Stop for the Season

Ah!  The holiday season is in full swing.  Despite our many and varied commitments around the holidays some of our normal obligations break for a couple of weeks, and I am super thankful for the reprieve in that area.  Our lives have been so busy, like many others' lives, but lately the trend has become that we don't even have our entire family together for one evening during the week. Not one.  I don't like that at all.  We have been going through a "something's gotta give" phase, mulling over what events we can let go here and there in order to hold onto one small shred of sanity as a family unit.

We have also been trying to strategically dodge the stomach bug that is making the rounds in our neck of the woods; no thanks to family members coming down with it and trying to expose us.  We love them all dearly and are thrilled to receive gifts...just not that one. Additionally, we have had extended family messing with our Christmas plans, switching things up at the last minute, which has complicated things as well.   Thus, making the holidays even more stressful than usual, and throwing in an element of travel into it that wasn't initially there.  It is no wonder that the emphasis on Christ's birth is lost during this season. Don't misunderstand me, I don't think our family is a special case, but rather we are more the rule than the exception.  Everyone is juggling and running.

I wish I could give everyone the gift of time this season. Time to stop. Time to relax.  Time to enjoy. Unfortunately, that is not possible, but I encourage you to take some time for yourself and your family.  Even the errands and the tasks that are valuable and beneficial, start to lose their value and benefits if you are spread to thin.  I know this from experience.

Here is to a peaceful holiday season for you and yours!  Or at the very least a peaceful day or two.

Hell Hath No Fury....

Nothing gets under my skin more than injustice.  When I feel like something isn't fair I still have that knee-jerk reaction of a 10 year old and have the propensity to complain or pout; however, when things are repeatedly unjust and perpetuated by the same people, time and time again, then watch out.  I can go from pouty to livid in a matter of seconds.  

The first thing that invokes my ire, is a repeated inequity that is bestowed upon my kids.  I am not cool with people playing favorites between them, ever. Love them both or get out of my face. Second, people that make excuses that translate as "you are not as important as this person or this other thing in my life," suck. When others tell you that they are unavailable to spend time with you because they are spending time with someone else or doing something else, then take a note...you are NOT important to them, no matter what they say with their words. Third, false promises, those are simply lies that are dressed up to make someone seem like a better person than he/she actually is.  It allows people to hide behind a false intent, when they probably had no inclination of following through in the first place. Fourth, if I have to repeatedly change my schedule to accomodate someone else, because it is THAT difficult to sync up schedules due to their narcissistic way of life, then again, it sends the message that I/my family is not important.  I would much rather someone just admit they are disinterested in us rather than pretend. 

As the holidays approach, which in general are a difficult time for me, I am faced with coordinating with people as described above. It is extremely frustrating to me, because I don't feel like I am the appropriate person to address the issues described.  Instead, I am a pawn being shoved from one spot to the next on this chessboard of life, no voice in the matter. This is becoming less and less okay with me. The silent fury that I have been asked to endure is bubbling over at an amazing rate, and I am not quite sure how much longer I can sit back. 

My Faithful Friend

My dog, emphasis on MY, is the most loyal little guy in the world.  If you are not a dog/pet person, I admit that I truly don't get that. Who wouldn't want to be loved unconditionally and have a constant companion that thinks you are the world? Last night, I was at a meeting for almost 4 hours, and when I returned my dog was happily waiting by the door for me. He leaps around when I arrive home to show that  he is overjoyed. The funny thing is, he wasn't home alone while I was gone.  Everyone else was with him but me. However, my husband commented that my little fellow wasn't even remotely social with the rest of them until I came home. He sequesters himself off by the door or window and patiently awaits my return. His level of devotion is endearing.

My dog recently became a daddy dog.  Yes, it was planned. We have wavered about claiming one of his offspring for our own, because as our current dog approaches middle doggy age, you start to think about the gap his absence would leave in our lives should something happen. Having one very much like him would be no hardship at all. However, there is part of me that thinks that our current dog would feel very displaced not being the only dog in the house. Having to share the attentions that we shower him with could quite possibly make him attitudinal. He is a jealous dog.  His little mind operates quite similarly to that of a child, believe me.  So, I remain torn about what to do.  It would be different if he had always been part of a "duo" of dogs, but he has been the main man his whole life.  But when I see a little face like this, all of my resolve to be a one dog family goes out the window.  I become a big puddle of puppy love goo.

Deep Thoughts....

Okay you won't find any really deep thoughts, but in response to the demand of my few remaining readers, I figured I needed to blog something.  The last few years or so, the onset of the holidays produce more than the average amount of angst and baggage, and my mind gets bogged down with sad memories, hypersensitivity, worry, stress, and all of those other not so charming feelings.  As a means of coping, I avoid. When I sit down to write anything, or blog, I am forced to have a time of introspection.  Since that is not a pleasant thing at this time of year, avoiding means not writing, which means I can escape any REAL evaluation of my thoughts or feelings.  I can plod along in my day to day life and pretend that everything is happy go lucky and I am not being impacted by past events that hover over me like a dark cloud.

Two weeks ago, I had my check-in with my cardiologist.  Things were mostly status quo, but despite my conscious decision to not delve into any of my mind crud on a daily basis, my heart has other ideas.  It takes the things from my mind, and translates them into a physical response; racing heart, palpitations, beating so loudly within my chest that I am aware of every heartbeat.  Let me tell you, THAT is annoying.  I mean, you take for granted that your heart is beating, but you know it is, because you are walking and talking and living.  However, when you FEEL every heartbeat, it becomes disconcerting and distracting. Noticing every skip or accelerated beat produces an edginess that I cannot adequately describe.  Not much has changed recently from a daily perspective regarding my regular activities, with the exception of my caffeine intake.  I was having one pop a day, not outrageous, but in hopes of alleviating these recurrent symptoms, my cardiologist said to try and cut it out of my life again.  I have also been working out regularly the last month which is not something he recommended I stop (darn!), but more on those two things in a moment.  Anyway, nothing specific raised his concern, nor sounded or appeared vastly different from my check 4 months prior, so it is likely, "stress".  How I loathe the power that stress has over me, and yes, I know I somehow ALLOW it to have the power, but my conscious efforts to not give it power seem to fail.  Read Here: I don't want advice right now, I am just sharing the state of affairs.

So back to caffeine reduction.  I cut out the pop, coffee, what have you, until yesterday.  I know better than to go cold turkey, which produced headaches each and everyday, growing exceedingly worse as time went on.  None of the tylenol or migraine pain relievers were doing the trick, so I caved yesterday.  Caffeine never "tasted" so good. My headache is gone for now, and I can function on a much nicer level than I was, much to my family's relief.  My exercising has been fairly regular for the last month, and I have even amped it up to daily the last week, despite headaches. I watched what I ate, having modest Thanksgiving portions and not over-indulging, and I gained 6 pounds!  Six freaking pounds!  Before you claim it is "muscle", I would argue I would have to look like Popeye to put on that much muscle in a month.  Am I bitter?  Yes. Now, I did not workout yesterday, first time in over a week, but that wasn't from a personal revolt at the injustice though I did FEEL that way. Rather, I was sick; experiencing dizzy spells and nausea.  Last night I felt like my bed was my own personal cruise ship to hell with all of the vertigo I was having.  Thankfully, this morning my stomach has unclenched and my world has righted itself, but I am being cautious.  I would prefer not to revisit those feelings any time soon.

Well, I can honestly say, this was not what I intended to blog about at all when I sat down to my computer.  I was just going to make my apologies for delinquency and move on, but at any rate it is a blog post. I am thankful for those of you that noticed my blogs were not updated, but now you know a little bit of how my mind works and why they have been sparse/nonexistent of late.

Never Judge...

A book by its cover.  I have always heard this bit of advice, and I have to admit, I completely disregard it. Cover art can actually tell me a lot about a book. In fact, it is the cover that often inspires me to flip the book over and see what it is about,  or conversely it makes me run the other direction. For instance, if anyone is scantily clad on the front of the book, forget it.  If there is skin on the front, there will definitely be skin IN the book, and if I am going to invest my time in something, it had better be worth my while.  Not to mention, if a book looks really dull because of the cover, I have found that it is likely a dull book. Classics are exempt from this rule of thumb, because most of those have very little cover art. I am not saying my plan is foolproof.  There is the possibility that I am missing some really great reads, but I am probably also not wasting as much time as I could be.

With the purchase of my Kindle, I find that I am even more drawn in by "covers". I receive daily emails touting free books or bargain buy books, and I could really get bogged down if I felt compelled to read the plot of each book.  Instead I scroll through until I see a cover that catches my interest, and I let the rest go.  I have downloaded books that once I got a few pages in, merited deletion from my Kindle, but for the most part, I have been pretty happy with most of the books I have gotten for free.

My other means of making educated book selections comes from my favorite book reviewer.  There is rarely a book that I don't like, if it comes highly recommended by my sister-in-law.  Check out her blog at www.bringonthebooks.blogspot.com. My kids make books a priority on their birthday and Christmas lists, because she helps them find books that match their personalities and interests.  Our house is overrun with books, much to my husband's chagrin, but to me, there is nothing like escaping to another world with a good book.

