Dogs Are Family Too

I sit here in the wee hours of the morning thinking about my dogs. Yep, you heard me right, my dogs.

My handsome spouse and I have two canines... one old and one almost middle-aged (at least in dog years). The old one, Baron, is a lab/pitbull mix. He's buff in color (considered yellow on the days he does something wrong and gold on the days he doesn't) with a graying muzzle, cloudy eyes and arthritic hips. The middle-aged one, Delilah, is a full bred Beagle. She's tri-color with perky ears, bright brown eyes, a wagging tail and a snout that could lead her to Wyoming in a heart-beat if she ever got out of the yard unnoticed. Both our fuzzy children are equally important, equally loved and a part of our wonderful family.

However... Our darling Baron, who will turn fifteen on July 5th, has become a bit of work. He currently has better drugs than either my husband or I put together; all in the name of helping his arthritic joints do things they can't any more. He has a hard time walking, let alone going down our steps to enter the backyard to do his business. Many times, our children will yell from the yard, doorway, livingroom, diningroom etc that the dog has fallen and needs help. In zooms either myself or my husband and we pick up the dog's rear, depositing him, once again, on his feet only to watch as he hobbles off to do what it is he wanted to do; wondering if we should go back to what we were doing or follow him... in case he falls again.

My point, if there is one, in all this banter is that no one ever knows when it's 'that time'. 'That time' meaning the point at which a pet owner has to make the decision of whether their beloved family member is suffering and needs to be euthanized. I had to make a decision, such as this one, with our cat Tiberius in the Fall of '07. It wasn't a pretty situation and it was a bit more cut and dried than the one I am describing above. The poor kitty wasn't eating and was beyond help (as our vet so kindly put it). So, I made the call to put kitty out of his misery. I told the kids of my decision through tears and grit teeth and watched as, later on that evening, the vet put my cat to sleep in my arms. It was one of the hardest things I had ever had to do. Until my mom. I also had to make a similar decision (this time with my father by my side) when my mom began to lose her battle with Stage IV breast cancer in May of '08. Now, I know you're thinking... "How the hell can you compare your dog to your mom?!" Of course mom is more important and the decision was more involved, but it was still relatively the same.

However, is my dog any less loved than my mother? No.

What also complicates the matter is my husband and Baron are attached. They are attached emotionally as any dog and human can get. My husband grunts and woofs to the dog as they sit on the couch with one another and Baron grunts and woofs back. I watch as Lincoln cleans up after the dog, patting him on the head when he's done; takes the dog outside to sit in the yard while he works in the garage; hoists his rear end up, once more, when he's fallen; and lovingly calls him a golden dog (even when he's really been more yellow).

When is it 'that time' for my fifteen year old dog? I don't really know the answer. But, I do know that when it comes, I'll do my best to be there for my family, especially my husband. In the meantime, I'll hoist, pick up and clean.

I mean, dogs are family too.

How Hard Can it Be... Being a Mom?

How hard can it be... being a mom?

A very interesting question, and one that I asked myself over and over and over and OVER again when I was younger. My mom did it. Her mom did it. Her mom did it. And, you guessed it, HER mom did it. So, I asked myself as I looked at the little pink double line on the pregnancy test almost 10 years ago, "How are can it be... being a mom?"

Well...

• It's hard to be a mom when you have no instructions. I mean, let's face it. You go to the hospital, you get to experience an enormous amount of pain, they keep you two days to make sure you aren't going to die and then the hospital staff sends you home with a newborn. YOUR newborn. Good gracious people! What are you thinking?

• It's hard to be a mom when you HAVE instructions. 'What to Expect When Your Expecting', 'The First 12 Months', 'The Toddler Years'... Ok, I don't need BOOKS people, I need HELP! H - E - L - P !

• It's hard to be a mom when the first word your child says is, "Da da." WHAT!? *Goes back to birth scenario in bullet #1*

• It's hard to be a mom when your child walks for the first time. We've all been there. Well, just about all of us. Your child takes that first step and TA DA; they're mobile. Yep. Mobile. Nothing like the Fear of God hitting you right then and there.

• It's hard to be a mom when they're sick. Whining, coughing, wheezing, sneezing, sniffling, gagging, hurling, sweating, crying, writhing and aching kind of sick. I'll bet I've been thrown up on more than you have.
  

• It's hard to be a mom when they're bored. "Mommy, I'm bored." "I know." "But, I'm BORED." "I know." "But...." *sigh* "Wanna go for ice cream?"

• It's hard when the go to school for the first time. I was a mess. Yep, a mess. Here was my little Anthony with a back pack bigger than he was, heading off to school with the 'big kids'. My heart was in my throat and my stomach was churning. And guess what? Brendan? Same feelings. Sophia? She's heading to Kindergarten in the fall. *I think I may hurl.*

• It's hard to be a mom when your kids ride their bikes to a friends house, ALONE, for the first time. "Call me when you get there." "Right." "Remember, don't talk to strangers." "Right." "What happens if a stranger talks to you?" "Don't talk to them." "What else?" *pause* "Keep riding?" "Right. What if he/she follows you?" "Keep riding... only faster?" "Right. What if --" "Never mind, Mom, I think I'll stay home."

