Thursday, November 27, 2008

Not just about the woes

What a shame that I don't really stop often to list my blessings, but instead usually list my woes? I am for sure not good at stopping to thank God for my blessings. How lame is it that I'll be sure to list my blessings here, like a million other bloggers, on Thanksgiving, so that I will know where to find it? Lame or not, here goes, in no particular order:

*A faithful and loving God that holds me close
*Family that love me no matter how crazy I am, and that I love no matter how crazy they make me
*Warm cat bodies that know when to throw all 22 pounds on my lap
*Cold puppy dog noses pressing into me, and warm puppy dog tongues that HAVE to lick every available part of my body
*A hovel that provides shelter, no matter how it looks on the outside
*A steady job that I love, even when I don't love my co-workers...although I love them today--we just had pancakes!
*Knowledge that I don't have to work...I can always adjust my bountiful lifestyle
*A hubby that's willing to throw our money out the window to help me usher in the official beginning of my third decade on Earth
*Friends that have surpassed the friendship level and are now extended family
*Sisters that learn of my desire, and find a way for it to come true (hence the whole adoption!)
*The men, woman, and even my Kiddos that fight for my right, and for all Americans' rights, to be free every day
*Comfort just in seeing a police or fire uniform and knowing that they're protecting my home and those I cherish
*Family traditions that begin with Thanksgiving dinner and run through the holidays

Actually, the list goes on and on...and I will try to remember to share the good, and not just the bad.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Call me Sarah

Apparently, "90210" isn't the only thing that's around to make me feel like high school should still be going on. Neither is the sudden reappearance of NKOTB. Nope, gather a group of women together to plan an event, and all Hades breaks loose.

We're hosting a convention next June. I'm supposed to be a co-chair...although for some bizarre reason there are three co-chairs. This is a little over the top to me. Anyway, the "head" co-chair (which, really, if there's a "co," doesn't that mean that we share the same duties?) really wants to be the main head honcho, and I've been happy to let her run. We had some meetings, and I told her back in September about the baby, and assured her that it wouldn't interfere with my responsibilities. I mean, I have Hubby, it's not like I'm a single mother that won't have anyone to watch the baby. There are just shy of 60 of us women in the group hosting the convention, and apparently, just because you leave high school, doesn't mean that you can leave the drama behind. Nope, it's obviously innate in us that we all try to be the most popular, the one with all the news, the center of attention, the first to spread gossip, and the MOST IMPORTANT.

Seriously, I am the baby of all the women in all the chapters. I turn 30 next week. I don't need to be any of the above. If I can be a mature, responsible human being, what the heck is wrong with the others?

Our chapter needs to be the MOST IMPORTANT. That means we've seriously over-extended ourselves as a chapter and are doing a million things for the convention. None of this was discussed with the chapter--one or two or in one case, five, ladies made the decision without involving the whole group. And now we're all stuck, at a time when we're our busiest trying to support our sister with brain cancer, fundraise for her and organize the largest local Adopt-A-Family project in the community. Plus, our chapter had another large responsibility to all the other chapters before the convention was ever even a twinkle in our eyes. And I don't get why we feel like we have to do it all ourselves. I also know that because we made a commitment, we need to follow through. And yet, our need to be the MOST IMPORTANT is interfering in our sisterhood. This is crap.

The co-chairs besides me have butt heads for a long time. I'm usually in the middle, and it was not getting any better. However, apparently, in an effort to be the center of attention, one of them has allegedly decided to tell others that she thinks I cannot or will not handle my duties as co-chair. And in the others' attempt to stop it before it becomes gossip, they told me. So I called her on it. I mean, let's get real, it's not the time to nit-pick or pussy-foot around. Either you said it or you didn't, and let's have it, and move on. This, too, is crap.

And then the other ladies have decided to get involved, and apparently are calling others, who are then calling me to see what the story is, if my caller id is any indication. I'm ignoring the messages for now. Isn't this business known as gossiping? I thought that sisterhood was bigger than gossip. This is major crap.

As if there isn't enough drama in my life, I'm apparently not able to have a life of my own unless I get it cleared by everyone. God forbid I try to finish the home study for the baby. And heaven help us all if I dare to take a week off for a vacation. Even worse, how dare I plan to attend the birth of my daughter? I should have waited for written permission from all 60 people to be sure that my personal life was approved to coincide with the convention plans.