The Flood Gates Opened

This week has been a tough one.  I have been under the weather just enough that I have felt blah, but not enough to crawl in bed and stay there.  I manage during the day, and then crash hard by the evening.  That being said, that hasn't really been the tough part of my week.  The tough part has been, having to sort out what I perceived as a personal attack on me.  I spend a lot of time building walls around myself allowing only certain people a glimpse inside the walls. Frankly, I used to always act tough and respond with sarcasm to protect myself.  However, I think I am getting soft in my old age.  2011 was such a hard year, with so much loss, that in some ways it weakened my defenses.  My carefully constructed facades had leaks of emotion spurting out of them at the most inopportune times.  Crying in public is my least favorite display of emotion.  I would rather get angry or terse than have make-up running down my face and receive pity glances.  Truthfully, I don't know what do with criers myself, so being a crier is uncomfortable for me.  You can imagine the annoyance I felt, when this week I became a crier.  Assumptions were made and criticisms were given in such a way, that it was abundantly clear the person delivering these words knew nothing about me or my character. At first I felt angry, but as the attack continued, and it became evident to me this person considered my efforts a failure, I started to feel emotion well up within.  Desperately, I tried to hold back the tears, but they squeezed out anyway. The presence of my tears, did not soften the attack, and I tried to end the conversation as quickly as possible.  However, after this interchange, every time someone else asked if I was all right, the traitorous tears would start again.  No one believes, "Yeah, I am fine", when you have tears running down your cheeks.  Argh!

My husband often teases that "I am dead inside"a reference to Chandler in the old show Friends. That really isn't the case, I just know what things I can't let breakthrough, or I would be a mess on a daily basis.  But this assessment is becoming less and less of a reality as the years pass by. At this rate, it won't be long before I drown in a puddle of my own tears.  So do me a favor, if I look like I have been crying, just ignore me.  Don't ask, "How are you doing?" Obviously, if I look tearful, I probably was tearful, so let's assume I am not fine and move on, pretending that I am.  I am cool with pretending.

As the days have passed since the confrontation, I am feeling more like my old self; kind of feisty and ready to accept the challenge. With the return of these instincts, I am comforted.  These reactions and feelings are what I know, and what I can work with. Not everyone is going to like me, and that is fine, because I don't like everyone I meet either.  I need to let go of this desire to please everyone, and just focus on pleasing the One that matters most.  But, boy is that hard sometimes.....

They Are Trying To Take Me Down

My whole family has conspired against me.  One by one they have gotten sick. I am the last man, er woman, standing. The problem is, that even though my husband is "on the mend", he still sounds horrible. My eldest, took sick Tuesday night, and my youngest caved last night with a fever.  Temperature checks on the kids, an hour ago, stand at 99.5 for the eldest, and 101.4 for the youngest.   The husband was munching on cereal, with no milk, and while the kids have no real appetite, that sounded like a decent "treat" to them. Hugging his box of Apple Jacks, he declared he didn't want their germy hands in the box, because they were sick.  One should note here, that he was hacking and coughing as he spoke.  Me, I feel fine, just exhausted, because I am not sleeping. Between feverish children waking me and the chorus of phlegmy coughs that fill the not so silent nights, there is no rest for the weary.  And this, this is how it will begin.  Weakening my immune system by sleep deprivation.  Coughing in my face and leaving snotty tissues around the house, that I end up touching in order to dispose of them. It has all been carefully calculated, so that about the time everyone around here is well, I will get this nonsense. At that point, I will be expected to carry on, because I am the mom, and moms aren't allowed to be unwell.

The bright side is, my dog is the happiest he has been in ages.  Having someone home ALL day is a rarity these days. Because of this, he has been spoiled with extra belly rubs all day long. And, my kids, well, at least they are snuggly when they are sick.  They still need their mama. We also watched, The Pirates!  A Band of Misfits, which was cute.  So, It isn't all bad, but it could be better. Tomorrow will look a lot like today did.  We will be staying in until they are fever free for 24 hours.  I am sincerely hoping that will be by tomorrow night.

Surprisingly Calm

Over the last couple of weeks, I have had a few dark spots removed from my fair skin.  The results came back mostly good from the first round of biopsies.  Two areas were fine, and one had abnormal/atypical cells.  Today I had to go back in and have that abnormal spot re-shaved. There was also a spot we were "watching", but given my atypical results, that spot was removed today as well.  I will get the biopsy results in 10 to 14 days for this round.  Bottom line, I need to be vigilant now about checking my skin.  Left untreated, those spots would likely develop into melanoma. Anyone that knows me, knows that words like melanoma would normally send me into a tailspin, but instead I am surprisingly calm.  I think, simply knowing I need to be proactive and have my skin checked regularly, has helped me to feel grounded. The more I get checked by a professional, the more I know what kind of spots to look for, which helps my frame of mind too.  For now, I am going on the six month skin check plan, per the doctor.  It is just one of those things that I have to do.  That being said, I am going to turn this into a PSA...ha!  If you haven't had a skin check and you are mid-thirties or older, then get it done. Pronto!  When I paid my bill today, for the last round of procedures, it was pricey.  I sent my husband an email, and complained.  Ever the wise one, he responded, "Well, how much are cancer treatments?  Let's put this into perspective."  And that, is that.

Acceptance

I have started many blogs in the last two weeks, but haven't posted any of them. Sometimes my blog ends up being a journal of personal thoughts that I am working through but others never see.  One of my latest struggles that I have been battling, that I will share, is finding the balance of being a mom and a protector to my kids while also letting them stand on their own two feet.

The conclusion I have drawn is that a lot of people's kids suck.  Not mine, at least not in the way I am thinking, but in my experience as a former child and now a parent, I remain baffled by unkind behavior.  And to take it a step further, girls are the WORST.  Thus far, my kids are pretty sensitive.  They try to include everyone when they are in groups, and truly never talk badly about another child.  Never. My kids aren't saints by any stretch, but they do show compassion and kindness. Therefore, when they are playing with other children and are excluded by actions or hurtful words, it shocks them.  They just don't understand.  Internally, I seethe when I see it happen, but the cold hard fact is not everyone is going to like them, and I need to, at times, let them navigate what the rough waters of childhood look like.  However, when I see my youngest square her shoulders and walk ramrod straight away from a group of kids, I know that she  trying to be tough; trying to act like she is unaffected. The exact opposite is true though, she is fighting back tears.

As a parent, I say words, that I know would have held little meaning to me as a child, yet I know in my heart they are true.  It IS the other child's loss, if they don't want to be friends with one of my children. My kids are sweet, silly, kind, and loyal. They may fight with each other, but I have never seen them argue or fight with a friend.

This week has been particularly hard for my youngest, and each time I see something happen, I want to scoop her up and cuddle her. Truth be told, I have a hard time not being hateful to the little girls that are mean to her. I remember what it was like being left out in school and having kids insult me to my face, and even though I am all grown up now, it stings to see it happen to your babies. Additionally, I want to hold Christian children to a higher standard, but at times, they are even worse.  I went to a Christian school, and the kids are just as ruthless there as anywhere.

Bottom line, I want to protect my kids from the pain of rejections, but I know I can't.  Not in every circumstance.  So, I sit back, and watch, and pray; offering up mommy hugs, when the brave facade melts away.

I still remember a time, when I was on the hateful end of behavior.  I was in junior high, and I so desperately wanted to be accepted, that I made fun of a friend of mine.  The popular kids always made fun of us both, so I thought if I made fun of her, they would accept me.  It was a desperate attempt to gain favor. Instead, she walked in behind me, and heard every word.  I know I hurt her.  And all it did was cost me her friendship, because I certainly didn't become popular.  The kids that instigated me, were thrilled to see me crash and burn. That memory has stuck so vividly in my mind, because the feeling was terribly uncomfortable, that I not only betrayed my friend, but who I was. That was a turning point for me, a point where I knew I never wanted to compromise myself for acceptance from others.

Hopefully, my children will be able to avoid a moment like that, and know that their worth is not based on what one or several insecure children think.  But it is still hard to watch events unfold and not go all wounded mama bear crazy on some 8 year old.    What can I say?  I am a work in progress.

Wigging Out!

Today I had the privilege of taking my aunt to be fitted for a wig to wear during her months of chemotherapy.  I say privilege, because her attitude astounds me. When I picked her up, she came out of her house, with a colorful scarf draped around her head in a fashion similar to that of middle eastern women.  She looked good, and was proud of her choice of scarf which she picked up at Walmart yesterday.  Her only stipulation to going wig shopping today was that she needed to be back in time to go FISHING! Apparently, she fishes every Monday night with one of her roommates, and loves it.  This in itself, cracked me up.  I never would have guessed that she would enjoy that activity.  I assured her we would be back in time, and off we went on our mission.

In the car she was super chatty, talking about losing her hair, but despite that she felt good physically.  She talked about her mom, and how her mom would probably give her a big hug right now, but she announced that she could wait until she saw her mom and dad again in heaven to get her hug.  Once we arrived at the shop, she unabashedly discarded her scarf and wandered around the shop looking at wigs.  My purpose, was to find her some hair that closely resembled her previous style, which had been the same as long as I can remember; short boy cut, with bangs.  Her hair had darkened to a deep brown over the years, so brunette seemed to be the right choice. Immediately, I gravitated toward dark short-haired wigs.  Suddenly, I heard her call from behind me, "I want this one" I turned around to see her pointing to a platinum blonde long-haired wig.  What the heck?!  Proceeding with caution, I said, "Are you sure? That hair is really long." She pondered it for a moment, stepped back, and then said, "No."  Phew.  Crisis averted! That is, until she wandered over to a shoulder length platinum blonde wig.  Sigh.  I grabbed it and put it in our try on pile.  Every wig I pulled out that resembled her former do, received a decided, "No. I don't like that."  Apparently, she was looking for a "new me" style, and secretly loathed her former hairstyle.  Okay.  I tried to roll with that.  We picked up some brunette wigs with heavy blonde highlights, that was the closest she would agree to her normal color. We also added several strawberry blonde wigs to the pile.  None were super short, nor did she like any with "pouf".  I worried internally that the family would chastise me for the frivolity, but ultimately I decided to bear any criticism.  It was her hair, and she should get what she wanted.  She was the one that had to endure all the hair loss, medicine, and trauma. Thankfully though, once she donned the platinum blonde wig she didn't like the color on her.  She was right, it didn't look good. But the other two colors in our pile were rather complimentary. She wouldn't budge from those, so we came down to style.  She finally chose a strawberry blonde wig slightly longer than chin length with side swept bangs.

