I'm not dead yet

Just in case you were curious, I'm still kicking. Some days it feels like barely, but I'm kicking. I remind myself of that Monty Python skit from Holy Grail. It's just a flesh wound.

As I write this, I'm sitting in the Omaha airport, waiting for my flight to take me home to my family. My flight that was supposed to have left this airport over two hours ago but was diverted to Kansas City when The Mother of All Tornadoes and 75-Mile-An-Hour Wind Storms kicked up and caused this airport to be SHUT DOWN. Which didn't make me happy. Because I'd already spent the day trekking in a rental car from Omaha to Des Moines because you can't fly from Saint Louis to Des Moines anymore, despite the fact that the old direct flight was full every single day and thus would seem like a profitable route? But that would be wrong.

So, sigh. I flew to Omaha. Drove to Des Moines. Drove back to Omaha. And now I'm waiting to fly home.

I'm tired, have I mentioned that? Yes, it's true. I'm fatigued.

I haven't neglected this blog (or the other) for any other reason than I simply don't have the energy to write about my chaos right now. It doesn't seem very interesting to me. Really, it feels more like survival these days.

But that's ok, because I've been here before and the one thing I do remember is that this will pass. Things get better. Kids grow and change, tantrums stop and then new ones start again. Sleep returns for a while, and then it'll disappear for a while, too. The giant brown puppy will eventually learn to stop antagonizing her smaller, fatter sister. I'll feel better next week or maybe next month. I wish it was next month already.

Speaking of the small dog recently shaped like a stuffed sausage from her exercise strike, I witnessed a remarkable show of aggression this morning. A canine version of the rabbit cooking on the stovetop, if you will.

This morning, as I was getting ready to leave the house, I put the giant exuberant puppy in the kitchen with me and closed the gate between her and the crotchety snaggletooth dog. Binnie, old and cranky but not without spunk, picked up one of Ruby's monkey chew toys, carried it to the gate between them, and then proceeded to shake the living hell out of it. Shook it til its proverbial neck was broken, and then shook it some more. Just in case Ruby hadn't noticed, she shook it some more, ran around the dining room table with it, tromped on it and left it for dead in the hallway by the kitchen gate. Ruby watched this with wide eyes (so did I, it was really something to see), and backed up away from the gate. She sat down. She whined and retreated to her kennel without prompting.

I think she got the message.

- H