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It's been a busy, crazy week, as per usual, but I have to report on our newest little family member, Miss Molly Brown. She went from being this timid, shy little thing to an UP. IN. YOUR. FACE. ALL. THE. TIME. PLAY. WITH. ME. OR. I'LL. SMACK. YOU. WITH. MY. BIG. GIANT. PAW. puppy doggie. She's awesome. We had a small incident where she scratched a hole in the carpet in our living room this morning...I suppose she was bored and lonely for the couple of hours she was alone at home while Jon and I were at school. She would definitely benefit from being crate trained, but money is a bit tight at the moment so we can't go out and buy a crate right this second. Either way, the little hole was hardly a big deal and the carpet is a cheap $40 area rug from Home Depot and has more than seen its days. But, other than that, and the fact that when she wakes up at 6 a.m. wanting to go outside, she thinks that because she is AWAKE, so should everyone else. She will then do everything in her power to try to wake you up. Twice this week I was greeted in the morning with a big giant paw-smack to the face, followed with some big slobbery puppy kisses...or if she doesn't kiss you, she sticks her big wet nose right up in your face. If she can't wake me up, then she goes to the other side and tries to hit up Daddy. If that doesn't work, she'll get up on the bed, and usually by then one or both of the kids are in bed with us, so she'll try to get up and start licking them awake.
It was endearing the first couple days...now it's rather annoying. But she's cute and we're already head over heels in love with our pupster, so we'll take it and anything else she has to bring along for the ride. She's a puppy, so these behaviors are to be expected. She's made AMAZING strides in the last week...like learning to not be so shy around grown-ups, learning to walk very nicely on a leash...and she hasn't had an accident in the house since Sunday.
She's really coming along. I'd like to get her into an obedience class soon. I think that would really help with some of the troublesome puppy behaviors, like the pawing and the 'mouthing' (when they play and like to nip or bite or mouth you...same way they'd play with other dogs because they don't realize we're not dogs yet...), and learning other good puppy manners.
The kids adore her. Jon was a little pissed today that he dropped part of his roll and because he didn't pick it back up right away, Molly ate it. Then when I commanded her to drop it and she complied, he exclaimed "Oh noooo!!! It's ALLL WET!!!" I think he really expected to be able to eat it. Crazy kid...
While my sinuses have decided to basically shut down, making me a stuffy, headachy, miserable mess, Miss Molly is doing great. She has to be the sweetest, most loveable dog I have ever met. Her favorite place to sit is on my shoulders. Yes. Shoulders. She curls her little body around my neck and shoulders whenever I sit down on the chaise lounge in our living room, and snuggles her snout into my neck. I'd take a picture of it, but obviously that's not logistically possible when you have a puppy wrapped around your head.
She's been a wonderful diversion during an otherwise miserable time. The kids are wild about her and she thinks the same of them. The one thing that concerned me yesterday was that she didn't seem to have that puppy exuberance/energy that you often see in dogs her age. She does have some considerable anxiety and shyness, so that could be overshadowing things somewhat. She sleeps quite a bit...I keep forgetting that she is still pretty young, she may just need that much sleep. However, we've noticed she gets really rambunctious and playful at, like, 11 p.m., just when we're all ready to go to sleep. She does settle down eventually, but we both think it's comical that she wants to play at that hour.
She had her first accident in the house last night, and that was my fault. In the wee hours of the morning, she started licking my hands, wiggling around like she wanted to play and trying to get up on the bed. I told her to go lay down in her bed, which we bring up to our room each night, and she complied, and I went back to sleep. I woke up around 5:30 and I could smell that she had pooped somewhere in the house. Sure enough, she had, right on the living room carpet. Poor doggie. She was obviously trying to wake me up to go out and I thought she was playing. Now we know better...
I'm home tonight from work with either (a) a miserable head cold or (b) a sinus infection in its early stages. I was feeling fine for a little bit there while the Advil was working, but now not so much. :(
But that's not the news...this...this is the NEWS:
Her name is Molly, formerly known as Midgie. She's a four-month old German Shepherd/Lab mix, and the newest member of our Clan.