It was stylish and flattering, just different.  It took some getting used to just because I hadn't been prepared to see such a change. However, it cannot be denied that she was beaming about her choice.  I teased that when her normal hair started to grow back that she might have to let it grow that length and have it colored to match her wig style.  She answered thoughtfully, "I just might do that." I dare anyone to say anything negative about her choice of wig, because I will happily pummel them. Doing this, brought her so much joy, she was due for some fun.  Bless her.  And it was good for me too.  Seeing her bravery and positive attitude, was humbling.  We had the rest of her hair shaved off, and she put the wig on her head and walked on out of that shop with her smile reaching ear to ear.

Keeping Up

I am finding it hard these days to keep up with the blogging.  Having taken on the role of a tutor/teacher for our local homeschooling group, is keeping me on my toes.  I mean, I don't care if my own kids get a little bored when I am teaching them, but the 8 kids I meet with every Tuesday, well, I want them to look forward to our time together.  For that to happen, it takes work, A LOT of work.

Besides that, I am struggling with a level of selfishness. Most days, I don't have any time to do what I WANT to do.  Not that I am 100% sure what that is, but it doesn't matter, because there isn't often an evening free for me to do whatever that would be. I look at our calendar, scheduled months into the future, and I feel slightly resentful of the obligations. Truthfully, I only have myself to blame, as I blindly committed to things here and there, but that knowledge does little to assuage my frustration.  In fact, it highlights my frustration. Making me wonder why I didn't think things through a little better before the commitments were in place.

Well, enough of my whining.  I will share some fun news, and that is, we are breeding our labradoodle.    If things go well, he should be a daddy by Christmas.  The kids already want to lay claim on a puppy, BUT we aren't willing to do that yet. I am however, looking forward to the prospect of cuddling some cute little furry guys in a few months. If they are anything like our dog, they will be adorable.

Less fun news, I went to the dermatologist last week. I had 3 spots removed, two suspicious, one just annoying.  I have to wait for results to come in either this week or the beginning of next, to determine the next course of action. One of three things can occur, all of the results come back fine and I am done, yay! Obviously, this is my preferred result. If the cells are simply abnormal, they will scrape down until they get results that yield a "normal" result. Sounds unpleasant, but still tolerable.  Lastly, if any kind of cancer cells show up, I am referred on to a surgeon. Anyone who knows me, knows I get a little wired about stuff like this.  But, I am really working hard to be calm and just wait, not my strong suit at all.

I will try to keep up my blog a little better in the near future, despite the busyness of life.

This and That

I am always amazed as to how busy life can get.  We have launched into our school year, and have joined a homeschool community called Classical Conversations.  We meet every Tuesday.  I decided in an effort to really learn the material and teach my kids in the process, that I would take on the role of tutor.  This is a technically teaching, but we can't call ourselves teachers. On Tuesdays, I have eight children, not my own, and we learn the new material for each week.  By the end of the year we will have learned a timeline with more than 288 events, science facts, latin, some English, and math.  This is in addition to what all we are doing at home.  On one hand, it is overwhelming, especially having parents sitting in and watching me teach, but I, myself, am learning a lot too.  So even though it stresses me out some, I am thankful for this opportunity.

This year, I am also trying to get a handle on what possible learning disabilities my youngest might have.  It appears there is evidence of a slight case of dyslexia or some other type of learning glitch, but with focused work, even in this last week, I am encouraged about the process we have made.  Little things have made a huge difference. For instance, we took two index cards and I laminated them in the same pouch leaving a space between the cards.  This clear strip or space allows only the sentence she is reading to show between the index cards, while the cards are covering the sentences she has already read and the ones she has yet to read. It helps with her tracking and keeping her place while reading.  Such a little thing, but it has been marvelous!

We have also started the school year with new rules, thanks to my sister-in-law inspiring me. No television during the school week.  Sunday night to Friday evening we are a television-free household.  Technically, my husband and I can watch an hour each day if we so choose, BUT we rarely get to that. So it has been pretty quiet.  We have also banned video games.  I know you are thinking we are horribly mean parents, but, when it is all said and done, the children rarely have time to miss those things. Weekends are a different story, they are allowed video games as well on the weekends, but my hope is as the family learns to entertain themselves in other ways, the weekends won't be completely overrun with technology either.

Outside of our house there have been other things occurring in life.  My handicapped aunt started chemotherapy this past week, and my grandma's house, has achieved a sale pending status.   I am praying my aunt doesn't get horribly sick from the chemo, though we do expect her to lose her hair.  Additionally, she is being tested to determine if she was genetically predisposed for this type of cancer. I guess that information is helpful to the rest of us females in this family, but I am really hoping this was a "fluke" and not genetics. As for my grandma's house being sold, I am relieved for my parents' sake.  It has been a long road to get to this point.  However, I am sad too.  As long as I have been around, that place has always been my grandparent's house.  I am torn between walking through it one more time and never going back over.  I am afraid I will turn into a blubbering mess.

This past weekend, my hubby and I spent our night away.  It was so relaxing!  The dinner we had at our inn, was quite possibly one of the best meals I have eaten in my entire life.  Slow roasted prime rib, asparagus cooked to perfection, and a five cheese macaroni with a crusted top, that was heavenly!  We enjoyed a complimentary bottle of wine as well. I felt rejuvenated by the time we returned home, and my eldest survived with only a moderate case of homesickness, which in my opinion was a success. Now that I know we can all do it, my husband and I might need to get away a little more often than once every 10 years.

All in all, I am feeling mostly content.  I would like to hover in this spot of contentment for awhile though.  I am not in any rush to move on to the next thing right now.

It Has Been Awhile

Tomorrow my husband and I are going away for a night.  The operative word is GOING. I can count on one hand, minus a few fingers, how many nights we have had without children in the last almost 11 years. And NEVER have we gone anywhere to have those nights. One child is desperately uncomfortable with overnights, so even if one is fine with being away, we always have the other.  The only place that both kids feel at ease is at my parents' house, and that hasn't been an option too often in the recent past because of my parents' feeling burdened with my grandmothers' care (prior to their deaths), and then my mom's own health issues.  But now, I think we are reaching a place where the kids aren't quite as high maintenance, except for when they are fighting with one another.

I have had married friends take cruises, vacations, or just long weekends with their spouses, sans children, and I have had twinges of jealousy.  I want that, just every now and then. So we are starting with one night, and we won't be far away, but just getting out of our routine and regular obligations for one night is kind of exciting.

My children are taking this event personally, "Can't you have a good time with us around? Why do you need to leave us behind?" I tried to explain that it was so their dad and I can have at least one uninterrupted conversation for one night and be just us.  Sometimes in the day to day, you forget who you are even married to, because so many "business" transactions are taking place.  "Did you pay the cell phone bill?" "Who is taking the kids to their events tonight?" "I have a meeting, dinner is on the stove." And sometimes, after being with other people all day long, we just have no more energy to eek out a meaningful conversation or any real conversation at all.

I keep remembering an Everybody Loves Raymond episode where Raymond and Debra finally get a weekend away from their kids and all they do is pass out on the bed and sleep. At the time, I thought that was funny, and now, NOW I understand it, as only a parent can.

Truthfully, I will probably miss my munchkins, but sometimes it is good to miss people.  It reminds you how much you love having them in your life.

A Good Day

Today I felt loved. In a testament to not being on Facebook, I still got quite a few birthday wishes the old fashioned way...you know, via email, telephone, and the really archaic mode of SNAIL MAIL! Most of the people that I love best in the world wished me a happy day, with a few exceptions, but I know life can get super busy so I won't hold any grudges. Coordinating a simple lunch with my own parents proved challenging enough, and required us to part ways between lunch and dessert because of previous commitments. We reconvened for my most favorite birthday cake, chocolate cake with caramel frosting!  My paternal grandma used to make the best homemade caramel frosting, and I miss her cakes. Therefore, my mom ordered this type of cake from a local bakery, and though the icing wasn't homemade it was still delicious!  It was so rich, that I could not even finish my last bit of caramel icing on my plate.  Not wanting to waste such a treasured treat, I scooped it back into my cake box, for later consumption. It might just be calling my name right now!  Of course, I still have half a cake left too, but I will enjoy what I can.

Anyway, I have received some very fun presents the last few days, and my husband did not leave me hanging with "just" the cookware.  Two of the best (non-material) gifts I received today were 1) My husband actually got off of work early today at the encouragement of his manager BECAUSE it was my birthday, and 2) We are very close to signing over the deed and being COMPLETELY done with the rental house.  The previous two years on my birthday, while working at a different company, my husband was not only required to work on my birthday, but to put in an exorbitant amount of overtime, coming home very late. Today's new precedent was a welcome change of pace. From previous posts, I am sure you understand the significance of getting closer to unloading our rental house, so I won't elaborate there.

I can ask for nothing more than what I have been blessed with today.

Remember When?

Had dinner at 8:30 tonight, thanks to a jam-packed day, and now I have popped my first two Tums of the night, certain to be followed by more. Do you remember when you could eat after 8pm and it didn't make you completely sick to your stomach?  I used to be convinced that I had a stomach of steel, and now I am realizing it had nothing to do with steel, it has to do with AGE. A young stomach can handle all sorts of torturous foods at any hour of the day. No wonder senior adults eat dinner at 4:30, they probably need all the time they can get between digestion and bed! I used to mock my husband and his ridiculously sensitive stomach telling him, "you should know better". Now that I am in his shoes he just passes me his Tums and withholds his commentary.  Obviously, he is a little bit nicer than I am. So here is my question, other than wine, does anything get better with age?