The convention isn't even for another 7 months. I don't think the world will fall apart if I leave for a week (well, it's more like 2 because I'm being shipped off to training tomorrow for 3 days and then it's Thanksgiving). However, apparently my decision to leave town for training and then for vacation has pissed off some, allowed others to make decisions for me about me, and had others decide that I'm not really important enough to be involved in meetings that can't wait 10 blasted days.

My mother must have been wrong when she called me Sarah Bernhardt...I'm nowhere near dramatic enough...I think others are giving me a run for my money.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

The "Master's" Teacher

It is so incredibly hard to put into words just what it meant to have to decide if it was time to put down our oldest four-legged child.

Thor was the puppy that nobody wanted. Classic story--Hubby and I were getting married in a couple of months, and Hubby wanted a dog. I didn't like big dogs, was even a little afraid of big dogs, but agreed that rescuing animals from a shelter was something we could definitely do. I owed a house (the same hovel we're in today) with a big yard, and because of my love for my then soon-to-be husband, we went to the Animal Shelter in Podunk. I found the dog I wanted--he was small, part Heeler, and cute as a button. Hubby kept pointing to this already large puppy with HUGE paws that was distinctly part Rot. I asked Hubby again about the small button cute puppy, and Hubby just kept watching the large puppy. The shelter manager, a co-worker of mine, advised us that the large puppy had been there so long, that if he wasn't adopted, he would be put down on Monday. This was late Thursday afternoon.

So Friday a friend and I went to Wal-Mart, and as I had never had a dog, and didn't know what we really needed, we bought random crap (we did know to get a dog bowl, leash, collar, food), and on Friday afternoon, the large puppy came home with me. Hubby had to leave town, but the puppy wasn't named. The puppy had already had multiple messes, and I have a thing for animals named after mythology, but I couldn't remember the name of the god of rain. Jokingly, I suggested Thor, god of thunder, because that usually was followed by rain. Hubby liked it, and thus Thor was named.

Thor grew to be an 80 pound dog, and was determined to be part Rot, part Doberman, and part German Shepard. Thor insisted on taking what we thought was forever to be housebroken...of course, he really just needed to be trained properly. Thor taught us all about patience.

Thor had to sleep so that one of us was within sight. The kitchen, downstairs, was linoleum, and therefore it was okay if he piddled there--not on my hardwood floors elsewhere. So many a night we spent taking turns sleeping on the couch so that Thor could see us. This was where I learned that loving something sometimes means stepping out of my comfort zone, and where Hubby learned that it was okay to stand up to his parents (we weren't married, and the thought of him sleeping at my house--when I was at work even--was a horrid thought). Later Thor would insist on sharing my twin-sized bed with me, and I learned that there's always room for those we love.

When the town caught on fire, Thor and the crew moved into my parents' house with me. Thor had a knack for believing that he was the one in charge, and that meant that Thor climbed into the driver's seat any chance he got. As the town was evacuating, and I raced from work to be sure my parents and animals were leaving safely, I'll never forget the look on my father's face as Thor sat in the driver's seat, waiting to take them out of the flames. Thor would then be transferred to Hubby, and Hubby's family, to wait for permission to return home. Hubby's father took a liking to Thor, and took Thor running. This is where I learned that my father-in-law had greater depths than I once thought.

I brought home a kitten, and Thor studious watched the cat carry the kitten, too little to go up and down stairs on his own, in her mouth. Thor proceeded to pick up the kitten in his mouth to transport the kitten around, scaring the bejeezers out of me. This is where I was reminded that it doesn't matter what we are--the need to assist and protect is in every one of God's creatures.

Thor loved to explore and would jump our four foot (five feet in some areas) fence in the backyard. Thor would wander the neighborhood, and all of the neighbors knew Thor. A good reminder that we should all know our neighbors. Once, while jumping the fence, Thor tore his ACL or a tendon or something in his knee. Thor was not even 3 years old, and we had to take him to an orthopedic surgeon for dogs. I spent a month taking Thor every week for a check up, and we spent a fortune for his surgery. I learned that money is nothing more than paper, life--and the quality of life--cannot have a price tag put on it.

