this or that?

tea or coffee? Neither!

matte or glossy? Matte!

sweet or salty? Both!

tv or radio? Radio!

morning or evening? Evening!

pencil or pen? Pen!

introvert or extrovert? Introvert!

mountains or beach? Mountains!

spontanious or structured? Structured!

neat or messy?  Neat!

town or country? Country!

eat in or take out?  Eat out!

I am finishing up my Week in the Life Project tomorrow - at least the evidence collecting part of the process.  Then I have to pick through hundreds of photos and decide how many to use them.  And, what size album to use.  I really want to go with an 8.5 by 11 album, but I can't find any albums that size here.  So, I'll keep thinking about it.  I will post some random bits and pieces tomorrow.  Until then!

How Do You Refer to Yourself?

One common thread I've noticed among those living with mental illness is that they often refer to themselves as their psychological disorder.  Countless times I have heard people say, "I'm bipolar" or "I'm schizo".  It is an interesting aspect of mental illness that I haven't seen on other medical problems.  I've never met someone who has said, "I'm cancer" or "I'm heart disease".  It was brought to my attention yet again this week when I received my newsletter from www.healthyplace.com.  The article addresses the way that this tendency adds to the stigma of mental health.  A big movement in the disability field is a "people first" movement.  It is emphasized in education courses where we are encourage to put the student first, then the label.  Instead of saying "handicapped child", we should say "child who has a handicap".  

As the article emphasizes, it is important to change the way we use our psychological disorder to label ourselves.  It would be better to say, "I have a condition called...".  By saying "I am bipolar", I also do a disservice to other bipolar patients, because our experiences are so very different.  When I say "I am bipolar", those who do not fully understand the condition will define bipolar based on my experience, based on the characteristics I exhibit and the behaviors I engage in.  Everyone's experience is as unique as our fingerprints.  Not one of us is the poster child for the disorder. 

I can see how people like myself come to define themselves by their illnesses.  Like cancer or diabetes, not a day goes by when we are not reminded of our disorder several times.  Each time we step out the door into the light, each time we swallow a handful of pills, each morning when we wake up and lie in bed waiting to see how today "feels", we are reminded.  Because it is so ever-present in our lives, we can't forget it.  It can be an excuse, an explanation, or a reason.  Most of us fail to address those explanations, though.  We know that our mental health and mental illnesses are not looked at the same way as cancer or heart disease.  When we're tired, lethargic, dread being around people, or just overall sad, we are told to "buck up".  No one would tell a chemo patient to "buck up".  We would tell a chemo patient to go home, rest, and take all the time you need to get better.  And we would want to know what we could do to help. 

Being told to "buck up" doesn't help.  At all.  It serves only to make us feel weaker, lazier, less worthy than many of us already do.  

Labeling ourselves doesn't only happen with regard to our health.  Many people label themselves by what they do for a living, or by sexual orientation, etc.  Whatever labels we use to define ourselves need to be carefully thought through.  Does the label truly define the most important parts of ourselves?  Does it serve to enlighten, or does it serve to give an excuse?  Does is make us proud, or does it make us ashamed?  

I have a hard time getting the words out of my mouth to say "I'm bipolar" or "I have a condition called bipolar disorder".  I am still very uncomfortable with the label myself.  I didn't believe I could be bipolar.  I couldn't be that.  When I think about the ways I interpreted the illness based on extreme examples, I realized that, like any illness, I am just as susceptible to be affected by it as the next guy.  Knowing that it's often biological and hereditary helps me a little. It lets me know that not all of it is in my control.  And the part that is in my control is being addressed through medications and psychotherapy.  

I've had to come to the realization that, realistically, I am dealing with an illness that will be with me the rest of my life.  I will, in all probability, be on medications for the rest of my life.  As brain chemicals change, and as hormones change, my meds will have to change.  I will never know how long my "remissions" will last, or how long it will take next time to find the right combination. 

I will always be bipolar, but hopefully that will not be my legacy.  I hope I can reach a point where I can say it loud, say it proud, as just one other aspect of what makes me, me.  But hopefully I will be so much more than my illness.  Hopefully, people who eventually learn of my bipolar disorder will be amazed because they would never have known it by my behavior.  Hopefully, people will know of my achievements and hard work despite my illness, not as consequences I endured because of it.  And most importantly, I will refer to myself as a person who has bipolar, not a person who IS bipolar.
 

What's in Your Bag?

Like millions of other bloggers, I will join in the fun of showing what is in my bag. 