Ramping Up

My blog entries have been scarce lately, and I keep thinking that my time will free up soon, but when one obligation drops away another rushes in to claim my time and my mind. This coming week is no exception to the chaotic life I am currently leading.  In a fit of sheer delusion, I told myself that I would find time to paint the interior or my house before school starts for us.  It needs a coat of paint desperately, but I am filing that under, "it ain't gonna happen anytime soon", and I am just going to have to be okay with that for now.  Additionally, I had the horrid realization, that I have not composed our notification letter, curriculum list, and study outline for our homeschool notification that needs to be submitted by the first day of public school in our district.  Homeschooling families are big on sending this documentation out at the last possible minute, but I like to have it done and ready to send earlier, just in case.  The problem I discovered tonight is that while I thought my husband had backed up everything from my last computer before it died a horrible death, he did not.  Therefore, all of that previous notification work is gone.  I can't pull up the documents from last year to modify.  No, that would be too helpful.  I must start from scratch. 

This week is also my birthday, and I am not quite sure I am going to find time to do much celebrating for that.  My hubby bought me some new stainless steel cookware today... though he teased that was my gift, I am really crossing my fingers that he has something else more personal up his sleeve.  However, I am extremely thrilled with my new pots and pans.  Aside from those impending festivities, whatever they may be, I have to attend an Open House for our new homeschool co-op, attend one last training meeting for that co-op, and find time to train the new church secretary that is replacing me. Additionally, I need to map out at least our first week of school lessons, preferably more, since we are starting school next Monday. 

Truthfully, I am longing for the sanity of our school schedule and our normal routines.  It isn't really less busy, but the events that are scheduled are much less random. I do want to be more intentional though about my commitments.  I find myself volunteering here and there for committees and jobs, or being volunteered by someone else, and I need to learn to not commit to anything without thinking and praying first. It has been a huge frustration point for my husband that I am in such high demand by others. On one hand, I think I like being needed, but on another, I know I need to step back and help those that need me the most first. Besides, as a friend once told me, I might be stealing someone else's opportunity to serve. 

Lastly, in addition to longing for routine and more predictability, I am also longing for fall.  The cool weather that we had on Saturday, was just tantalizing enough for me to eagerly anticipate my favorite season. I wish fall would last six months of the year.  There is something invigorating about the fall, at least to me.  

There you have my less than concise ramblings for today. Stay tuned for more random thoughts in the near future!

Thankful

The last few weeks have been stressful, and aside from feeling under the weather right now, I am feeling hopeful. As mentioned before, my handicapped aunt was undergoing some health issues, and last Thursday she had a complete hysterectomy, due to the mass that was found on her ovary. The preliminary tests, prior to surgery, indicated it was cancerous, but the quick biopsies done during the surgery were inconclusive and merited further testing. Yesterday, we received the news. In my mind, after getting an initial cancer diagnosis, I was praying God would work some kind of miracle, and after hearing the results I fully believe that He did. The tests came back, and she did indeed have cancer. But here is the thing, the mass of cancer, was inside a much larger mass, that was not cancer. Weird, huh? Furthermore, the cancer cells indicate that this type is pervasive and often spreads to many different areas of the body. Yet, hers was contained in that one area. Because of these oddities, the oncologist, wants to test it again, to make sure that some mistake was not made in determining the type of cancer cells. Test away! I feel like this was completely a God thing. And I am thankful for what I believe is His intervention. My aunt still has a bit of a road ahead, but the chemotherapy, should be minimal. At this time, they are speculating she will have four rounds of treatment.

I was impressed with the oncologist last night when she came in to talk to my aunt. She was calming, but upfront. During my aunt's hospital stay doctor had her kidneys tested as well, because they were concerned that they were not functioning properly. The doctor stopped by to announce that the kidneys were fine, and my aunt asked, "So there is no cancer?" She knows what cancer is, and that it is scary and ugly. The doctor told her that there was no cancer in her ANYMORE, that they removed it all during the surgery, and her kidneys were not affected. The doctor laid out a plan of recuperation for my aunt, and told her when she would be seeing her next. My aunt was in very good humor, joking and teasing, and ultimately elated by the news that she would be heading home today. Finally!

Additionally, I am thankful that my aunt is in a living situation, where she is under someone's watch 24 hours a day. While family would have done their best in this situation, it still would not have been as thorough and attentive as what she currently has regarding care. Living with her roommates, with caregivers available 24 hours a day, is such a huge blessing! And, her roommates missed her! In fact, her one roommate called their care administrator everyday to find out when my aunt was coming home from the hospital. This overall health situation is one that I would have preferred to avoid, but I guess that I need to see God work every now and then and show me just what He can do if He chooses too. Apparently, I needed that reminder.

What Happened to Happily Ever After?

Fairytales are a favorite of most little girls. They anticipate the moment the prince and princess are united at the end of the story and, of course, pronounced to live happily ever after. Then the little girl can sigh deeply with a smile on her face and dream of her own Prince Charming that will someday sweep her off her feet, literally. The man that will rescue her from the drab dullness of chores, everyday life, and the need to live within a budget. The problem is, finding Prince Charming does not make you exempt in real life, from chores, woes, and financial stresses; unless you do happen to marry a bona fide prince. By my calculations, the availability of male royalty is severely lacking if every young girl's dream is to be satisfied in that manner. Couple that travesty with the bitter disappointment that a girl faces when she thinks she has finally met her non-royal Prince Charming, only to find out that once she kissed the frog and changed him to a prince, he never forgot his old froggy ways. In the end, it almost seems that fairytales do a disservice to impressionable young minds. Currently, several of my friends are trying to figure out what to do with froggy husbands and wondering what happened to their princes. I wonder if it would have been more helpful, to read a fairytale that ended by stating "and the prince and princess married, took out a loan for a nicer castle, and made mortgage payments for 30 years. They also had several children, that enjoyed testing the sanity of their royal parents regularly, and often humbled them in front of the village subjects by their *sometimes* impolite behavior. The prince and princess decided to move to a far off land, to avoid living near one another's families. The prince couldn't reconcile himself to his commoner in-laws and the princess thought her in-laws were King and Queen Snootypants." At least this kind of commentary would hit a little closer to reality. Most days, I feel like I have found my Prince Charming, but I am not sure living happily ever after is really possible, because happiness is fleeting and emotion driven. We can live a life of joy together, but anyone that lives, knows it "ain't" all happiness. These thoughts were more provoked, not so much by my own life right now, but by the lives of many close to me. I realized, that even with all of the negative circumstances, I have a reason to be thankful. Things are far from perfect or even ideal, but walking this road with the people God has put in my life, makes it doable. I can't imagine not having my prince by my side, even if he isn't ALWAYS princely.

Just Call Me Eeyore

Do any of you have those friends, that whenever you talk to them, you get depressed?  Those friends, that no matter what is going on in life, something bad is always happening to them? They seem to pass through life with an impenetrable black cloud lingering over their head. I have a few of those friends, and when they call and leave messages, I have to work up the energy to call them back, because I know the conversation will be a downer.  No matter when and where we talk, I can be assured, that their life is in tumult. Today, I had the sudden realization that I am one of those people. Upon reviewing my life over the last year and a half, I realized the dark cloud has situated itself directly over my head. If I had to call myself on the phone, I would need to work up the energy to talk to myself! Talk about a humbling realization. I have become a huge drag to be around! I wonder if when people see me coming, they run for cover. Do they screen my calls?  "Great it is HER again."

Most of what has happened in life recently, I have little control over, but my husband very poignantly informed me that it is not so much what happens, but how I react to it that makes the difference in being one of THOSE people.  Admittedly, I am not reacting very well to the curve balls I have been thrown. Instead of dodging or swinging, I am letting them hit me right in the face. And then, after I am hit, I get really hurt and really pissed. Part of that, is my own fault, and part of that is just life handing me a giant bag of stinky crap.

This week has yielded more crap. My handicapped aunt has been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Since my grandma passed away in October, my aunt has become a prominent person in my life, because I had been trying to take care of her. After getting her settled, I felt like I could breathe a sigh of relief. But now there is this.

Here is the thing, I have spent the last two days really upset, for a number of reasons that I won't rehash, but as of right now, I am CHOOSING to be an optimist. We don't know the severity of the situation yet, perhaps it was caught early. Until I hear definitively, I will attempt to stay positive. This type of approach is not my forte. It will take a conscious effort, and probably require a lot of work on my part to maintain. And if the news is bad, well, I guess I will have to cross that bridge when I come to it.  Day to day crap, really makes it hard to maintain an eternal perspective, doesn't it?

Gain does not come without some loss.  The older I get, the more perspective I gain, but for crying out loud...I wish the process was less painful.

Anger, Regret, and Defeat

I have experienced a myriad of emotions regarding our rental house.  In every way that we could possibly have been screwed, we have. The long and the short of it, is we are faced with fairly bleak alternatives regarding the money pit. Our insurance, was not replacement cost value, but rather actual cost value.  And that changed in the month prior to the fire.  Talk about horrible, HORRIBLE timing. I want to rail and scream at the unfairness of it all. Nothing since the first year of this venture, has been easy, profitable, or beneficial regarding this house. Nothing. If I could turn back the hands of time, I would flee the other direction from this brainchild of an investment opportunity. It has been 8 years of bad news. 8 years of problems. 8 years of headaches.

