A Place of Zen

A week ago, one of the dogs would step on my abdomen at 5:15 or 5:27 or 6:02 so we'd all have to pee.

I'd find my socks, fumble for chocolate in the pantry, and tear at any obliques left in me as I slid the stuck sliding glass door across some invisible tar.

Doing an about face, I'd bump into two morning-hair kids using dolphin trills to communicate their desperate plea for Waffles: heated up, one plain, the other with butter, syrup, cut-up please.

Ohmyhell.  Where is my bed.  Where is my brain.  Where is my husband?

Gone.  All three of them.  Rooster early, gone, gone, gone.  They gawn.

Since the morning starts off in such a reactive haze, the day has no choice but to follow suit.  It's maybe 6:30am before I am typically shoving balls of tissues in my ears and texting my husband - Hi Honey Good Day? When is ETA? - like it is 4:30 in the afternoon.  Dude probably just barely got to the front gate at Quantico himself.

Something had to change.

I knew I needed to take control of my mind and the morning before the day had me pinging off the sides of the house like a rejected skeeball.

That's when I started excusing myself from the dogs, the children, the coffee mug first thing in the morning.  For twenty minutes I park myself in my son's room, in front of his window.  If I'm early enough there is a warm circle of sunrise coming through his (dog nose print-y) window.  I sit in front of it breathing out slowly.  Only sometimes - when I'm lucky - does Sadie join me.  It reminds me of our quiet time at the parks together before children.

For a few days, I concentrated on single words:  strong, alert, good, patient, kind, and steady.  I'd repeat them over and over again in my mind while exhaling loudly and slowly.  At first, my thoughts drifted and caught every noise in the house:  TV (Cartoon Network?), kid feet in the kitchen (No, not the Peeps again.), water bowl (Needs refilling?), heater blowing (Isn't it April?), second hand ticking (Are my twenty minutes up yet?). 

By day four, however, I am able to exhale loudly for only three minutes before reaching the calm place.  Once in that sweet spot of not being stuck on any one thought, I focus on the soft orange glow coming through the window.  Like a High Priestess, those golden rays stretch outward like a blessing to those hungry for light and vitamin D.  I stay in a thoughtless float as long as possible.

Abby is crying.  Grayson has awakened her from a sound sleep.  She almost missed Tom & Jerry. Sparrow is lapping up all the water remaining in her bowl.  My cell phone is ringing.  We need toilet paper and tissues.  Maybe I'll do tacos tonight for dinner. 

The sun is high, my face feels full from warmth, and I stand up, only one foot asleep this time.

Smiling, Sadie and I get up from our Place of Zen and I kiss the top of her soft blonde head.  We are ready for this day and all the beautiful chaos it will bring to us. 

 

And when it gets out of hand, I will join her on the couch for a breather.

Birthdays, Reunions & Break-Ins

Grab your slippers and a bookmark, this one's a doozy.

We had a weekend built around Caped Crusaders.

 

Although today is Grayson's official 6th birthday, we celebrated it on Saturday afternoon.

 (Those are Tshirt capes.  I made them!  They all seemed to like them except Grayson.  He didn't wear his for one minute.  Stupid Mom with her stupidPinterest.)

 

 Once the moonbounce was set up and the tables decorated, we had two well coiffed solicitors mosey up the driveway to try to sell me magazines and children's bibles.

 

These men were trying to pass themselves off as high school boys working hard to make money for college.  Between their poorly covered up neck tattoos and their slick (well rehearsed) talking, I knew right away they were not as interested in selling Highlights as they were surveying our living situation and the contents of our garage.

One of the men knelt down to talk to Abby and Sparrow.  Sparrow growled.  I let her.

"Be careful, we just got her.  She's unpredictable," my instincts warned..

Handsome solicitor continued to try winning over Sparrow as his eyes darted from her to Andy's mountain bike.  Second stranger smiled brightly while keeping his shoulders pointed toward the street.  Both men gave away their day jobs with every fiber of their body language. I respectfully declined their advances by letting them know we are a military family (guns in the house, go away now before I go get one) who does not take kindly to strangers (sick him, Sparrow).