My striped Modela bag holds my ponytail holder, Tide To-Go stick, dragonfly compact mirror, floss, pillbox, and two lip glosses - bubblegum lip gloss from Victoria's Secret and Nivea.  My optimum health zip pack carries band-aids and liquid band-aids because I always get blisters from shoes.  I also have apple scented purell hand-sanitizer, Eucerine calming cream (usually replaced with Aveeno), my Fossil brand wallet, some business cards, my journal that I take EVERYWHERE, my favorite purple pen, my favorite pink pen, and two old standbye Bic Crystal pens.  I tend to carry a huge purse so I can put my planner and a journal in there.  So there you have it.

My Week In the Life...

So I started my Week in the Life project a week late.  Here is a look at some of Sunday.  It was a very quiet and uneventful day.  Sometimes that is good.

Rain Rain Go AWAY

Thank you Kyle for doing the dishes.  

While I clean the bedroom carpet.  

 I love it when there are lovely clean carpets. 

Mmmm Honey and peanut butter sammich for dinner. 

Hopefully Monday will be more exciting.

Baby Steps...

Enough excuses!  I HAVE to get back on track so I can lose my last 28 pounds to hit my surgeon's goal for me - and my own goal.  I have been plateaued since Christmas, so I have got to get in gear and recognize the bad habits I've fallen back into and the good habits I've been avoiding.  This week my goal is to move more and to observe some portion control.  I can't eat big amounts at one time.  About one and a half slices of pizza is my max.  But I've always been a grazer, which is a huge problem for gastric bypass patients.  I've started walking fairly regularly when the weather is somewhat decent.  But I am going to commit to doing a workout video at least 3-4 times a week in addition to my walks.  I am also going to immediately divide snacks and foods into correct portion sizes  when I bring them home from the grocery store.  I tend to grab a box of cheddar bunnies or some other snack and eat out of the box all day long.  I used to divide those kinds of things into snack bags in their correct portions so I wouldn't be tempted to eat extra, or at least so I would be AWARE of the fact that I was overeating.  For me, being aware is a huge step.  I like to live in a little village called denial.  

So, this week I am going to be logging back into my fitday.com account daily and tracking my food and exercise.  Hopefully by this time next Sunday I can be down 2-3 pounds.  

What's Your Comfort?

We all have our own comforts - those favorite songs, movies, foods, books, people, shows, shoes, outfits, blankets and other miscellaneous odds and ends that soothe us in the midst of our chaotic lives.  We all have different reasons for why we choose those things that comfort us.  Maybe they bring back good memories.  Maybe they are completely free of memories and therefore have no connotations.  Maybe they remind us of a time in our lives when it was simpler and less confusing.  Whatever the reason, our comforts are a huge component of who we are.  

A great many bloggers and scrapbookers are participating this week in Ali Edward's Week in the Life Project.  I haven't started mine this week due to too much going on. Instead, I will start mine on Sunday.  However, I thought tonight about comforts and decided I will document my comforts in my scrapbook because they paint a picture of who I am.  

This topic of comforts came to me this morning as I drove to a friend's house in the pouring rain.  The fog was thick, the day was dark, and my mood mimicked both.  I was suddenly filled with a yearning for a chocolate glazed doughnut.  Not the cake kind, the raised kind.  And one with pretty, happy sprinkles.  I know my friend loves glazed doughnuts.  I figured I could spring for two doughnuts.  I hate turning to food for comfort, because I have a history of turning to food for comfort far too often.  Yet, once in awhile, I throw caution to the wind and go with my yearning.  I detoured to Albertson's and purchased two gorgeous doughnuts.    I haven't had a doughnut in I don't know how long.  And in all honesty, it really didn't taste that great once I had it.  The idea was more comforting than the actual treat.  However, I did feel a little satisfaction that I was able to have something I wanted.  I hate feeling deprived.  But I also started to think about the other things I turn to for comfort, because I don't always want it to be about food.  And clearly, not all of the comforts that used to comfort still come through in the same way for me.  Food simply doesn't taste as good as it used to.  

So here are some of my other comforts:

 

Now, those aren't real pics of the comforts, obviously, but TOMORROW I plan on taking real pics of as many of my comforts as I can and then printing the pics and scrapbooking them.  Then I will post pics of the scrapbooked pages on my blog.  I saved the best two comforts for last.  Nothing else compares to the warmth these two bring to my heart.

Making Up My Mind...