Basically, we have learned that we will be granted just enough to cover the remaining mortgage. Sounds ideal, right? Not so much. The biggest problem that is left to us, is what to DO with a partially  burned down house. Several people have offered up suggestions, none of which have proven to be realistic, not even in the realm of giving it away.   Because, shocking as this might be, no one seems to want the burden of such an extensive fixer upper. Someone MIGHT be willing to take a cleared lot, but unless you have roughly 10k burning a hole in your back pocket it must be conceded that it doesn't happen magically. Alternately, I want to cry or throw up.  I am not sure which, and it depends on the moment at which you catch me.  Technically, we could try to repair it for the pittance we are being granted, but then we are left to once again attempt to unload a house in a neighborhood that has become less than desirable. It is the known losses versus the potential and unknown losses.

Couple all of these present woes, with the dashed dreams of being able to use this house as a means to help with some future college expenses, and I just feel beaten down.  There is not one shred of hope, and while I am trying to muster up the energy to "be thankful in all circumstances" I am not currently able to do so.  I give up trying to find the silver lining, which is not my natural bent anyway, and I admit this war has been lost.  Each battle fought was in vain.

I apologize to my husband for dragging him down this path of insanity. It was/is my fault. This was my idea in the beginning, and I appreciate him for trying to not point fingers, but at this point it is hard, when I KNOW I started the ball rolling. I am pointing the fingers at myself.

So there you have the summary of one of the worst investment decisions ever.

Hanging the Picture

When my maternal grandmother passed away in October, there was a picture that hung on her family room wall; that picture was left for me. We had talked about it when she was alive, and she told me that it was mine if I wanted it. I left it in her house for awhile, because bringing it home meant she was really gone and things were changing. But, as renovations to her house were being started and tackled, my mother sent it home with me so that it would not get damaged in the chaos or taken by someone else. Unfortunately, I still wasn't ready for it to be here. For literally months, that picture has been sitting on my living room floor, propped against the wall, with the back facing out. Tonight we hung the picture over our fireplace. It is a picture of a brightly lit cottage nestled among trees, but only a stone's throw from the ocean. One large wave is rolling onto the shore, just large enough to make its presence known, but not big enough to be a threat to the cottage. After hanging the picture, my husband and I sat on our couch staring at it. We decided we both could live in a place like that, but the waves made us nervous. Too easily a storm could break, and wipe out the cozy cottage, we decided our cottage would need to be much further away from the water. Then we decided that perhaps my grandmother was living in a cottage just like that one now in heaven, and outside of the picture, to the left, in a place that we couldn't see was her large rose garden. That way she would have everything from nature that she loved, close at hand; trees, water, and a flower garden. And she need never worry about waves crashing into her cottage, because that wouldn't happen in heaven. It was a happy thought and a sad one all at the same time. But, even though I got a little choked up seeing this picture finally hanging in my house, it was time.

Our Money Pit

9 years ago, my husband and I bought a small house as an investment opportunity. At that time real estate was supposedly a sound investment, but that was before the housing market completely tanked. In our naivete, we decided to dabble in the world of being landlords. The first year was great. We had fabulous renters, we managed the property ourselves since we lived nearby, and I think the biggest problem that we had reported that year was mice. The next year, was slightly more challenging, we moved out of state, and had to undertake the role of managing the property remotely. Our next renters were always late with rent, unfriendly, and had an attempted break-in that damaged one of the doors to the house that was a continual source of complaints. My husband still wanted to try a hands-on approach and make repairs to the door, install security lights, better locks, but the running back and forth got to be too much, and our renters were difficult about every interaction. We decided to sell the house. We sold it on contract to a friend of a friend. This meant the buyer secured the renters, managed the repairs, and after a period of nine years he would own the home outright. It was kind of like a rent to own deal. It worked, and for two blessed years, the house was not our problem. Then the housing market tanked. He couldn't find renters, and he was moving out of state for a new job. The house reverted back to us. No sale.

This began our foray into the world of property managers, we had to hire someone local to deal with the house. It was too stressful to attempt to handle every repair or complaint at a distance. The first property manager that we used, rented the house to someone that was apparently on trial for a felony. Information you would have thought a background check would have yielded, and might have been handy to have as a testament to character. Within the first two months, our extremely large picture window was shot out in a "drive by". It struck us as extremely odd, given the picture window was on the side of the house no facing the road, but nonetheless we ponied up for the repair. Upon later inspection, when we actually traveled back to our property we discovered that the double pane window was cracked on the inside, not the outside. BB gun discharged inside perhaps? Of course we would never know. Then the renters stopped paying all of their rent. Occasionally we would get a $100 check here or there, but after several months, the renters stopped paying rent all together. Eventually our property manager evicted them, after losing over 2k in rent. That property manager filed charges against the renters, and once about every two years, we get a $10 check from the garnished wages. It is good for a laugh when one arrives. I think they still owe roughly $1900 in back rent, and I am pretty sure that won't ever arrive.

Given that lackluster management situation, it was time to move on to the next property manager. Upon repossession of the house we discovered it was trashed and that we had become the equivalent in my mind to slumlords. It was no longer the cute little house we bought. The new property manager suggested thousands of dollars in improvements so that we could repair the damage but also upgrade the level of tenants that were attracted. We bit. He sold us on a dream and we hired him. The original estimate of 4k in repairs, gradually moved upwards of 7k, an amount that would have required several years of solid renting by honorable renters to pay it off. But we were suckered into believing it was within our reach. We had a woman move in, with guaranteed income. She allowed her brother and nephew to lodge with her, breaking the terms of the lease, but our property manager let it slide, because she paid her rent and was clean. Fast forward to the woman losing her state aid income and her daughter being diagnosed with cancer, and the rent stopped. Four months later, she agreed to move out. Her brother and nephew on the other hand, became some sort of squatters. It took another two months to get them out. Our property manager, didn't want to anger them, because he was afraid that they would trash the house purposefully, which they did anyway. After more bills came in for treatment of termites and other various items, and 4 months of vacancy, we fired the second property manager.

Enter Linda. She has been the most professional and organized property manager to date. She took it over, cleaned it up, made necessary repairs, had it treated again for some sort of bug akin to termites, and professionally removed lead paint that was found on the exterior portion of the garage. Another couple thousand down the drain, but she had it rented within 3 months. Were things looking up? Maybe? Nah. The pipes froze during the winter before the renters moved in. Good times. But after those pricey repairs, we started getting regular rent checks. Every month. The full amount. It was craziness. I did a little dance of joy every time a check arrived in the mail. Sure, we still operated at a loss on our taxes, but maybe we could be done shelling out the do-re-mi. We experienced a total of 14 months of bliss, before we received more bad news. Our renter, had a US Marshall show up on her doorstep to inform her that a sex offender had moved onto the street. Said Marshall did not give any further information or the address, basically just enough to scare the crap out of this mom of three. I headed to the internet for answers. It seemed a wee bit fishy to have a US Marshall show up for a run of the mill sex offender, so I wanted to see if I could dig up any information. Yeah, he wasn't just a sex offender, but a convicted murderer as well, having spent roughly 30 years in prison. You can fill in whatever expletive you want here, because I am sure I said it. Stark reality set in, no one was going to want to rent our house and our property manager was obligated to inform any renter of the circumstance at hand. Our renters indicated that they would be moving on as soon as they could find a suitable place, and we decided to put our house up for sale. Selling it was a longshot at best, but we didn't know what else to do. This week I encouraged my husband to touch base with our property manager to find out what was going on. According to our property manager's secretary the renters were going to be moving, and no one wanted to buy the house. I wanted more details, like, had anyone even looked at the house? Once upon a time it had been a cute house, maybe someone would see that potential and overlook the baggage. I asked my husband to call back for more specific details. He called back yesterday, but didn't get to talk to the property manager in person. Therefore, it was no huge surprise that they called us late yesterday. Unfortunately, they were not returning our call, but calling to tell us that part of our house had caught on fire.

Today we drove over to our little money pit. The kitchen is gone. The roof over the kitchen is gone. Part of the ceiling in the bathroom was coming down. Vents throughout the attic that vented to the outside were melted. Theories that the insulation caught on fire in the attic were abounding. Where the flooring still existed it was clear that all of that was ruined, ceilings and walls were charred gray with smoke. I was a little shocked at what we found. We read in a newspaper article that the fire chief was estimating 10k in damage, so I figured the interior damage was mild. Perhaps I have a completely skewed perspective of what things cost, but it seems like we are talking about a heck of a lot more damage than 10k. From what our renters indicated, the fire department ruled that the stove was left on, but it was clear that they did not agree with that finding, which would have made them at fault. Not that fault really mattered at this point, what was done was done, and they didn't have any kind of insurance anyway. They lost everything. Even their dog was in the hospital, having been found unconscious at the scene. I wasn't interested in laying blame at their feet. How could I? I have a roof over my head, food to put on my table, and clothes to wear on my back. Don't get me wrong, this is a HUGE hassle and my head hurts just thinking about how many decisions and trips we are going to have to make in the near future, but it is just that, a hassle. I can't help mulling over the words of Sweet Brown tonight though. "Oh Lord Jesus its a FAR! Ain't nobody got time fo' dat!" Google Sweet Brown if you don't know the reference. She gives a riveting interview about a fire.


An adjuster arrives tomorrow to assess the true amount of damage. So now we wait.

Not Ideal

My husband and I often go to bed at separate times. He is more of a night owl than I am usually, so I am often asleep well before him.  Tonight, after a rather overwhelming day (which I will blog about tomorrow), I invited him to bed to "talk".  He quickly discarded his laptop, aka his first love, and promptly came to bed.  Much to his chagrin and disappointment, he discovered that I really meant that I wanted to talk.