She came to be yesterday after a brief perusal of the local Craigslist pets section, and her ad just screamed "rescue me". Long story short, she, along with her mom and dad and their human parents, lost their home to a fire. A kind friend (the lady who placed the craigslist ad) offered to take on the three doggies until the humans were able to get themselves settled. Unfortunately they had to relocate far away, and getting the dogs would be very costly, so she asked if the woman could find them good homes. The kind woman wanted to keep them all, but her landlord wouldn't allow more than one dog, so she kept the male, her neighbor took the one female (Molly's momma) and this little peanut was put up on Craigslist along with her sad little story. And I fell for her the moment I saw her picture -- hook, line and sinker. I am ashamed to admit I didn't even consult Shawn...I just emailed the lady and said in so many words, "I'LL TAKE HER!" Shawn was NOT thrilled, but it only took him about 2.7 seconds to fall in love with her tonight when he met her. The kids...they fell in love with her immediately. They've been begging us for a dog forever, so obviously they are over the moon with our new little four-legged addition.
Just look at this face: how could you NOT fall in love with this face???
"Mols" is very very thin, and we're going to have some work ahead to beef her up a bit. I fear she may have to be dewormed, and she's not spayed, so we will be taking her to the vet as soon as possible. I bathed her and noticed some fleas floating around in the bath, so she's got some flea issues also. But all that I can easily overlook because she's the most lovable little thing. I fear there must've been some mistreatment along the way, because she cowers frequently and is scared meeting new people. She's very very submissive, and that makes me so sad for her. She doesn't have much confidence at all, poor thing. I'm hoping with some time and lots of love, she'll come around. The minute you sit down on the floor and pat your leg, she's right there, trying to ball herself and her 75 inches of legs, paws and snout in your lap.
I just love her floppy ears and that dark shepherd muzzle. She has the shepherd hind legs and looks so regal when she stands to look out our front door. She reminds me a lot of Max, our family's German Shepherd, who died from heartworm when we were all really small. We all loved that dog to pieces, and if her temperament is anything remotely like Max's, we're all in for a very special relationship with this sweet creature.
Today is my Dad's 60th Birthday.
I only started this blog right around the time he was released from prison, and I don't think I've given him the airtime he's deserved. So here's a little of the backstory--he made a lot of really bad mistakes back in 1980. Bad, bad mistakes. I won't rehash details here, but he ended up serving 26 years for second degree murder. He was released in December 2006.
I've always been close with my Dad, minus the few years in my late teens when he and I were estranged (teen angst). Despite his sins, he's been a huge source of support during some really difficult times right after my mom was killed, setting aside his own grief about the situation (they were divorced at the time of her murder, but they had a good friendship despite the circumstances ending their marriage).
So today he's 60. And I couldn't be more proud of the man had he single-handedly cured cancer.
In the almost two years since he's released, he's obtained a job, has a safe, beautiful home with my Grandmother and my mentally handicapped Aunt, he helps my grandma with the bills and taxes, does all the house and yard maintenance, goes to church regularly, has obtained a good credit history, has health insurance (although we've been on his arse to make a doctor's appointment, b/c he hasn't been YET), life insurance, etc. Not too shabby for a convicted felon, eh?
My Dad makes $8.50 an hour changing tires and doing repairs on cars, tractors, huge trucks, farm equipment, at a tire center that's part of a big farm co-op in the little community he lives in...he performs some serious manual labor--quite laborious for one of 60, and the job is rough on his old bod. But he works hard, doesn't complain one bit, and he saves his pennies. He even sent Katie $100 for back-to-school supplies, bless his heart. I worried so much FOR YEARS about the prospects for his life when he was released, and I had a lot of fears about how he would be perceived by the general public. I thought it would take months, if not years, for him to be able to find a job and do all the things that he had been planning to do with his life after his release. Not many convicts can be released from prison after serving a 26 year sentence on a Thursday, then go to work on a Monday. He's been very blessed to have the support of many of our family and friends who have been there to help out along the way. He doesn't hide his history, and yet he has the respect of so many in that little community where they live. My kids both adore him; Katie even cries "I want my Grandpa!" when she's upset with her Dad and me. It's sweet.
Today when I asked what he was up to, he said he had taken the day off to take my Grandma and my Aunt to doctor's appointments and they were going to go celebrate with some Mexican food later on. I knew he was saving up his money to buy his own truck at some point, and with much joy he informed me that he found a used truck in great condition with really low mileage, and that he had saved up a huge chunk of money to put down on it, and was going to finance the remainder on a 2-year note. I just beamed for him. He's had use of my grandmother's car since his release, but he's been longing for his own wheels for awhile, and now he's getting there. I'm just so proud of him. I know, I keep saying that, but there's just no other way to say it!
My dad has taught me many things, but I suppose the greatest lesson I've learned with him is how to not judge a person by their past or their transgressions. People, with the right kind of love and support, are capable of change. I'm thankful to have learned that lesson from him.
Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you.