I have an incredibly difficult time making up my mind these days.  I have always been the sort of person who has to mull ideas over.  I love lists.  Pro and con lists are especially useful. I have always been the sort of girl who thinks through the process to the consequences at the end, and evaluate which risk is best.  I can "what if" better than anyone I know.  This is why I ended up with far fewer encounters with the ping pong paddle my mom wielded as punishment when my brother and I were growing up.  Unfortunately, my brother didn't share my "think things through" philosophy, and his backside was more intimately aware of the paddle.  

While there is obviously a number of positive aspects of being so conscious of potential problems or loss, it's also clear that too much thinking is too much of a good thing.  (Hmmm...I could write a pro-con list of the pros and cons of...er, nevermind.  Where was I?)

Too much "what if-ing" can really paralyze a person.  When I sit here and think of the million and one things that might happen, and the billion things that will surely happen, I get REALLY overwhelmed.  It's all too much and my head wants to explode and I can't figure out what to do because around every turn there is a boogey-man who wants to screw me over and no matter where I go to try to avoid him, another sword swinging monster surfaces.


I'm telling you, it's paralyzing.  

I used to be much clearer on what I wanted for myself, for my life.  Now all that is a bit blurrier, and because I am not so focused, making decisions is harder.   I deliberate for days.  God forbid I end up on a jury someday - we'll surely be a hung jury because I won't be able to make up my mind.  Of course, I do watch an uncommon amount of Dateline and Forensic Files, so I might do better than I think I will. 


The foolproof methods for decision making that I used to use aren't so helpful anymore.  These days, I tend to journal a great deal when I need to make a decision.  I  come back to it several times across a few days time span and reread what I've written hoping to glean some little piece of important writing in there that shows me where I should go.  Somehow the subconscious peaks through in journal writing that is stream of consciousness.   It's the voice I rarely allow myself to listen to, so if it gets a chance to put its thoughts down on paper, I will be more likely to "hear" it.  


The bigger the decision is, the tougher it is for me to decide.  Sometimes I just throw up my hands and say, "I'm sick of thinking about this.  Whatever happens, happens."  That is a big move for me because I'm a little big control freak and I like organized plans and goals.  

Life, however, is not something that can be completely planned to the minute, and that drives me crazy.  Life often has its own course.  I have to trust myself enough to know that whatever decision I make will be the right one; the best decision under the circumstances with the given information.  And, in the long run, it really will be ok.  


At least, that's what I keep trying to tell myself.

Frustrations...

I'm sure I've discussed before the frustration I experience with the constant medication changes.  Unlike many health conditions where the doctor runs a simple blood test to determine the avenue of treatment, most mental health conditions require a great deal of trial and error to find the perfect concoction of medications and treatment.  Most mental health professionals agree that the best path for treatment consists of both cognitive behavioral therapy and the use of medications.  Therapy allows for the recognition of behavior patterns in our lives that affect us negatively OR keep us stuck in a way of doing things that is detrimental for our health.  The medications treat the chemical part of the illness.  

I have consistently gone to therapy for about six years now, with an absence in there of about six months when I moved back to Wyoming and got married.  I have recognized so many behavior patterns and elements in my life that contribute to my depression.  Therapy has been essential in helping me find out more about myself and having insight into my life.  I have a very hard time admitting to my faults because my perfectionist tendencies make me want to do everything perfect.  For a long time I was in denial about some things, and I was extremely defensive.  Some parts of my life are still in great need of work, and other parts have changed completely.  Therapy is not easy, but for me, I have been so much more open minded about therapy than I have about medications. 

When I first began medications I was put on Prozac.  Because Prozac was one of the first meds on the market for depression, it is probably the most well-known and therefore the most stereotyped mental health medication.  I thought myself weak for having to take a medication.  Why couldn't I just "pull myself up by the bootstraps" and get over it all?  I hated admitting to anyone that I was on it, and only my health-care professionals and my mom and dad and brother knew I was on it.  And they didn't find out until months after I started it.  It did nothing to improve my moods, but I was too ashamed to admit it.  I thought I must be soooo weak if something so well-known to treat depression wasn't helping.  So I didn't tell anyone that it wasn't doing me any good. 

Accepting that I need medications to make it through each day, and probably will for the rest of my life, has never been easy for me to deal with.  I finally had to liken my depression, and later my bipolar disorder, to any other health impairment that might require lifelong treatment - diabetes, cholesterol, etc.  I had to tell myself over and over that it was no different than needing medications for any other reason.  It took years for me to accept this.  And there are still days when I think to myself how much I hate being dependent on a handful of pills. 