I started off by saying, "I have printed off a few things that I want to discuss, so that my thoughts will be more organized." Staring at the papers I thrust into his hand, he was shaking his head, "You seriously brought printouts to bed?"  In my defense, it was only one official printout, the rest were notes that I made that were inspired by the printout. Based on his unenthusiastic reaction to the paperwork, I should have just stopped the conversation right there, but I plodded along, trying to explain how overwhelmed I have been feeling lately. The printout he held was by a blogger that wrote about needing "margin" in his life, and he sketched out his IDEAL week.  I was inspired.  I needed to consider what my ideal week looked like. Mistake number one, was handing my husband the papers to peruse before I started talking.  He heard nothing I said, and was studying this guy's ideal week.  Mistake number two, was giving him a copy of the blogger's ideal week, because he thought it was MY ideal week. My husband was really impressed by by my ambition, and somewhat disappointed when he learned it belonged to the blogger,  thus making my proposed ideal week appear a lot more dull by comparison.

But the real problem that I encountered had nothing to do with my husband.  It was my attempt at creating the ideal week for myself.  My obligations are so convoluted and time-consuming, that I can't really decide what my ideal week would look like. For example, is part of my ideal week, taxiing my children  twenty different places?  Which places do I like going with them?  Which places are just fluff? I used to really enjoy taking them to their activities until we had so many places to go that I never had a night at home. Now, it seems all my time has been claimed with various activities, and I don't know how to re-claim it. Additionally, I don't have any idea how to fit in the vague term, "me-time" that I wrote down. And what exactly would I do with "me-time" if I actually had it?  I have NO idea.  This is a fairly disturbing place to find myself.  And this is what I wanted to discuss with my husband.  Page 3 was my list of "stressors" that I created.  It was a rather lengthy list. His eyes however, seemed to be glazing at this point, and I took my cue that he had no ability to reason through my stressors and ideals, when he answered with "Mhmmm" or "Yeah". No real input just tacit acknowledgement that I was speaking and he sees my mouth moving.

I am not giving up. Not yet. I just don't know how to really start.

Matters of the Heart

Dealing with death will either bring out the religiosity in people or the denial that there is any need for religion at all. For once, I got to sit on the sidelines for this weekend's funeral that we "attended". Actually, my husband attended, and I kept our kids clear of having to participate in another funeral, but we all travelled out of state to support our family members that were affected. We were, however, present for the after party, and the family gatherings, where everyone was decompressing from the stressful week.  I knew how they were feeling, having walked this road a lot in the last year or so; mentally, emotionally, and  physically exhausted. We tried to keep things light and go with the flow, but I have to admit I felt a deep sorrow on several occasions that related very little with the passing of the actual person that died.  I am the first to admit that one way to deal with such an undue amount of stress it to attempt to use humor. Jokes, no matter how ill-timed or inappropriate, are a lifeline, a release, a few seconds escape from the business at hand. I am okay with that.  I can roll with that. However, I have a hard time joking about true matters of faith. Ever. The woman that passed was a bit of a Pharisee, for lack of a better modern day comparison.  She struggled with people failing, and breaking religious rules.  I believe her intent was pure but her execution of sharing her faith with her family was somewhat detrimental to actually convincing them of the need for God or anything to do with Him.  With that in mind, she had conveyed to friends her concerns about certain family members needing salvation, and being fellow Pharisees, these friends chose the funeral as a time to express that they were praying for these "lost souls". Additionally, pointing out what situations were certainly leading them down paths of destruction. The people that were addressed by these women reacted one of two ways.  They were either incensed, as if they needed anyone praying for them for any reason at all, or they were mocking these women for wasting their time.  I casually inserted that it is never a bad thing to have someone praying for you, whether you think you need it or not, but I felt heavyhearted. These women had done nothing to encourage faith, not really, in fact they may have successfully pushed the objects of their prayers even further away with their "concern".  This scenario has forced these matters of the heart into my consciousness...living in denial, pretending everyone I know is a Christian is easier, but it has been confirmed that everyone I know is NOT a Christian, and frankly, that sucks.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day.  First, to the father that gave me life.  I am blessed to have an earthly father in my life that is a tangible example of my Heavenly Father.  I like to think some of my best traits came from my dad; some learned, some inherited. But even as I approach middle age, I know there are still some things that I can learn from him. He is my hero. Not the super-hero kind, just the daily kind; someone I will always admire.

Second, to my husband, the father of my children. More often he acts like the children, but every now and then he morphs back into the father figure...when I really need him too.  It is probably good that he is such a goofball, because he balances out all of the serious that comes in the package that is me. Sometimes that child-like propensity is frustrating, but my basic understanding is most men generally tend towards this end of the spectrum. My husband tackles life with humor, and a great ability to reason.  He is logical and a good listener.  If I have a disagreement with anyone, I would much rather it be with my husband, or someone like him, rather than with someone like me, and that is admitting a lot. He is a good man, and he love this family deeply. I can't think of a better dad for my kids.

Love you both!

What To Do?

My children encountered a fairly distressing dilemma this afternoon, at least from their perspective. They each had a bowl of ice cream following an afternoon at the pool, and they topped it off with a bit of chocolate syrup and a bit of carmel syrup, because ice cream can almost always be improved upon with toppings. 5 minutes later my eldest announced, "Mom! We still have carmel syrup left, but we finished all of the chocolate! What are we going to do?" Her tone was urgent and perplexed, yet I detected just a hint of hope in the mix. It amazed me that this was even considered a problem, not to mention a big enough problem to bring it to me. The appropriate mom answer that I gave was, "Put it back in the refrigerator, and if I ever buy ice cream again we can use it then." I really shouldn't buy any more ice cream. Ever. If it is in the house I canNOT resist temptation, but I digress. Her response was a fairly deflated, "OH." Then I heard her whisper to her sibling in crime, "Mom said we have to put it back." Clearly that wasn't the answer she was hoping for, which made me ponder what response would have been received more enthusiastically. Should I have said, "Oh no!  Throw it away! It has no purpose without ice cream in the house!" Or, "Well, we can't let that go to waste.  Everyone grab a spoon and we will squeeze out carmel syrup and eat it until it is gone!" (More likely what she was hoping to hear). Or, "Carmel milk for everyone!" (Probably wouldn't have balked at that one either.)  Truthfully, I adore carmel, but the thought of carmel milk sounds slightly revolting. I am not sure why, and it could be positively delightful, but I wasn't going to okay that concoction after a bowl of ice cream anyway.  I gathered however, by their pervasive disappointment that the last two options were the what they were angling for and instead I thwarted them. If only all dilemmas were this easy to solve!

Overwhelmed

My worlds are colliding.  Everything that could possibly hit at the same time, is and will be, for the next week and a half. You might wonder how I process extreme levels of stress.  It has taken years of practice, but before I even realize it I am able to tense every single muscle in my body right down to my toes.  Jealous, aren't you?  Cramps and pain manifest themselves in my back, neck, legs, feet, arms, and hands, and the crowning glory is I get grumpy and impatient. And, sleep.  Ah, blessed sleep.  One sure fire way to escape the stress of my daily life, except that I can't sleep, and when I do sleep, I am awakened by panic attacks. This is just another reminder that I can't and shouldn't be doing it all on my own. I bring it on myself, so I truly have no one else to blame, but me.

Before my maternal grandmother died last year, she warned me about trying to do too much and that I needed to slow down. Then she up and died on me, and left a whole lot for me to do! True, I didn't HAVE to do any of it, I CHOSE to do the things that were left unattended. The bottom line is I don't do a very good job of protecting my time, of being intentional in the choices I make or the activities where I spend my time.  At the same time, I don't love being completely free all of the time, because then I feel like I have no purpose.  It comes down to balance, and I am a tightrope walker that falls the moment I start, because I have zero ability to balance.  I don't do it to be a martyr, and to say "woe is me, look how busy I am", and I know others are just as busy or busier.  Maybe they just handle it better?  Or maybe they know where to draw the line?

At any rate, if you see me upright and behaving mostly normal in the next few days, consider that a huge win for me.

He IS a Stud

Yesterday we had our first ever garage sale. It was kind of on the fly, as we did zero advertising until the day before, which included two emails to a large homeschool group we are part of, a Craigslist advertisement, and then posting street signs the day of the sale. Actually, I was surprised by the steady stream of customers we had all day. Everyone that came was calmly greeted by the official welcoming committee, our labradoodle.  He would politely wag his tail, and then accept head pats and butt rubs.  Thankfully, most everyone that showed up were "dog people".  In fact, several commented on how great he was behaving, and as a proud doggy parent, I had to agree that he was. The only time he got a little rambunctious was when a cat invaded his territory, presumably to shop and take in the great bargains. It was a rather bold cat, as he wandered all the way into our garage to check things out. Our dog, once spotting the intruder chased the cat to the very end of our driveway, and then stopped, watching it cross the street.  He knows his boundaries and does not take advantage of them.  Have I mentioned he's a smart dog?  A couple of people asked if he was "for sale", HA! 

When one man approached, taking particular interest in my furry baby, I prepared myself for another version of the "Is He For Sale" joke.  Instead, he commented on his disposition, his looks, and then asked if he was fixed.  Embarrassed, we admitted that he was not.  Back when we purchased our little guy, it was shortly after we had lost our labrador retriever due to issues that were discovered during a surgery.  He was put to sleep at that time, and I really hadn't recovered from that incident.  Because of that, I kept putting off the neutering surgery, besides, he was such a cute little puppy I imagined what the world would be like if we populated it with more furry bundles just like him.  The problem was, we never found the "right girl" for him.  And we knew, that as responsible pet owners we should probably have him fixed by now. The guy was elated to hear that our dog had all his necessary "accessories", which I thought was weird, but then he offered a breeding proposition with his 2 year old female labradoodle.  At first I was taken aback, I mean, yes, we were selling all sorts of things at our garage sale and doing a whole lot of bargaining, but it seemed a little odd to sell THAT. However, as the idea took root throughout the day, I became more and more excited.  Basically, the part that I like best, is that as our dog gets a few years older, if things go well with this, then we can have one of his offspring someday. 

