You say you need a doghouse?

A couple of years ago a friend of mine had a much loved lab who found herself expecting puppies with a boxer.  She had 8 beautiful puppies.  When I went over to see them, and was asked if I wanted a puppy.  I firmly stated that I needed a puppy like I needed a hole in the head.  Then one of those sweet little things wandered over to my foot.  I leaned down and scooped it up.  It sighed, long and lazily, and snuggled up to my neck, and I was lost.  I felt this little thing had picked me.  It was a boy and before I left that night I was signed up.
Before it was all said and done, we ended up taking two.  A boy and a girl. 
The kids were thrilled.
The cyclist was appalled.
I was not intimidated, knowing what puppies entailed, and also knowing that having two little ones is actually easier in many ways than having one.
I bought kennels, pillows, bitterspray, odor eliminator, food, oatmeal shampoo and many, many chew toys.
The kids were thrilled.
The cyclist was still appalled.
I was not really discussing this subject with the cyclist at this point. 
Then one night as the Cyclist made his point about what dog food cost for the 120th time, I casually said "I'm thinking about calling that little boy dog Jack."
"That's what I was thinking of naming him!" the Cyclist replied.
I smiled, and said "Then I guess it 's settled."
And so our family grew to include

 Jack and Shadow

So, this year for Christmas the Cyclist thought they needed a house.  And not just any house, either.  This house had to be big enough to two dogs, with room for them to stretch out, like he knew they liked to do.  The Cyclist has the most wonderful father in the world, who happens to have his very own woodworking shop and a lot of time to work in it.  Now, as far as I was concerned, a very basic box would work just fine.  I even had some plywood and shingles and stuff in the garage and sent all that over for them to work with.

I did not know who I was dealing with.

These two men, who are not carpenters, proceeded to build a doghouse that is hands down nicer than my actual house in almost every way.

I want you to look at this:

It filled the entire bed of the truck.  Note the deck on the front.  It is made out of cedar.  It is also fully and completely insulated, in addition to being finished on the inside.  You could put up wallpaper on the walls, if you wanted to.  The exterior boasts trim, which was added at the suggestion of the Cyclist's angel mother, so that it "wouldn't look like just plywood."  It certainly doesn't, does it?

We had the dogs a house.  And what a house.  All that remained was to get it unloaded.

Well.

That was quite an ordeal, as we could not get a gate out of the ground to back the truck up.  So 4 of us had to work together to get the new doghouse moved about 50 feet.  Not far, piece of cake, right?  It would have been, except for  a length of solid ice right at the fence where we had to unload it, and the fact that the doghouse weighed about as much as a piano.

Now, I only say this because I have had to move a piano once.  I can not tell y ou how many pounds a piano weighs, but I can tell you that it is a LOT.  And this doghouse weighed about the same.  And we had to move it, over ice, without having anyone fall down and be crushed by the sheer weight of it all.

All I can say is that God must have been watching over us.  We did it.  We did it while the Cyclist was considering things from all angles and wasting time in the freezing cold trying to "make a plan" while I was barking out orders encouraging everyone to snap to and let's-get-this-done-because-we've-come-this-far-and-we-can't-stop-now-but-my-LORD-be-careful-because-if-any-of-us-fall-it-will-KILL-US!

And we did it.  No one fell, no one even said any bad words, and it was done.  We filled it with hay and while I can't say it is big enough to hold both the dogs and the Grand Finale, I can say truthfully that it is plenty big enough to both dogs and 1/2 the Grand Finale.  The other half opted out of getting in.  I think he is old enough to be considering his dignity or something.  Isn't that sad?  I'll miss having "boys".  They are growing up so fast.

Jack and Shadow have never had it so good.  They seem to know not every doghouse has a cedar deck.

And while I was more interested in the Cyclist spending some time with his dad, I have to say that this turned out really well for everyone concerned.  For one thing, it's completely changed my concept of "doghouse".

You never know what you can make out of odds and ends that have been laying around in your garage for years.  You never know what stories you might hear if you take the time to spend time with your parent's on any given day. 

Don't forget that we all make stories all the time.  Remember them. 

I, for one, can tell you that none of us will ever forget unloading that doghouse.  I'm pretty sure we will think long and hard before ever moving it again, either. 

I have the strongest feeling this doghouse will be around for many, many years to come.