• It's hard to be a mom when your daughter paints her toenails... with a sharpie. *Sigh. Need I say more?*

So... you can sort of get my drift here. No one TOLD me that it would be this hard. No one explained the rules.

Of course, no one COULD tell me it would be this hard. No one COULD explain the rules.

Then again, no one could imagine how much love I have for my children each and every day they're around.

They're my babies.

MAD AS HELL AND NO ONE TO BITCH TO

How's THAT for a title?! Can you tell it's been one of those evenings where everything that you wanted to go right just.... didn't?

Wanted to spend more time with the kids before they went to bed... didn't.
Wanted to do more laundry and get caught up... didn't.
Wanted to clean the kitchen... didn't.
Wanted to go to the IKEA store... didn't.
Wanted to go to Meijer's... didn't.
Wanted to pick up the living room... didn't.
Wanted to clean out the truck and vacuum... didn't.
Wanted (well, HAD) to clean out the cat box... didn't.
Wanted to clean up after dinner... didn't.
Wanted to take out the garbage... didn't.
Wanted to be in a better mood... won't.
Wanted to want to... don't.
Wanted to be told it will all be better in the morning... wasn't.
Wanted to bitch to a live person... can't.
Wanted to have a good day... didn't.

So, now that I've filled up the screen with, "Woe is me, I gotta poopy diaper" attitude I'll say good-bye and good night in hopes that tomorrow will be better than today.

We Are Family

So, here we are (from left to right) Lincoln, Brendan, Anthony, Me and Sophia.

The picture was taken at our church's 100th anniversary luncheon in early June.

Ten Ways to Give Your Cat A Nervous Breakdown

10. Remove all clothing from flat surfaces so that they have to sleep in their cat bed.
9. Yell, "Here Kitty, Kitty!" while standing next to the tub as it's filling full of water.
8. Buy a rottweiller.
7. Let six four year olds in the house and tell them the cat loves to play.
6. Apply collar and leash to their neck and yell, "Sit Ooboo, Sit!"
5. Tape a dog barking and replay it on a taperecorder in the house.
4. Buy a laser pointer and let the cat chase the red 'dot' on the floor.
3. Leave open boxes and paperbags all over your house.
2. Buy babydoll dress up clothes and give them to your four year old daughter.
1. Accidentally shut your cat in the dryer and turn it to the fluff cycle.

Muscle Relaxers and a Mother of Three

Now, you're probably saying, "Now THERE'S an interesting title." Or, your at least thinking that the muscle relaxer part sounds like fun.

Muscle relaxers are what my doctor prescribed the other day when I went in to have several things checked out. First, my cholesterol. TOTALLY unrelated to the muscle relaxers but on the list none the less. Second, check to see if there are any lipids (what the heck is a lipid) or some other such arthritic tags in my blood. (I've been having problems with the joints in my hands and shoulders.) Third, check on why I can't get to sleep and why I keep waking up with headaches.

Muscle relaxers. And this is why I paid $15 in a copay. I could get the same affect with a glass of red wine each night and have more fun.

Can You Cheat On Your Dog?

I took a drive over to Ryan and Tom's house tonight. They're getting ready for a yard sale tomorrow and I've finally relinquished my hold on my kids baby clothes long enough to sell them to someone else. So, I dropped off four boxes and two garbage bags of clothes and a six-foot long table to their house around 9:00pm.

Now, Ryan and Tom have this black lab named Compo. He's a drooling, panting, crotch-sniffing ball of tail-wagging fur. You can't help but notice him while you're at the house and he won't leave you alone until he's wiped drool and hair all over your clean clothes. It's like being molested by a really short man in a black fur coat. The problem is when I got home... my beagle, Delilah, was sniffing the hell out of me and giving me this look like, "How COULD you?"

It had just then occurred to me, "Can you cheat on your dog?" I mean, I didn't WANT to cheat on my dog. This other dog just came to me and started molesting me. Does that count? It was unwanted attention from another canine.

I feel so dirty.

Second Shelf From the Top... WAAAAAYYYY In the Back

Ok... so these were my words, slowly said at least three times, to my eight year old after he inquired on whether we had any microwave popcorn.

First time... "Mommy? Do we have any popcorn?" My response: "Yes, second shelf from the top, way in the back."

(He looks on the first shelf under the top cupboard.)

Second time... "SECOND shelf, way in the back, Anthony."

(He looks on the second shelf from the bottom.)

Third time... "S-e-c-o-n-d s-h-e-l-f from the TOP, waaaaayyyy in the back, honey."

His response after finally locating said popcorn, "Oh, thanks."

He's such a cute boy. Reddish-brown, curly hair (the girl-hair he got from his mom - me), stick thin like his dad and smart as a whip (although you might be saying, "Yeah... and what about this popcorn episode?"). But, when it comes to our pantry... the little guy just gets way too confused.

"Why?" you ask in a disinterested voice as you yawn over this entry.

Well, our pantry in done in a weird fashion and one never knows whether the top cupboard is the first shelf or not... (easier to show someone than explain.). AT ANY RATE... (now I'm bored)....

The popcorn is on the second shelf from the top of the second cupboard, waaaaaaay in the back.