I'm currently in the midst of another trial and error process of finding the right medications.  The other frustrating part of treating mental illness is that the magical cocktail that is finally found may only work temporarily.  At some point, more than likely, we end up going through the process again to find the right meds.  Sometimes we build up a tolerance to the meds, or the chemicals change, hormones change, etc., so what worked before may not work any longer.  

It's an expensive process.  I'm starting two to three new meds a month, paying about $20 in copays per medication.   Waiting four to six weeks to see if it will work.  When it doesn't, the medication gets discontinued, and often, wasted.  Time, money and medications are all part of the prices I pay for mental health treatment.  And have I mentioned how FRUSTRATING this is?  

I am basically letting off steam today, but also making a point that mental health treatment is not easy.  The commercials make it look like you start the med today and tomorrow you are running in fields of flowers with your children in tow.  Sorry, but it's not even close to that easy. 

150 Things You Might Not Know About Me...

1.  I've never dyed my hair.

2.  I love lilacs. 

3.  I own a rifle and love to shoot clay. 

4.  I have had the ability to hyper-focus since I was a child.

5.  I moved over 23 times before I was 18 years old.

6.  I'm a perfectionist.

7.  I love personality tests.  

8.  I am an ISTJ.

9.  I'm a virgo.

10.  I am super organized. 

11.  I plan EVERYTHING.

12.  Books are my spiritual, physical and emotional comfort.

13.  I had a terrible time learning how to read.

14.  I don't write as much as I should. 

15.  I'm not big on tattoos.

16.  I believe in the power of a good old-fashioned handshake. 

17.  I have some obsessive compulsive behaviors. 

18.  I can never find my car keys. 

19.  I'm addicted to COPS, Police Women of Maricopa County, 48 Hours, Dateline ID, and Forensic Files. 

20.  I have a secret dream of being a cop.

21.  But I'm scared of the dark.

22.  I sing songs from Moulin Rouge at the top of my lungs in the shower and in the car.

23.  I am pretty blind without my glasses or contacts. 

24.  I stink at crossword puzzles, but love word searches (the tough ones). 

25.  From August to February, football is my life on Sunday.

26.  I'm not very patient. 

27.  But I don't let it show. 

28.  I make lists.  Lots of lists. 

29.  But then I leave them at home. 

30.  I swear.  A LOT. 

31.  Older men are far more attractive to me then young men.

32.  I really do believe there are no stupid questions. 

33.  Hugh Jackman makes my heart pitter-pat. 

34.  I think it's the Aussie accent. 

35.  I'm also in love with Nicole Kidman.

36.  And Meryl Streep. 

37.  I never hit the snooze button before I met Kyle.

38.  I am most at home in a bookstore. 

39.  I can't stand coffee. 

40.  I am not a breakfast person, even though it's the most important meal.  

41.  I was named after the Rocky movies.  My mom wouldn't allow my dad to name me Rocky so they compromised on Roxann. 

42.  My middle name is Adrian.  No joke. 

43.  I rode in an ambulance in London. 

44.  I was so excited after gastric bypass surgery weight loss when I could finally see my collarbone.  

45.  I can't stand reading Hemingway or Joseph Conrad. 

46.  Elizabeth Bennett is my hero. 

47.  I hate to cook.  

48.  I have had several flames in my kitchen.  And I have no gas appliances. 

49.  The more I learn, the more I realize how much there is to learn and that I will always be pretty darn ignorant. 

50.  I can play the trumpet. 

51.  I sang a lot in high school. 

52.  I've had insomnia since I was about 10 or 11. 

53.  I want a doctoral degree. 

54.  My teachers are my heroes. 

55.  I've googled myself. 

56.  JAWS has convinced me to never swim in the ocean. 

57.  I've never seen the ocean. 

58.  My 4th grade teacher told my parents that I would never amount to anything because I was not world traveled. 

59.  I love Karaoke.

60.  Winters are harder on me than they used to be. I think it is the wind and short days. 

61.  May and June are my favorite months. 

62.  I am a major multi-tasker. 

63.  I hate cartoons -- except Smurfs. 

64.  I hoard journals and note cards.

65.  I will wear capris and sandals from march to november.  

66.  I pump my own gas and park my own car - full service and valet feel weird to me. 

67.  I'm bummed I never got to go to camp as a kid. 