Mothering is a two way street

Two and a half years ago The Beautiful Redhead was my oldest child at home, the Grand Finale had turned 11, and life had kind of settled down to a routine that I was able to keep up with.  My kids were out of the "little" stage and I could come home and actually sit down, even LAY down, on the couch if I wanted. 
I had been through the stages of early motherhood, where I was driven to have everything perfect, or at least as near as possible to perfect as I could get it, and thought everything needed to be clean and put up at all times.  Four kids will get you through that stage a little faster than one.  I do not have any science (!) to back this up, but you can take it from me that it is true.
I noticed, though, that now that I *could* take it easy, that's all I ever did.  My house wasn't as clean as it used to be, true, but it didn't NEED to be as clean as it used to be.  And Lord knows the kids didn't appreciate or even seem to notice if I did clean it.  I was drifting, so to speak, and was not concerned that I was going in a bad direction.  I just noticed the change.  As women at a certain stage of life tend to do.
Most of my life it seemed like "life" was something that was coming at me constantly and it was usually all I could do to keep up with it.  Now there seemed to be a lull, time to look around and actually see what was going on instead of having to react to crisis situations all the time.
The Beautiful Redhead was working with a girl who had just had her first baby and, kindly, had offered to babysit said baby so her co-worker and her husband could have a night out.
I suggested the co-worker bring the baby to our house so I could supervise, as The Beautiful Redhead had a heart that was very kind, but not a lot of practical experience with newborns.
Well.
That baby's  name was Abigail Lea and she was three weeks old the night I met her.  This night was also positioned in such a way that it was the first time I had had a newborn baby all to myself (pretty much) in YEARS.  I held that baby all night.  I unwrapped her and counted all her tiny little fingers and toes, I inhaled her captivating scent, I rubbed my face on her sweet little head.  I laughed and cried and talked to her all night. I rocked her and sang all the old songs I sang to my own babies.  I flat fell in love with her. 

The Cyclist was a little nervous.  I think he thought I had lost my mind.  Luckily, I was thinking enough to make him smell her head, and she got him too.  Oh, he pretended to hold out, don't get me wrong.  When she got old enough to toddle over and lift her arms to him he would put up his hands and say "No, no, we're not having any of that", which of course fascinated her (as he knew it would) and made him a challenge to her.  She had never seen anyone who was immune to her charms before.  I pretended I didn't know that trick and let them establish their own rapport.
We have been her willing slaves ever since. 

Because I noticed that if I was going to have that baby I would get off the couch.  I would clean.  I would pick everything up off the floor and make sure I had food that she liked in the house.  I *had* to, for that baby.

It occured to me that without my realizing it, I had finally grown into the woman I had wanted to be, but never felt like I really was.  While I wasn't looking, I had gotten over all the longing and yearning for "someday, when the kids were grown", and become absolutely content and proud to be exactly where and what I was.  I had left my own selfish wishes behind, without regret, only to embrace being the nurturer that I used to resent having to be. 
I had gotten goooood at it.  I could do this.  Whether that baby projectile vomited all over me and my house or got choked, I knew exactly what to do.  And I could even ENJOY it, because I wasn't the least bit scared anymore.

Being a mother will do that to you.

When you see a woman mothering a child, you may think she is taking care of that baby.  That's what it looks like, and she is taking care of that baby.  But holding and nurturing that baby is taking care of her also.  It's a two way street, and one that had no set route.  You figure it out as you go, accomodating each other along the way. Because of this love you will move a mountain or get down on your knees to scrub the floor, whatever it takes, for as long as you need to.  Not because you have to.  You don't, actually, have to.  You do it because you want to for that baby.  And you would do it forever, for them.  And they don't have to be your own, either. This is the miracle of putting someone else's welfare ahead of your own.  I believe it is tantamount to having an honorable life.

One morning I watched that baby wake up, look over and see the Cyclist, and very carefully lay her sweet head down on his chest.  He knew enough not to move a muscle, and she went back to sleep right there.  I also knew that had never happened to him before.  I cried.  I think he went back to sleep but I know it's one of those moments that he will never, ever, forget and that it touched his heart in a way nothing ever had before and probably never will again.

This is the kind of thing children give you.

And that's how I got a pretend grandbaby.

She commands us with a merciful hand.  She doesn't ask for much.  She laughs and smiles and claps her hands if you have, say, a bananna in the house.  Or a boiled egg.  If you take her to Wal Mart, she throws her hands in the air in a "touchdown" salute and says "YAY"!  She spends a lot of time in the tub with bubbles and her toothbrush.  The world is a better place for having her in it.  These days her first question upon getting to "MiMi's house" is "Where's the boyeez?" 
Those boys, who were my babies, now have a little one who thinks they are 10 feet tall and stronger than superman.  They give piggyback rides and wrestle and give her old video game controllers that don't work. The fact that she doesn't know that, and thinks they hung the moon doesn't bother anybody one bit.

And we are still rolling along, I'm still cooking and cleaning and have finally gotten comfortable with crayon marks on the walls and stains on the couch.  Why?

Because I know what's really important.

My best advice, if your kids are older and you don't have grandkids yet, is to go out and find a pretend grandbaby of your own.  There are plenty of mother's out there that could use someone they could trust to watch their child, even for an hour or two.  I do not believe you will ever regret it.  In fact, I believe it will be good for not just you, but the child, the mother, and ultimately the world.