They scampered down the driveway without much fuss and wished my superhero a Happy Birthday.

The day went on beautifully as seven of Grayson's buddies sweat themselves silly before pounding the tar out of a Batman pinata.

 (Strategically located.  Just kidding.  We moved Batman.)

We ate hot pizza,

 

delicious superhero cake (compliments of my sis-in-law, isn't it awesome?),

 

and enjoyed a most excellent time with our friends.

 

Old friends and new friends. 

 (Sweaty haired me with Baby D and his supermodel mama.)

 

 (This is the same baby D I helped fake doula into the world a few weeks ago.  Weeks old and smiling already.  Isn't he moon beams?)

The night came upon me quickly.  My 20th high school reunion was happening in a couple of hours.  I had successfully dodged the actual event but happily accepted an invitation to have a pre-reunion dinner with some friends I haven't seen since graduation day back in 1874.

One problem.  I just threw a birthday party.  Going out anywhere, much less trying to look nice meant a miracle needed to take place to transform my Frantic-mom-ragdoll-hair look to Of-course-I-always-wear-this-push-up-bra evening look.

I needed a shower, smelling salts, and some Spanx.

Alas, I only had mere 30 minutes to pull my sh*t together and get myself out of the door and into a Bethesda parking garage.  In Andy's truck because mine (along with my GPS!) was in the shop.  So there I was without a GPS, scribbled directions on a Post-It note in one hand and handling the very same truck I once reversed onto a fire hydrant in the other.  A recipe for success if ever there was one.  At least I had on something understated and safe.

 

Understated as a disco ball.

Believe it or not, I only needed to circle East-West Highway twice before finding a garage.  For free, no less, score!

 (FYI:  Alvin the Chipmunk pumping a fist is never a cute look.)

I found one friend sitting with her husband and sat down gawkwardly across from them.  Within seconds I shed my coat and far too many intimate details of my life. Panicky oversharing:  it's a gift.

Friend One sweetly helped me calm the freak down by handing over a menu while the rest of our party showed up.

First K, then R, then M!  I could practically see the years flash before my eyes as we scrambled for each other and hugged tightly singing and humming how good it was to "...finally see you again."

I'm pretty sure I even cupped R and M's face in my hand like I was their great Aunt Matilde so proud of the beautiful ladies they have become.

But I am.  So very proud of the beautiful ladies they have become.  Each one is gorgeous, wip-smart, and hugely successful in their own right.

I was the only SAHM in the bunch and it made me both embarrassed and exotic.  Some ladies who work full time outside of the home looked at me longingly while others gave me that sideways eyeball, waiting for me to order a barrel of wine instead of only one glass. 

I ordered only one glass.

Conversation flowed easily and criss-crossed over a table of nachos, uneaten salads, and empty glasses.

As I was beginning to slip out of my shoes and really dig in to the night, L and S strolled through the door....SURPRISE!  I didn't know they were coming!  Joyous rapture, more childhood treasures dating as far back as Kindergarten.  We knew each other before training bras and JAM shorts.

Yes, I cried softly to myself and took a thousand million mental pictures of each of their faces:  M's soft waves around a palette of those gorgeous freckles I've missed so much over the years.  L's pretty smile and warm giggles that made me want to hyperspace back in time to when we would play together in her backyard making mud pies while our mothers sang country tunes in her kitchen.  There was S's silky black hair and her same kind, calm presence dating back to our monkey bar days .  K's quick sense of humor unmatched by boyfriends, husbands or BFFs.  R's sparkling eyes that show me she still loves me after all these years too.  We were all inside jokes and choke-y tears.

It could not have been a better mini reunion.

I felt so overwhelmed with gratitude and love for these girls women that at two points in the evening I had to talk myself out of passing out right onto the table.  As in vertigo, body tingles, and tunnel vision.  Maybe my one glass of wine should've been preceded by two glasses of water.

When it was time for my dear friends to walk to their main event, I felt heavy in the chest.  Why didn't I just buy the darn reunion ticket in time?  Why not spend even more time with these people I never get to see?  What about the other dear friends just around the corner?  What about more wine?