Come on, you know you have one in your inbox...or you might even be one. The chronic email forwarder. And what is a chronic email forwarder? He/she is that one person (or in my case, two or three persons) who simply cannot prevent themselves from sending that "pass this on to 10 people or die a horrible death" email to your entire contact list.
I've got it particularly bad, actually. Well, not myself--I am not a forwarder. I rarely forward anything...unless it is really really funny. What happens in my inbox is this: Chronic Forwarder A will send me one, or sometimes up to SIX or more, emails, and it just so happens Chronic Forwarder B is also in Chronic Forwarder A's list of contacts. So then, either mere hours or days later, I get THE EXACT SAME EMAIL....AGAIN.
By now I should have the absolute worst luck in the world, or my soul is going to burn in hell for all eternity for not forwarding the religous emails. And the good Catholic girl in me (well, what's left of her, anyway) always feels just the slightest bit guity for clicking delete instead of forward.
And being that good Catholic girl that I am pretend to be, I don't have the cajones to say "STOP SENDING ME THIS SHIT!" to the culprits...I had thought by failing to reply oh, 6,000,000 times one would get the hint, but that's obviously not the case. Well, if they're reading this...perhaps now they know. And, I still love ya...still think you're awesome, but please, give my poor inbox a break.
Be sure to send this along to 10 of your friends or I will come over and fart on you.
Well, we're off.
Katie started first grade today, and Jon began his second year of preschool (2 mornings a week). Next year, he'll go to our district's pre-k program. I also started back...just more classes for the paralegal certificate (and to keep my school loans at bay for a little longer...).
So of course we have to have pics:
Miss Katie, bedecked in her Hannah Montana gear...shoes, shirt, pants...all HM...
Then we have The Boy, decked out in Diego
More in the Library if you care to take a peek.
So then there was the drama...first Katie's bus forgot to pick her and 8 other students up...so she was like 10 minutes late, which made Jonathan and I very late for school also. I expected Jon to have a hard time transitioning, but he has the same teachers as last year, so he was like "ok, see ya." and then I snapped a few pics and hurried to my first class. First class was great -- Business Law -- same great prof who has taught all my other paralegal courses, so I'm really jazzed about that.
Since the hubby didn't think it would be wise for me to leave my only working camera, my D300, in the car, I assured him I would bring it to class with me where it would be safe and sound. Well, it would have been, had I not left it in my first class, and then didn't REALIZE I left it until I was getting in my car after my second class. I literally RAN back into the building to see if it was still there. Walked into the classroom...it wasn't. Walked outside into the hall, felt like I was going to throw up, then I saw my professor...nearly tackled her to ask if anyone had turned in a gray bag and she said no, no one hadn't, but I should go check in the classroom---then she pointed to the classroom NEXT TO the classroom I had checked first. DOLT.
So I run in there....thank THE LORD. It's there. Right where I left it, totally unharmed. I almost took it out of the bag and kissed it.
I wouldn't even know how to begin to tell my husband "hey honey, I need another $2,500 bucks for a new camera." He would probably have a stroke. Oy ve. I should've strapped the damn thing around my head.
But alls well that ends well, or so they say. Now I'm just counting the minutes until the Girl gets off the bus. I miss her so much. I couldn't wait for them to go back, and now here I am missing her. Jon is missing her too...he's asked me no less than 5 times if it is time to go get Katie off the bus. Bless his heart. Of course, the minute she walks in the door they'll be going at it like two white trash ho's on Jerry Springer. Good times.
For you reading pleasure, I present a plethora of recent comical verbiage courtesy of Katie and Jon:
Katie: "I don't like the Olivers."
(this she says as she picks off the black olives her Daddy has so lovingly put on our plate-o-family-nachos (quickly becoming a weekly family tradition).
Katie: "Hey, Mom, can I have some ice cream and some crack?"
Me: (sputtering) WHAT?
Katie: "Yeah, some of that mint chocolate chip ice cream and that crack stuff on it."
Me: (again...) WHAT??? What CRACK?"
Katie: (getting frustrated by my obvious lack of comprehension and ability to read minds) "MOM! YOU KNOW, THAT CHOCOLATE CRACK STUFF THAT YOU PUT ON ICE CREAM? YOU PUT IT ON AND IT GETS HARD?"
Me: (laughing) "OHHH!!! You mean 'Magic Shell'?"
Katie: "YES!!! That stuff!!!"
Granted, we had been having many discussions of late about drugs, but I don't think I got to the crack part of the convo yet. We were just helping her wrap her brain about what drugs are and why they aren't good. We hadn't yet got into specifics so I was really taken aback by her 'crack' reference!