Thor was fabulous with small children. He let children pull on his tail, his ears, etc. Children could climb on Thor, and Thor wouldn't even flinch. Thor was always careful about his kisses--Thor wasn't a licker. A lick from Thor was truly a kiss, a rare and precious experience. Thor had no trouble kissing children...a lesson that children should always be kissed.

With each new animal that came home with us, Thor lead the pack. Thor would teach the other puppies about going outside to do business, the proper way to wait to be fed, staying off the furniture...and he taught the last puppy about jumping the fence as well :) Thor walked proud before the pack, leading the way. Thor would even take the leash from us and walk himself. More importantly than leading the other animals, Thor lead us down a path we never would have known without him. Thor taught me to try new experiences, not to be afraid of something just because I always have been, that love is so much bigger than myself, and that there's nothing like a puppy dog to spoon with after a hard day.

In the end, Thor had dwindled to 46 pounds. It didn't stop him until the last two days of his life from jumping, running, playing with the other dogs, or chasing the kitten. And in his final two days, it didn't stop him from leaning on us, following us, and trying to do what he thought would make us happy. In his final minutes, it didn't stop Thor from gathering enough strength to walk--which he had stopped doing the last day of his life--to me and pushing his head into my hand. It didn't stop him from pushing his head up on Hubby's chest in a final hug. And that taught me that we never stop trying for those we love.

The hole left in me by Thor's death, the tears shed by all of us knowing that he had lost the battle for recovery from whatever was ailing him, and the pain that it brought to Hubby, are huge reminders of what we've lost. The lessons learned while being blessed to have had Thor as a family member for 9 years will never be lost.

Monday, November 3, 2008

I am WOMAN

Hear me roar.

This weekend Hubby was out of town helping his sister pack to move. I was a free woman to take a bubble bath, lounge around, bake up a storm for a bake sale, read some novels, and watch a few movies. Around work, of course.

So instead I decided to become an adult. A situation presented itself, and it was time to see if I was going to remain a little girl or become a WOMAN. It was something that would separate the child from the grown up.

It was a dead mouse.

I cannot believe that it is 65 or so degrees and November. I stupidly assumed it was too warm for us to have mice, and so I let Hubby leave the state. Remember how I am with Mickey? If I had any idea, I probably would have forbid him to leave. Instead, I decided to be unselfish and to ship him to Colorado to be with his family. You know, the one that hates me? It was kismet, as there was a lesson to be learned.

I walked in the front door, and froze. There it lay, between the loveseat and couch, blocking the doorway to the kitchen, with the kitten's paw poised above it. I had my arms full, and rather than dropping everything and leaping onto the couch or armchair, I calmly (okay, so I was shaking and goosebumps were up and tears began to fill my eyes in fear) put down my stuff, and told the cat "NO!" and considered my options. I could spend the weekend going outside the front door and around the backyard to get in the back door to the kitchen/dining room every time I wanted something. I could call Hubby and demand he steal a car from his family and race down to Podunk (a 6 hour drive) and rescue me. I could cry and call my mommy. I could demand my father save me. Or I could face up to my responsibilities. I stepped over the body.

The little eye that was facing me stared up. I did not feel for breath or a pulse--I'm not about to be THAT grown up and adult. I simply backed away from him/her/it and into the kitchen. There was no way I was going to touch the thing, so I had formulated a plan that involved gathering a bunch of plastic groceries bags and that would be squishy enough that I wouldn't know if it was the body or the bags. I returned to the scene of the murder and I put the bunched up bags over the body. I then took the plunge and grabbed quickly, making the mistake of turning it upright as I raised the body and bags towards me to put it in another bag (hey, field mice have deadly diseases around here...one couldn't have too many bags!). The little body was still warm enough that his/her/its body folded. Gross, but I have to explain how close I was to squealing and dropping the doggone thing.

Worse still was it's little body folded and the eye moved, so I was suddenly convinced it was still alive. How I would have dealt with that, I don't know. That's apparently another lesson for another day. So I put the mouse in the other bag, double tied it and raced down the front steps to the garbage can.

I still pass over the scene of the crime every time I walk into the kitchen and imagine that little body. It's not a morbid or gross thing (thank God the cats don't ever eat the mice, they just leave them as they were when they passed on). The big cat climbed into my lap promptly after the short trip to the garbage can with the body bag, and meowed at me softly. My response? A loud ROAR back and a "thank you, fat cat." I passed the test.

Who knew it took a dead mouse to make me a woman?