But my truth keeps me grounded.  I am no good in crowds.  Anxieties win every time and turn conversation into a staccato exchange of useless small talk.

I got what I came for.  Here, at this dark bar in Bethesda and its undercooked potato skins, I had the chance of a lifetime to hold several meaningful conversations with solidly awesome people of my past.  And it was good.  It was exactly what I had hoped for. 

Unwilling to let go without a scene, I held my arms wide and tortured each one (and their patient spouses) with yet another girl hug.  A goodbye hug.  An I love you hug.  A Please Know This Night Has Meant the World to Me hug.

Then I walked back to the Bethesda parking garage alone and filled with tears that wouldn't dare fall and ruin such a perfectly spectacular evening.

****************
(Bookmark goes here, come back after you check FB.)

The next morning Andy and I walked our dogs and our kids (in that order) around our neighborhood.  We saw three police officers parked in front of a neighbor's house.

Never a good sign.

One officer came over to us to let us know there had been a house break-in and the thieves got away with lots of things.

"Did you see or hear anything unusual last night?" the officer asked.

No we told him in new concern and fresh worry.

Then I remembered the handsome strangers from right before Grayson's party.  Could it have been them?  Is that why typically quiet Sparrow got snarly?

After hearing from a few neighbors, I think it is quite likely it was them.  They were definitely running a scam and up to no good.

I'm so very thankful for Sparrow who growled at them the second she could.

And I'm so very thankful I had the foresight to let her.

 After a weekend like this one?  Pass that barrel of wine, please.

Our Pretty Little Secret

Ok.

(Deep breath.) 

Where do I start?

I've been keeping something from you guys and it's been gnawing at my soul.  It's a good something.  Definitely not a baby something but a pretty little secret nonetheless.

Her name is Tillie.

 And we love her already.

About a month ago I was looking on Craigslist for musicians who might want to play crappy 90s love songs with me in their garage on dusty futons.

I didn't find any of those so I clickety clicked on over to the "Pets" section just for a look-see.

Yep.  I did that.  Felt like a giant neon WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU DOING sign was blinking hot red above my head but my husband didn't see it.  He was snoring.  Thankfully, so was Sadie.  Afterall, I was just looking. 

And reading this while sobbing into my nightshirt: 
 www.tillieandpuppies.blogspot.com

And filling out an application for Tillie an hour later here:  PetConnectRescue.org.

So now you know.

I feel lots better coming clean.  You deserve to know the truth.  Especially when she's such a pretty little truth, isn't she?

It was a long month, you guys.  It took weeks and weeks of email stalking to figure out a.) Lease  b.) Sadie c.) Husband but all ended well and here we sit, good friends with Easter eggs to find.

Tillie is a beautifully onyx wiggly girl made of head leans (hugs) and sweet puppy breath kisses.  She is a blessing for us and for Sadie who has come out from her bathtub to chase squirrels in our backyard on more than one occasion.

  

 

 

The incredible care Tillie received from her foster mom and volunteers through her harrowing birthing story and subsequent hip surgeries is evident in her sweet demeanor and kind eyes.

 

She trusts every person she comes across.  She barks and pulls at the leash to go toward every dog at the park.  Tillie is the most outgoing girl I've met in a while.  She and Sadie complement each other very well.

Pepper to Sadie's salt.

(Tillie has quite a lot of healing left to go but she gets around well for just being out of surgery a few weeks ago.  She won't ever be able to run her legs off like a typical lab.  Her hind legs are a bit wobbly and weaker compared to her front but she is getting stronger by the day.  Our stairs still intimidate her sometimes but Sadie is cool with owning the second floor of the house for now.  Tillie is a resilient and strong little force of will and a pleasure to love on and spoil rotten.)

I must say how proud I am of the way our Queen Sadie has handled a newcomer.  She makes no apologies for her alpha rank but she also shares space more willingly than I thought she might.  Sadie's chest is puffier and head held higher in reverence (to herself) but her tail is feathered up and her legs definitely prancy as she tries to keep up with the new three year old.

I think she's happy we have Tillie now too.

Tillie was mopey and obviously sad about missing her family that it broke my heart for the first two days.  We distracted her with playtime and hugs but there was no mistake she was confused and sad.  I felt like a world class dog nabber; the transitioning was palpable and quite painful for everyone.

