business well, and I'm excited to work with them.

And I have to say that getting lasik surgery is still the best thing that I've ever done for myself. It was so cool to be the only one who could read the tiny print on the board. I love my new eyes!!

The One With an Ode to Chubbs

Friday I was standing in line at the vet, waiting for them to bring Chubbs his medication, and the woman in front of me turned and did a double-take at him. I must have looked at her with some suspicion because she went on to explain, "I'm sorry. I used to live in Dallas, Texas, and I knew someone who bred Rottweilers and Golden Retrievers, and they looked just like your dog."

"Well," I replied, "you're not going to believe this, but this dog was abandoned on my yard in Hurst, Texas."

"I lived in Garland! They used to breed those dogs to be seeing eye dogs."

I went on to tell her how I did therapy work with Chubbs, making a proud list of all his accomplishments and bragging about his superb temperment. I couldn't wait to get to my car so that I could start crying. I had just found out that Chubbs might have colon cancer, and I couldn't stop thinking about what a great loss it would be if he did.

Thursday night, Chubbs started licking his butt excessively. Every time my dogs start exhibiting any strange behavior, I immediately take them to the vet. You never know what could be wrong. I thought he probably needed his anal glands drained, which is weird because he'd never had a problem with them before. I was right. He needed his anal glands cleaned because something was blocking one them -- a lump.

The vet explained to me that it could be one of two things -- an absess that would clear up in a week or two with medication and have no lasting side effects or colon cancer which would kill him fairly quickly, even with treatment. Some choice. I'll take Option A, please.

For those of you who know my dogs, can you imagine the dynamic of this family without Chubbs? Fenway and Muggsy are both a little bit crazy. Chubbs is stable and loving and kind. He can learn almost any trick within two or three tries. He knows how to go to his spot in the bathroom from anywhere in the house. He licks my face when I cry. He loves children. He's my demo dog in my classes. He brings joy to kids at the Hermosa Beach group home that I visit. In fact, he has been honored for his charity work at a banquet. That's my Chubbs.

When I was single, I used to wake up every morning with his big black and tan face lying on the pillow next to me watching me sleep. It's every girl's dream, sorta. Now, he sleeps on the floor, but he jumps on the bed each morning and flops his 90 pounds right ontop of my stomach, lying there until I ask him if he wants his pill. See, Chubbs has thyroid problems and will be on medication for the rest of his life. But taking his pill means that he can eat in an hour, and since I started feeding raw meat, that's the greatest part of his day. He'll run from the kitchen to the spot where his food bowl goes in the living room repeatedly as I prepare the food, hopping as only he can. It reminds me of his childhood when he used to take off full speed on my hardwood floors to get to his food. The problem with this was that he had to turn a corner to get to his food bowl and he would slam into the wall every time!

When he was a teen, I thought he was dumb because he couldn't learn how to sit or down or do anything I said on command. Turns out, he was smarter than the average dog -- he learned that if he didn't do what I said, I'd give up and let him do what he wanted. It wasn't until I brought a trainer over for my other dog and she pointed out that Chubbs had the run of the house that I started making him work. Since then, he has been successful at agility, earned his Canine Good Citizen and passed the Delta Society therapy dog test with a perfect score. But when I'm trying to get him to balance a liver treat on his nose to impress the kids at the group home, he still gives me that, "You want me to do what?" look.

I don't think there's anything I can say in this blog to make those of you who haven't met Chubbs understand what a special dog he is. But I can tell you that on Friday, until 11 a.m., the only thing in my prayers will be, "I'll take Option A, please." This household just wouldn't be the same otherwise.

The One With Three Jobs and a Job Interview

Last week, I took a couple of sick days to help my new dog walking boss while she was out of town visiting her dying father-in-law. I thought this would be pretty simple. Boy, was I wrong. First of all, the first day I did it, I also worked my full-time job and my dog training job. Big mistake. I was late for everything, making me frazzled, making me forget what I was doing.

There's a lot to remember: fill the dog bowls, leave a note, take a picture and e-mail it to the owner, send a text when I leave, follow any other instructions the owner has, oh and take the dog for a walk.

The second day, I didn't work my full-time job, but I ended up working in the morning a little because the office fell apart on Wednesday, and I had a job interview. This resulted in me not making it to one of the appointments and having to call in the emergency backup.

The good news is that I got the job!! It's a job tutoring for the SAT. It'll only be part time, but it pays more than I make now. I have training this weekend because they want me to start right away. Sooo, as soon as I can get up to 20 hours, I'm going to quit my full-time job!!! (In journalism, they call what I just did by putting this news in the fourth paragraph burying the lede. :)

Friday was supposed to be my easy day, but I lost a key. Yes, I lost a key for one of the clients. I don't know how I did it. The funny thing is that I have a photographic memory. I can always remember the last place I had something. I can always remember if I moved it someplace weird or whatever. Always. And I have no idea what happened to this key. I remember where I last had it. Now it's gone. So I felt awful. I thought I was going to be fired. I was hysterical. I actually climbed an 8-foot fence to take the dog for a walk. Oh, yes, I did.

But despite all that, I actually had a pretty good time. I love the dogs, and I really enjoy myself a lot more than when I'm cooped up in this office all day, making copies for my boss despite the fact that I am NOT her admin assistant. I'm still nervous, but I've noticed that the closer I am to quitting, the more my complexion clears up and the more my stomach problems seem to let up. So I think I'm making the right move... Now, I just have to hope that I can get enough clients to make ends meet.

The One With an Apology to My Dad

Dear Dad,

After our conversation last night in which you proceeded to tell me all the reasons why liberal women like me are what is wrong with the world and why my marriage will fail, I was angry with you. I felt that you were just taking your stuff with Mom out on me. But once I started thinking about it, I realized that you are right, and I owe you an apology.

I'm sorry that I believe women deserve to be treated equal. I'm sorry that I'm not one of those demure women who did what their husbands told them like in the "good ole days." And I'm sorry about what women like me have meant to your life. I'm sorry that because of us, it wasn't OK for you to cheat on your wife with her best friend for 25 years and that she left you. I'm sorry that you're about to turn 50 and you're alone. I'm sorry that you're unhappy with your job since women being allowed to have education has obviously made it harder for men to get satisfactory work. And I now understand that all of this is my fault.

But most of all, Dad, I'm sorry that my being born ruined your life. Despite common belief, babies are not innocent. I can remember floating around in heaven, looking for the family whose life I could ruin the most, and I chose you. As you have pointed out since I was old enough to understand you, I'm responsible for you having to stay in an unhappy marriage. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that having me made it easier to have another child, trapping you even more. I'm sorry that I could read better than you when I was five. In your day, I'm sure that never happened since women were maintained their proper place beneath the man. I'm sorry that Mom loved me more than you and drove you to cheat on her with her best friend. I'm sorry that I got A's in school and went to college and got a job, allowing Mom to see that she, too, could do those things. I'm sorry that I met a man who's just the opposite of you. I'm sorry that he loves me and respects me and doesn't care that I don't want to take his last name. I'm sorry that he supports me and my need to work and get an education. I'm sorry that he tells me that I'm special, something severely lacking from your vocabulary. And I'm sorry that I'm happy when you're not.

I understand now that what you have been saying all these years is true. I am indeed responsible for how terrible your life is. I hope you will accept my apology so we can continue to have the truly wonderful relationship that we have always had.

Love, Rachel