68.  Spiders and clowns freak me out. 

69.  I clip coupons.  Then I forget them. 

70.  I love to make quilts. 

71.  I could live on cheesecake. 

72.  Pineapple on pizza is heaven. 

73.  I have one brother, 13 months younger than me. 

74.  It's truly a miracle that one of us never killed the other. 

75.  I'm always afraid of failure. 

76.  Being around people is incredibly draining for me. 

77.  I journal.

78.  I have a gratitude journal, too. 

79.  Catnaps don't work for me.  My naps tend to be 2 to 3 hours. 

80.  I never dated before I met Kyle. 

81.  I am addicted to pens and notepads.  

82.  Post-its, too!

83.  Education is incredibly important to me. 

84.  The public education system is an  incredible disappointment to me. 

85.  I could be certified to teach, if I wanted to. 

86.  Which means I'm certifiable. Tee hee. 

87.  I take a handful of pills each day.  I hate it. 

88.  I am a night owl. 

89.  If I were rich I would just become a full-time student for life.  

90.  I would love to study at Oxford. 

91.  Chelsea Handler makes me laugh. 

92.  I am passionate about gays being allowed to marry and gay rights. 

93.  I'm a compulsive spender.  

94.  At certain times in the month, it is imperative that I eat chocolate.  Otherwise, there are lives at stake. 

95.  UFO shows drive me nuts. 

96.  As does Monster Quest. 

97.  I read mostly memoirs or bios. 

98.  Tom Cruise makes me sick to my stomach. 

99.  I don't know whether to have kids or not. 

100.  Phone calls make me anxious. 

101.  My wedding dress cost $15 dollars. 

102.  I've never smoked, never done drugs. 

103.  Judy Blume is amazing.

104.  I am passionate about eliminating censorship. 

105.  I am allergic to many perfumes and scented lotions. 

106. I used to eat ice cream by the pints.  Now it makes me sick.

107.  I love alone time.  

108.  I am obsessed with finishing projects. 

109.  I am not good about having multiple projects going at one time. 

110.  Ozzy Osbourne interests me. 

111.  Marilyn Manson freaks me out. 

112.  But not as much as Charles Manson.

113.  I've screamed in my sleep.

114.  When I can't sleep I play Peggle or Peggle Nights. 

115.  I love musicals. 

116.  HBO's Big Love fascinates me. 

117.  I almost always see the twist in the movie before it arrives.

118.  I often wonder if there will ever again be an original plot line in Hollywood.

119.  I don't remember my dreams. 

120.  I'm terrible at learning languages.

121.  I am also horrible at reading piano music.

122.  I play better by ear.

123.  I don't see myself skydiving or bungee jumping.

124.  I love white water rafting.

125.  I am sorry I did not visit the Globe Theater in London.

126.  I want to see Macbeth at the Globe Theater. 

127.  I have nearly every line of Macbeth memorized. 

128.  I hate alcohol.

129.  I function best in the evening. 

130.  Aside from my gastric bypass I have never had stitches or staples.  

131.  I once had a pet pig.

132.  I once won a greased pig contest.

133.  I got glasses in fourth grade.

134.  My favorite body parts are my nose and my little feet (size 5)

135.  I hated high school. 

136.  I loved college. 

137.  I hated grad school.

138.  I've never seen fireflies.

139.  Neil Diamond soothes me.

140.  Adam Sandler annoys me. 

141.  I can't fall asleep unless I am on my right side, pillow between my knees and right arm under my pillow. 

142.  I burn, not tan.

143.  Mythology bores me.

144.  History fascinates me. 

145.  Not big on birds. 

146.  I remember every teacher I ever had. 

147.  I'm 4 foot 11 inches. 

148.  I love sunflower seed bread.  

149.  Hugs are important. 

150.  I try to tell my husband I love him every single day.

A Room of One's Own...

Virginia Woolf certainly wasn't writing about me when she penned A Room of One's Own in 1929, but she very well could have.  I have desperately sought my own "room" throughout my life.  A retreat.  A haven.  A place where  I can be alone, and thus my self.  In a world where we are given so many labels - mom, sister, wife, teacher, christian, atheist, CEO, salewoman - I often feel that I lose myself.  It is only in the room of my own that I take the opportunity to rediscover who I am. 

I am sure many women struggle to find this precious time for self.  We don't want to appear selfish, neglectful of our duties, our family, our many obligations.  Yet, we forget that taking care of ourselves is also our obligation.  