So, I had my husband call the guy back tonight to express our mutual interest.  Yesterday, the man took our dog's picture with his phone. I guess he was eagerly awaiting a call from us, because  he immediately recognized our name, and went on to enthusiastically say that he had shown our dog's picture to his dog, and she was "very excited". That made us laugh. My eldest wanted to know how it works for dogs, she asked, "Do you put on music for them? Do they have a date first?" It does seem like there should be some wining or whining and dining first, doesn't it? Maybe we can find a little doggy bow tie for him to wear. Anyway, that was one thing I never expected to "sell" at our garage sale yesterday. 

Toothpaste Etiquette

Not long ago, I bought individual toothpaste tubes for each family member, because the shared tube was completely disrespected by someone in the family.  I had to revise my method of discovering the culprit of disrespect, because the tubes got mixed up, and ALL tubes of toothpaste were a mess, due to cross-usage. So, then I bought individual tubes and wrote our names on each tube AND initials on each cap. Personally, I don't care if someone squeezes the tube in the middle and doesn't systematically work the tube from the bottom to top, I do however, despise a) having the cap left off the tube and b) someone scrunching the tube tightly in his or her fist. This new system of toothpaste tube monitoring has revealed the offender in a rather glaring way, and has eased my previous paste peevishness because my tube is pleasantly capped after each use and remains mostly uniform in shape.  In fact everyone in general seems happier. My youngest, follows in my toothpaste using footsteps. She loathes the uncapped tube, because it seems that if a stray hair is on the bathroom counter it immediately adheres and ravels itself around the exposed end of the tube, becoming semi-permanently encrusted in the drying toothpaste at the end of the tube.  This grosses both of us out. We both cap, and are not precise squeezers.  My husband leans toward the systematic squeezing, as well as capping.  So that leaves, my eldest.  Daily, her cap can be found in any number of spots, which would cause me to rethink ever using the cap again after seeing where it lands some days. Additionally, she is most definitely the scruncher. Her mangled tube of toothpaste remains on the counter after every use, while the rest of us use ours and put them away. In light of this recent discovery, I am already planning on gifting her and her future husband with several hundreds of his and hers tubes of toothpaste as wedding presents.  Perhaps they will have an affinity for different types and flavors of toothpastes, and it might not ever be an issue, but I guarantee, if they share a tube it will get ugly in a hurry.

Contentment

There are times that I really struggle with being content, and simply admitting that truth makes me feel extremely shallow.  Most days I am okay with what we have, or perhaps more accurately, what we don't have, but every now and then that green-eyed monster rears his ugly head and I feel discontent.  Discontent, and perhaps slightly envious.

These feelings arise most often when I compare my life to the lives of others, strictly on a material basis.  Today, I took my eldest to a birthday party for one of her dance friend's, and her house was something akin to a German looking cottage nestled within a copse of trees.  My humble ranch home paled in comparison on nearly every level. What do these people do to afford homes like this? And then I want to pout internally and think that it "just isn't fair". At our house, it seems like there are endless tasks to complete and repairs to make.  It never even feels "company" ready anymore, let alone a grand showplace.

However, here is the thing, I have noticed that when we have more, we appreciate less. I see this with my kids every day.  Every gadget they own, becomes old hat, and they move on to wanting the next big thing.  They carry this sense of entitlement, thinking that if their friends have something, they should get it too.  My 10 yo. is under the misguided impression that she needs a cell phone already, because three of her friends at dance have phones. We mistakenly tell ourselves if we can just have this or just have that, THEN we will be happy.  And we are, for a day or maybe even two.

Truthfully, I don't know what has occurred in the lives of these people that live in these humongous gorgeous houses.  Did a parent die and leave them money?  If so, that isn't a road I want to travel at this point in my life.  Do both the husband and wife sacrifice time with their kids, so that they can work full-time and make the money needed to afford a house like that?  If so, that is not a road I am ready to travel yet either.  I am here to testify that my kids have grown in the blink of my eye, and before long they will be moving out of my house.  There is plenty of time for working as they grow older, but now, I still like being as involved as I can be. The bottom line is, I don't know what sacrifices they have made, or if they have had to make any at all.  All I can do, is do my best to be thankful for what I have at this moment in time.  It definitely isn't easy, but it becomes easier when I don't compare myself or my "things" with others. At a time like this, a mission trip to a third world country would be extremely handy to humble me.  I have been on them before, and I remember the poverty, but the farther away a person gets from the experience, the less forceful the disparity of circumstances feels.

The only thing I can do to tame the beast of discontentment is to really focus on the things that I am thankful for.  The things that I wouldn't exchange for the biggest of houses and the nicest of cars. It doesn't eliminate the feelings for all time, but it certainly goes a long way to squelching any long lasting feelings of discontentment.

Nostalgia

I am still waiting on the arrival of one of my Mother's Day gifts. Last time I checked it had cleared our local post office, but who knows how many more days it will take to get from there to my house. It is Season 3 of...wait for it...

Scarecrow and Mrs. King. I KNOW you are all jealous, just get it out of your systems now and go order yourself a copy. My 1980's older man crush was most definitively Bruce Boxleitner, a good looking dangerous spy, what is not to love about that?  I have to admit, that while the show in 1983 seemed very cutting edge, it is kind of hilarious to watch in the 21st century.  The repeated use of pay phones and walkie talkies the size of bricks, is pretty funny, but the stuntmen stand-ins are just awful.  A lot of bad wigs made their debut on that show, and are the main telltale signs that a stuntman is in the scene; however, one of the stuntmen for Bruce is also shorter than he is, so he sticks out because of that. I am fairly certain these shows were never meant to be viewed on large high definition televisions.  

Anyway, I have been re-watching the first two seasons in prep for the arrival of Season 3, and my husband and kids have caught a few of the episodes with me. I have to say that my kids think it is "totally cool" to watch Scarecrow and Mrs. King with me as a special treat.  They are after all, homeschooled, so their definition of "cool" might be slightly skewed. These shows aren't completely kid-friendly, as there is some amount of violence and the occasional use of the word d@*%,  but they are pretty tame compared to a lot of shows that air today. I love how my youngest will walk in the room and ask if I am watching an "inappropriate episode" or an "adult show" that always makes me feel like I am watching rated X movies or something. My husband, he particularly enjoys watching the shoot out scenes.  The bullets always make a high pitched "pew" sound. Always. No matter what they hit or what type of weapon they are shooting.  He will stick around long enough to mock the sound, imitating it in unison with the show. "Pew" "Pew". Yes, sometimes he acts like an 8 year old. 

But despite his mocking of my show, he knows I love it, and that is why he ordered it for me as a present.  Never mind that I could have had it on time if he had just shopped at Target.  It IS the thought that counts in this instant.  He is giving me a gift that will let me relish in a little bit of childhood nostalgia, and you can't put a price on that. And I really like it when he sits down to watch it with me, even if he spends part of the time guffawing. 

A Knock At The Door

Tonight, someone knocked on our door at 10:45 p.m. We are not the type of family that has visitors at that hour, and though my husband and I were still up and about, the knock alarmed me. You see, last year, both of my grandmothers passed away, and my parents came to my home to tell me, per my request. I didn't want a phone call with bad news. However, I did not weigh out the implications of ill-timed knocks at the door either. The first time, I was awakened at 2:00 a.m., and the second time, it was slightly before 8:00 a.m.  Not typical times to expect a knock, so given the history, when I heard the knock tonight, I immediately freaked out. My husband was in the office at the other end of our house, and I yelled for him in a slightly hysterical voice.  Horrible thoughts were already running through my head, and I hadn't even made it out of our bedroom. Our children heard the commotion and our youngest had leaped to the same conclusion I had, and was already crying. The good news is, it turned out to be nothing.  A guy was lost and came to our door to figure out our address.  He was two houses off from the one he needed. Though immediately relieved, I was still struggling through the effects of a mild panic attack. It hit me like a freight train, and I realized, that in seconds I had leaped through several family members in my mind, that could have been "the one" that was gone. My husband, ever logical, broke it down for me after the man had left our door, and explained how it couldn't have been about this family member or that.  His rationale, though practical, didn't immediately expunge the panicky feelings. I wanted time to recover and regain my composure completely, but being a mom, I was forced to push my needs aside for the time being.  I had to comfort my children, and assure them that all really was well. They were looking to me, not my husband, because they had gone where I had gone mentally, and they knew I understood. All is well that ends well, and I am thankful that this was nothing more than a false alarm tonight.  My perspective has been forever altered about something as simple as a knock on my door though.

What A Difference 15 Years Makes!

I haven't been to the theme park near our home in probably 15 years.  However, I have been to Disney World several times, and I noticed some distinct differences between the two, that I wouldn't have thought would have been so apparent.

The first thing I noticed, was the way people dressed.  I can tell you the summer styles for the Midwest, and they aren't pretty.  Girls, of all ages and sizes,will be wearing SHORT shorts and cropped tops exposing plenty of their midriffs. Guys, will be wearing nipple bearing tank tops, and truly, I am not a fan of the look. I mean, they might as well not be wearing a shirt at all, as opposed to having a strip of fabric down their middle, narrow enough that both nipples peak out at you. Honestly, I never remember, in all of our trips to Disney World, people wearing such revealing clothing. It was eye opening and disturbing. The last time I went to our local theme park, I wasn't anybody's mother and probably viewed the world through different eyes, but today, seeing it through the eyes of a mom, I felt rather alarmed.  Teenage boys were literally leering at the girls. like they were choice cuts of meat.  I wanted to smack the suggestive grins off some of their faces, and they were YOUNG men.  15 or 16 at the most; very disheartening to see the men of tomorrow acting so disrespectfully.