And now for one from the Boy.
Picture this scene. Jon has just recently woken up and has parked himself on the couch in his nightshirt, undies and chocolate milk, watching Noggin (his morning ritual). I'm turned away from him working on the computer, so I don't see that the Boy is well, ahem, dillydallying with his peepee. But his Dad walks in the living room and says "Jon, stop playing with yourself." To which Jon replied "I can play with it whenever I want to."
It was so deadpan, I just lost it. Shawn turned around and didn't say a word, he just walked out the room. It took me about 15 minutes to catch my breath from laughing so hard. I know, I know...bad mommy...but these things...well, you have a kid and try to keep a straight face when they say and do this stuff.
So it's time to change the profile blurb yet again...
The b-day was very nice...somewhat quiet and peaceful, minus the hours hubby and I spent glued to CNN eating up the coverage of Hurricane Gustav and the RNC. You'dve thought we were going to be quizzed on it at the end of the day. We did manage to extricate ourselves from the boob tube momentarily when hubby packed up the picnic basket and we loaded the kiddos in the mommy van for a trip to the park. It was nice. The kids played, I took some pictures (they sucked, unfortunately...damn full day sun), and we just hung out with the kids. It was a really nice day. Pops sent me a gift card to Macy's (woot!) and I got some beautiful cards from the hubby and kids. My bro and his wife called to wish me well, and my sister sent me a hilarous e-card (she's now moved to Hawaii...sniff sniff. I'm sad). Couldn't ask for a nicer birthday. Well, except if I were turning 25 instead of 35. That would be sweet.
So what do I want in this here 35th year? Well, first and foremost, I would like -- well NEED, rather, to start paying more attention to my health. I've neglected myself yet again and the result is some weight gain and feeling like total dog poop as of late. In the coming weeks I plan on detoxing off white sugar and carbs and following a diet similar to the Zone diet. Not to the letter, because that's just not how I roll, but pretty much so, yeah. And drinking more water, and getting more sleep, getting more exercise and taking more time for myself instead of focusing outward so much. My family and friends are the most important things in my life, and I know that I can't do all for them if I don't take care of me.
So that'll be my focus this year. Take care of me so I can be here for them. Fair enough.
One of my gal-pals from my Mommy board turned me on to this site: http://www.yearbookyourself.com
We're just having too much fun!
This one here...I look just like my mother! Hi, my name is Myrtle! How y'all doin?
I look like one of the Manson girls in this one...well, before they started following him, stopped bathing regularly and hacking people up and writing on the walls with their blood...
Fight the power! Not...I can't rock the fro...
STEP AWAYYYYY FROM THE AQUA NET!!!
It's been awhile since the blogosphere has been graced with a trite update of the goings-on of my chillruns. As always, they are the center of my universe, and why shouldn't all their energy and glory infiltrate yours, too? I like to spread the chaos, ya know. It's what good parents do.
Katie is all of six, and exclaimed the other day "I hate my life."
Before I go any further, should mention this comment was uttered in disappointment that one of her little friends couldn't come over to play. But, alas, it still is a worrisome comment, even if made in utterance over a disappointment. It got me all freaked, thinking oh my gosh, is she suicidal? Does she need drugs? I obviously suck as a parent if she hates her life. And then I smacked myself in the head with all my ridiculosity.
But this is what we do as parents...we are some how programmed to think that our parenting is somehow proportional to our children's happiness. Happy kid = good parent. Not so. Not so not so not so.
It's taken me years to not automatically think that if my kid is pissed off at the world, it is somehow my fault and I suck as a parent because I can't make him or her happy. I've spent years trying to figure out how to make my children happy, and the truth of the situation is that it is not possible. Even if you spent your days giving in to every whim, letting them eat candy and soda for breakfast, they'd still find a way to hate you. Or, conversely, if you provided healthy meals and all sorts of wonderful, enriching, structured activities, they'd still resent you for not letting them have junk and have free time to themselves.
You damned if you do, damned if you don't, I say.
So what's a parent to do? I honestly don't have that answer, as I'm still looking for the manual that supposedly came with my two knuckleheads. I'm learning that it's about balance...just like everything else, you have to find a balance between the good and the bad. It's somewhat liberating to be able to state for the world you know what, it's not my job to make them happy. It never was. It's my job to make sure that they are loved and cared for and fed and nurtured. It's my job to lead by example and have high expectations. It's my job to teach them right from wrong. No where does it say "it's your job to make the happy."
Think about it...did your parents ever make YOU happy?
Yeah, I thought so.