When I first got married, "I" quickly became a "we".  I shared a bed, a shower, a table - everything.  I moved into my new home with virtually nothing but my books.  All my college apartment furnishings were just that - fit for a dorm room.  So I passed along all my belongings in a garage sale before moving in with my soon-to-be-husband.  I had failed to realize that there was a certain emotional connection between myself and my things, shabby as they were.  I moved into a nice home well-furnished.  Yet, I struggled to find my place in it.  It felt very much Kyle's and very little mine.  I would try for months to find ways to make it feel like mine, but somehow it just never did.  Kyle has a good sense of style and taste.  But it isn't my style and taste.  And for fear of seeming ungrateful and bratty, I lacked the ability to express my own desires. 

This began to change when I realized how depressed I was feeling about the house in general.  I didn't feel at home.  Part of this made me crazy - this is certainly the nicest and most well-furnished home I have ever had.  I thought I must be downright silly to not appreciate it.  Then I realized that I did appreciate it.  I just needed to have a voice in it in order to help make it mine.  I needed to see my own touches.  My own favorite colors.  My own favorite fabrics.  And most of all, I needed my own space. 

I am stereotyping here, but I firmly believe that women have a little bit greater need to have a room of their own than do most men.  When I spoke of this need, Kyle seemed almost hurt, even abandoned.  As if I wanted to get away from him, rather than simply needing to know myself again.  I had to repeatedly confirm that it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with my need for me space.  

I am extremely introverted, and I need a great deal of me time to re-energize enough to be pleasant around others.  I especially need some space of my own, where objects remain organized and stay in the last place I put them.  I had my own desk, and that was a good start.  I don't believe I could ever share a desk with someone.  But I yearned for more.  I yearned for space that was distinctly and especially mine. 

Eventually last year I found it.  Whether it was a moment of inspiration or a manic episode I will never know, but suddenly I revisioned our spare room (which has slept a sum total of 1 persons in the four years we have been married).  I was going to claim the space as my own.  I had a lovely shade of lavender paint left from an earlier inspiration to redo our spare bathroom.  I had some beautiful white, magnetic butterflies from Target that I had been saving for some special unknown purpose.  I started hauling all the old stuff out and placing painters tape along the trim.  Kyle wisely stayed down in the basement and out of the way of my flurry of redecorating.  

Before long I had a lovely purple room decorated with whimsical butterflies and filled with warm and inviting rich chocolate browns.  It still holds our spare bed, but the closet is filled with my clothes, the dresser with my items, and my vanity sits in the corner.  It is my own giant walk-in closet.  I use the "spare" bathroom as my own now, and as such, have my own area to prepare for the day.  It is wonderful!

I believe that a happy marriage must entail a little room of one's own for both the man and the woman.  Many men talk of the man-cave, be it in the garage or the basement.  In an ideal world, my room would be flooded with sunshine and the whispy lace curtains would flutter in a soft breeze flowing through an open window.  Unfortunately, the room is smack in the middle of the house and has very little natural light.  I am still deeply grateful, thought, for a room of my own.

I've seen pictures of beautiful writing and crafting studios made out of sheds, and Kyle and I have actually discussed this many times.  Do I want to give up some of my lovely backyard space for a writing/dreaming/napping/sanity-saving girl cave?  Or can I be content with what I have?  The jury is still out.  For now, my solitary, tiny table in the corner of the sunroom and next the the window will suffice as my writing and painting "studio". 

The point is, we all have to find and claim our own little space in the world. It makes us so much more content.  And it makes us more productive.  Whether it's a room, a table or even a square of carpet, having room of one's own is essential. 

Etsy Shop Open!

Check out my Etsy shop!

http://www.etsy.com/shop/Roxann17

Grand Opening Sale:  Buy two get third half off.

Potty-Training a Chihuahua...

So Little Pip has been with us almost 2 months and we are not getting anywhere with our potty training.  He has no idea that he is supposed to go in his designated box.  I kept giving him the benefit of the doubt, but frankly, there's only so many times I can run the carpet cleaner each week. 

Thus, Pip's life is about to get pretty unhappy.  I have not crated him since we got him.  He has slept in our bed most of the time he's been here.  But starting tomorrow we are starting the crating process to box train him.  He will spend most of his time in the crate, except to come out to eat and play and potty.  Then back in the crate.

I am a former farm and ranch girl.  I know that crating pets is very common, but it's something I've never done, because our dogs just learned to go outside or lived outside all the time.  I've never had to "jail" my pet. 

I'm incredibly anxious and wracked with guilt.  Pip will probably fare better than I.  I have the reward treats all ready to go.  I have his favorite blanket and his little chew toy already in his new little condo.  Now I just have to build up the courage to follow through.  Because all our lives will be happier when Pip is going potty where he should be. 

I just hope he doesn't hate me for it.