The second thing I experienced during our evening of amusement was pain. We have quite a few kick-butt roller coasters at our park, and they really did kick my butt. During the first one, my ears popped, my neck was forced into an uncomfortable position, every jolt and twist, tossed me from side to side causing pain in my back, and I actually felt light-headed.  I love roller coasters, I always have, but this one was slight torture. Not wanting to be the wimp in our party, I agreed to two more roller coasters.  Neither of those seemed as devastating as the first, so either I had geared up, or the damage had already been done and I just didn't notice the pain as much.  I did feel my back cracking several times on different rides following that first one though. Aging. Gotta love it.

After one particular ride, my ten year old whispered to me, "Mom, the guy next to me started saying swear words." Again, that is something that you just don't really hear at Disney World. I am not sure why, but it really doesn't happen, which after today, I now appreciate quite a bit.  The absence of that kind of behavior isn't really noticeable until you have been in the presence of it.

On the flip side, Disney World seems to be overrun at times by extremely overweight people riding around on scooters.  At our theme park, there wasn't a scooter in sight. That is possibly because there aren't many rides that accomodate extremely large people.  I consider myself "average" in weight and a bit on the tall side, and I felt squished in a couple situations.  Usually at Disney, the scooters are fine once you get into the parks, the real pain, is when you are sharing transportation with a scooter bound guest.  Loading the bus takes an excessively long time, because the person driving the scooter, has little or no experience with maneuvering the scooter outside of Disney World. Each painful adjustment as they drive their scooters onto the buses makes even the sanest of people feel a wee bit crazy.

As we were departing from our time at the park tonight, we were accosted by a person encouraging us to "enter to win a BMW SUV or $50,000 in cash"! My husband looks at the peddler with a straight face and says, "I hate cash.  Cash is gross!"  She looked unamused, but myself and another family nearby thought his response was hilarious.  It also left her speechless.  What exactly does one say to that?

We did have a good time, hanging out as a family, and doing something new and fun together.  It was just glaringly apparent that Disney World has spoiled me, and that I am not as young anymore as I would love to think I am.

Finished

In a world focused on instant gratification, patience becomes a difficult characteristic to master. Factor in the unpleasant truth that I am not naturally gifted with patience, and I often feel like a ticking time bomb when I am forced to wait on something.  But, sometimes, things are worth the wait, even though when I am in the midst I wonder if they really are.

Over six months ago, I lost my last grandparent, my maternal grandma.  In the wake of her death, she left my handicapped aunt without a definitive future plan.  I was clear on what my grandma did not want for my aunt, but I wasn't sure how to achieve an acceptable alternative. I had no real legal authority in the situation, but I was driven to find a solution.  In some ways, it felt like the last thing I could do for my grandma, a last expression of my love for her. Does that mean, I didn't get frustrated with the details that we were left to wade through, with little or no preparation from her, prior to her death?  No.  There were times when I was very frustrated, wishing she had done things differently.  Learning that a whole world could have been available to my aunt that never was before, because my grandma did not want "help", which really just meant she did not take advantage of the services my aunt would have been entitled to long ago.  I cannot begin to speculate how many phone calls I made, meetings I attended, running that I did, to get my aunt approved for state aid.  My father and mother, filled out endless paperwork, attended to financial matters, and met repeatedly with lawyers, to assist me in my endeavors. There always seemed to be just one more hoop to jump through, one more paper to turn in, one more phone call to make. But this week we finished. It was surreal, that we had finally made it to our end goal.

On Tuesday, I moved my aunt, into her new home, with two other handicapped middle-aged women, and 24 hour care provided by an organization that assists handicapped individuals with living in the community. The small ranch home, had been gutted and completely remodeled in the last couple of months.  It is truly gorgeous inside. My aunt has her own bedroom, which was something that concerned my grandma about the old "group home" model, sharing bedrooms.  My husband and I moved all of her items, unpacked everything, and decorated her room the night before her arrival.  However, the next day, the day of the move was awful.  My handicapped aunt broke down no less than 20 times between leaving her old home, signing her lease, and arriving at her new home.  She walked in the house, sobbing, and threw her coat on the couch, announcing, "I hate living here!" I knew the move was going to be difficult, but I felt some level of frustration, that she wasn't even "trying".  I worked hard to let those feelings go in the moment.  She was not only dealing with a new living situation, but the reality of my grandmother's absence, was glaring at this point.  While she lived in my grandma's house with my uncle for the last several months, there was some level of being able to "pretend".  Pretending that nothing had changed. Pretending that my grandma could come back.  As long as she was in that house, surrounded by my grandma's things, she could imagine things were no different than ever.

I was disappointed though, human nature after all, wanting her to embrace the world of opportunities before her.  She was able to be with peers and not feel different. She could go on more outings than ever before, because the staff arranged events regularly and make sure she got there.  A whole new world was at her fingertips, and she was declaring it horrible, before even giving it a chance.  Deflated, my mom and I left her behind, tantrum in full force. I felt badly for leaving without saying goodbye, but it was one of those moments where it just would have made things worse.  The next 24 hours, I fretted, wondering how she was managing, or more importantly how the staff and her roommates were dealing with the wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer, and I called the house to check in with the staff, but not with her. I didn't want to start the tears again by letting her know I was on the phone.  The report I got from the staff person was a comforting one.  She had done remarkably well.  After we had left the previous day, she cried about 5 more minutes, and then joined them for dinner. No more tears the rest of the night.  In fact, none the next day either.  I felt slightly cheated, but my relief regarding the report outweighed that fleeting emotion.  Does this mean I think she won't cry or throw a tantrum any time in the near future about wanting to come home?  In a word, no. She will most likely have a few more instances of breaking down as she continues to adjust, but I am filled with hope because I know she really can do it.  I suspect over time, she really will learn to love it. So, it is with that knowledge that I have completed my goal, and I am thankful that she is in good hands.

This last 6 months has been physically and mentally draining.  I hit a wall this week and felt completely and utterly drained after the hustle and bustle of the move. But now, I feel like I can step back in good conscience and relax, for the first time in a LONG time.  I hope this feeling lasts for a bit.  I need some calm and some plain old dullness for quite awhile.

We Call Him "Silver Foot"

My dog officially has an Indian name, Silver Foot.  How you might ask, did he come about this name?  Friday, my furry boy, was scratching his ear, and his toenail got caught tangled in his hair.  He whimpered, and I noticed his predicament, and then I realized what truly awful parents we were when I noted the length of his toenails.  My husband was going to be working from home that morning while we had new phone service and internet installed, and I casually said, "If you find time on your hands when they take the internet down, maybe you could cut his toenails?" I did not consider this an outlandish request, but I soon regretted ever mentioning it. About an hour and a half into my work day I get an accusatory phone call from my husband. "This is your fault!"  If something goes wrong, it is always nice to have a fall guy, so I asked resignedly, "What exactly is my fault?" He cut the dog's toenail too short, and it was bleeding profusely.  "It is squirting blood! What should I do?" Hmm, that was a tough one. "I don't know, bandage it?"  Geesh! He kept recounting the sheer amount of blood the dog was losing, and I started to get concerned.  I also wondered why he was asking me what to do when he knows I did not go to veterinary school.  I suggested he call the vet, and ask advice from a professional.  Meanwhile, I guess I should explain it was my fault, because I asked him to cut the toenails when I was not at home.  As if my presence would have prevented him over clipping the nail. I wish my mere presence had magical powers like that.

Later, I received another call from him saying that he was going to "try" and leave the dog alone to go to work.  I became more concerned.  Usually my husband isn't nearly as squeamish about injuries and illnesses as I am, so the fact that he was freaking out about the dog raised some red flags.  My calm was starting to go a little.  "Do you think he shouldn't be left alone?" I asked. He hesitated and then assured me the dog "should" be fine.  Good grief. All of these inferences of possible danger were making me crazy.  I tried to remain focused for the last hour of work, and not think about finding a half dead dog on the floor when I arrived home. Now I was starting to blame myself for suggesting the clipping too.

To my relief, when I did get home, my little fella greeted me happily.  Apparently, he was over the toenail incident, except for the giant silver duct tape bandage covering his paw and half his leg.  He limped on it, no doubt because it was a strange feeling more than having actual pain.  When I surveyed my kitchen floor, the room where the dog had been contained after his injury, I felt some pain myself, right in the butt. Seriously, the whole floor was smeared with dog blood.  It appeared that SOMEONE had poorly attempted to clean it, or just spread it around even more, I am not sure which.  It should be said here, that my husband should never attempt to kill anyone, because he would never leave the crime scene clean. Ugh. Just what I wanted to come home too.  Not to mention, I was also in charge of removing the duct tape bandage and seeing if the bleeding had stopped. Yes, the duct tape bandage that had been attached to part of the hair on his furry little leg.  Grrr. It was my turn to call him, exasperated.  How was I supposed to get the duct tape off without pulling out his leg hair.  Dogs shouldn't have smooth legs! My husband's helpful response was, "Just cut it off." Grumbling I was left to surgically remove the bandage.  Thankfully, once I got it off, I noted the bleeding had mostly stopped, but being a dog, he wanted to lick his wound repeatedly.  So I covered his foot with a paper towel, and more carefully (i.e did not adhere it to his fur) covered it with duct tape.  After a day, Silver Foot, had adjusted to his bandaged paw and his new name, and he seemed no worse for wear.

What lesson did I learn from this?  Several actually. The most important is, to have my dog's nails professionally trimmed from this point forward. Two, if my husband ever needed to make a living by cleaning, he would most certainly starve to death (actually I have known this for quite awhile, it was just reaffirmed). And three, when my husband calls to tell me blood is squirting everywhere...he is not exaggerating.