 

By the weekend, however, things started to gel for all of us and Tillie seems more relaxed and less depressed, wouldn't you say?

What's your pretty little secret you've been keeping?

Do you need me to dog sit for you?


**************************************************************************

I just found this in my saved email box and had to share.  It's from me to my unsuspecting at work husband:

Honey?

Tillie needs a forever home.  She has had a rough life until now.  Go see her 
before you say no.

xoxoxox

http://tillieandpuppies.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2012-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&updated-max=2013-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&max-results=1 

And then this one:

 
Omgoodness, i want to meet her.  

What do u think?  

No more adopting baby talk ever, just Tippies and Tillie :)

Xoxoxox,

http://www.petconnectrescue.org/Adopt/adoptadog.html?action=detailℑ=20


Sent from my iPad

My St. Theresa

"There are dog people and there are those other unfortunate souls." - Author Unknown

For a couple of days, I've been under the weather.  To protect myself from public ridicule and my own self loathing I will not admit to you what kind of weather I've been under.  One clue is that I am currently looking into glasses.  Even though I still have 20/20 vision.
 
So despite what kind of thing has ailed me, I have had one stoic reminder that no matter how idiotic I am, I have a constant caring soul who watches over me.

Her name is Sadie.

 

Sadie doesn't pick favorites.  She is devoted to whomever needs her.  This is evidenced by her letting Abby ring tutus around her neck and apply pink mango blush to her ears.  And I do remember a certain canine fixture on Grayson's bed after his surgery in the summer.   

Knowing this, I can only come to understand I was the one who needed her the last two days.

 

She didn't leave my side to go play outside with the kids and Daddy who came home early.

She didn't flinch when the door chirped with her family happily bounding inside.

She didn't even get up from her spot on my bed when it was her dinner time.  Even though I could hear her stomach growling.

 

I shared my dinner with her and gently kissed the top of her sweet compassionate head in thanks.

If she were a people she'd be a nurse, a doctor, or a Mother Theresa.

But I'm so glad she's a Sadie instead.

P.S.  Please forgive the blurry pictures.  I couldn't see to focus well.  There, I said it.  I couldn't SEE.  HeyZeus, I need a good ophthalmologist referral in the DC area.  Also please note the silver gum wrappers under my bed.  Not until downloading these pics did I discover Grayson's hiding spot for my (very much stolen) gum.  Little Rat.  Wonder what else is under there.  Probably a city of candy wrappers or a small village of plastic Tic Tac containers.  I shudder to think.

Repeat

Last night I happened on the show, "Cloning Your Pet," and of course I could not look away.

The premise was simple.  Sad wealthy people paying to have the DNA of their beloved pet return to them by way of science.  Somewhere, I think it might have been Korea, scientists spliced, diced, and mixed up deceased dog genes in a lab until years later (ten years in one case!) some sweet surrogate female boxer dog gave birth to a Doberman Pinscher. In other words, not her genetic offspring but instead the serial code of Eccentric Rich American's Beloved Late Pet.

What the who?

Who the what?

This really happens now?!?!?!

Where do I sign up?

Forget university Kids, there's a chance I could have my Sweet Sadie back in my arms when she passes!

Sorry Honey,  you can't have the commuter car we have been saving up for because !hallelujah! we can someday have a puppy Sadie to generally never stop touching whenever she's within arm's reach.

(She's fine by the way, I'm just planning.)

Would you, could you?

(I could, I would, I would indeed.  Remake a Sadie if we had money.  Not with a fox, that would be mean.  Nor in a box, that would be unclean.)

The whole show was outrageous yet compelling.

Sixty minutes were spent watching owners wring their hands over their broken hearts in prayer (?) the cloning procedure worked this time.  It was heartbreaking to see the grief, the hope, the insanity, the overall boundless love these people had for their pets who had passed on.

But, I had to ask myself, is it right to synthesize an exact replica of a spirit who may not want to come back through the porthole of puppydom?

 

I don't know but let me tell you...

Only fifty THOUSAND dollars would be keeping me from doing it myself.