PS.  For the people who are following my e cigarette journey, I skipped the "medium" cartridges and went straight to the "low".  I think I smoke more vapor at at time this way, but haven't had any more or worse cravings, or noticed any fallout from "stepping down", so next time I buy cartridges I'm going to get the water vapor only with no nicotine.

On grief and fog

Mysterious grand piano found on Biscayne Bay sandbar - Miami-Dade Breaking News - MiamiHerald.com#storylink=omni_popular#storylink=omni_popular#storylink=omni_popular

So, a grand piano has been found abandoned on the highest point of a sand bar in Florida. 
I love this story for several reasons.
To begin with, who is not wondering what the story is on this?
Was this someone's reaction to their ex getting the piano in the divorce?  Did the person who played it die and this is a kind of memorial?  How in the world did they get it there?  There must, MUST be a good story behind it. 
But I don't really want to know what that story is.  To know the truth would ruin the whole thing for me.

I prefer to believe it was left as a kind of memorial. 
The picture, to me, perfectly illustrates the state of being known as "grief".  The once grand and beautiful, gleaming piano sits on the sand, abandoned, used and ruined for all practical intents and purposes.  But someone once loved it very, very much.  That someone would not be put off by the piano's appearance now.  That person would only see all the wonderful memories this piano holds for them.  That person would see beauty in the waves rolling in around that piano.  I would like to see a picture of it with that happening.  I would like to see a picture of it with fog rolling all around it.
Fog is similar to grief in my mind.  Grief comes upon you like a wave and knocks you off your feet.  It does this regardless of whether you know it is coming and have had time to prepare for it. 
There is no "preparing" for grief. 
It comes and you are suddenly floating upside down in the tide of life, hearing the scraping of the shells and the sand, and not even caring if it drags you down and takes you away.  Being taken away can seem like a pretty good option in this state, but of course, in your heart you know it could never be that easy.  You know in your heart you are going to have to stand and endure it even though you would rather hide away and forget it. 
You move in a fog of grief.  You speak slower and softer.  Everyone else seems to also.  The edges of all things are blunted by how disconnected you feel to, well, pretty much everything.  You are lost in the fog of grief.  It is like a coccoon, sheltering and obscuring you to others.  You are not alone, but you wish you were.  You sense other shapes moving but can't make them out.  Perhaps for the first time in your life, people finally leave you alone.  So you can sleep.  Trouble is, you can't sleep.  And every time you do, there is a horrible "remembering" because your grief is the first thing in your mind when you wake up.  You have to get used to it all over again.
You are suddenly aware of how many things you could not care any less about.  The world keeps spinning and you are amazed by that too.  It seems like time stops when you get hit by grief, but it turns out this only true for you.  Time does not really stop, you just cease to care about it.
The fog lifts gradually.  You don't really notice it going away until one day you are transfixed by some thing that has been illuminated in a ray of light that has made it through the fog.  You realize you just felt happy and then you immediately feel guilty for feeling happy.
Then one day you realize the fog has gone, you have kept moving long enough to simulate the living of a normal life.  The pressure is off enough for you to look back and assess the damage.
The thought that you are the only person who truly knows what the damage is feels like another responsibility that must remain a secret.  You wonder if you will always feel so alone and realize that the answer is probably yes.  You wonder if you will have to keep pretending your whole life.  You wonder if everyone else is just pretending too.
Does grief ever pass?  Not to my knowledge.  It just becomes a part of you and you alone have to decide how much a part of your life grief will manage to claim.
The good news is, with grief comes stark, brutal truth.
Everyone who is born must some day die.  We know this. 
The trick to dealing with grief, for me, has been to not lose the lesson of dying. 
The lesson of dying is how very beautiful our lives are.  Even the most miserable life is surrounded by breathtaking beauty in this world.
The lesson of dying is to do the very best you can every time, no matter what the cost, because when your time comes you want to be proud of your life and how you lived it.  You want to have no regrets but for the temporary separation of you from your loved ones. 
It is a temporary separation.  This is the hope that will help you get up every morning, face your brutal reality, and keep moving to simulate the life of a responsible person.
While simulating this life, look up.  Look up and see how beautiful this world is.  Every moment of our days and nights there is beauty all around us.  Learn to be thankful for beauty and joy, and do not feel guilty.  Your loved one would not want that.  They would want you to have the full experience that you have been put on this earth to fulfill. 

Everything that happens to you, good or bad, shapes you.  Use it all.  Be willing to adjust to the changes God puts in your life.  Ride the current, rather than wasting all your strength fighting against it.  We only get one ride.  Make the most of it.
And when you pray, pray the only prayer you ever need to know:  Thy will be done.
Then just trust. 
The fog will lift, eventually.  Grief will become part of you, making you more than you were before.