Barnmaven

Warm

We finished filling the stock tank and cleaning stalls (well, I cleaned stalls...) and took my old gelding down to the river in the warm afternoon sun.  We rode double, she sat behind me.  She only held onto my waist part of the time, getting braver with letting go, looking around, pointing at things here and there -- ducks in the canal, a groundhog sunning himself in a field, red-winged blackbirds on the reeds in the water.  "Mommy, make him do the bouncy thing!"  "You mean trot?" "Yes!  Do that!"  Reluctantly, he did.  Good old Zenon, he knows when a child is on board, and he behaves.  His trot was only a fraction of the usual Death Bounce.  She squealed in glee, laughing, clutching my waist, burying her head in my back.  The sun was hot on our shoulders and our hair, and we pretended we were pioneers heading out west, searching the horizon for hostile natives. 

It was do this or stay inside and watch a game on television.  We chose this.  It was a beautiful afternoon with my girl.  It was the kind of afternoon that gives me the strength to get through the next 7 days of the things that will be inevitably difficult, the next 7 days of rages, parental stress, not enough sleep and not enough patience.  If I could have a few hours like this with her every day I think I would be able to fucking FLY.

Its Friday night. The kids are at J's house. Childfree every Friday, you would think I would be out living it up. But no. Pizza, wine and Warcraft. Rapidly becoming a Friday night tradition. The house will miraculously clean itself TOMORROW.

Look away

Last night did go better for us, but this morning started horribly.  I look back at my blogging over the last few weeks and I realize that I've written nothing that wasn't depressing AT BEST, and I'm sorry.  Some days its all I've got. 

I detest negativity.  I don't enjoy being around the people who continually moan about the half-empty beer glass of their life.  I value optimism.  At the same time, I don't think a good dose of pragmatic realism ever hurt anyone.  I think there is a difference between being realistic and being negative, although admittedly there is a fine line.

Negativity says, "Things are never going to get better.  They are always going to be this bad, and in fact, they will most likely get worse."

Realism says, "Yes, this is tough.  Its not fun.  You need to deal with this or it will likely not improve, but you CAN and you WILL deal with it because you don't have any other options."

Those are different, right?

After completely coming undone this morning because her brother sat at the breakfast bar stool that SHE wanted to have, and after losing the door to her bedroom because she refused to stop kicking it (none of which I can say I handled with the equanimity I promised myself I was going to display, I would blame it on the fact that I have a raging chest cold and not feeling well doesn't help me when she rages, but truly I have no good excuse, I sucked), I was surprised that she was finally able to gather herself together, eat her cold waffles and get ready for school.  She took her medication without arguing, and she apologized and gave me hugs.  I apologized and I hugged her back.  And we started yet another day in our long journey together. 

On the positive side, today was payday.  Hercules goes to the vet this afternoon to see if we can help him stop peeing all over everything (Please, God, PLEASE) and I plan to hit the sporting goods store to see if I can find one of those small personal-sized trampolines, the ones that have a handrail to hold.  Child A has always wanted one, and we have seen a very clear correlation between good behavior and exercise, so I think this would be a good thing to spend my discretionary money on today.  On another positive note, we have found a parent who is willing to pick her up after school to go to soccer practice, so she will be able to play again this spring.  She started off the season last year knowing squat about playing, and in the last game of the season she scored her first goal.  So even though its not a great day, I can find reasons to hope.

And if at any point you notice me sitting on the floor in the corner, just look away please until I get my shit together.  Thanks.

Endless Repeats

What I was doing last night:  Trying desperately NOT to interact with my child.

Last night's rage, brought on by a simple request to go play in her own room and stop trying to pick a fight with her brother, lasted more than an hour.  Interacting with her after about the first half hour of the constant, staccato screaming, would have not been a good idea.

Sometimes, though I know its not true, I feel like she does it on purpose.  She starts something with the little guy or she asks to do/have something that she knows I will say "no" to simply so that she can start screaming.   Because my brother was visiting and I didn't want her to have to waste his last bit of time with us on the elliptical trainer, we forewent her daily Hard Work.  I really, really intended to remember to ask her to do it later, then I got caught up in making dinner for the kids and starting laundry one more time because my incontinent boxer thinks the basket of clean laundry is a FINE place to lay down a trail of pee, filling the stock tank outside and trying for the umpteenth time in the last two weeks to discover exactly where it is the chickens are laying the eggs because it SURE AS SHIT ISN'T in the coop I spent $100 in materials and five hours building them last spring.  So I forgot, and I feel really crappy about that because this tantrum is now partly my fault.

What gets to me is the endless top-of-the-lungs screaming.  When she rages, it is OH MY GOD so LOUD.  I forced myself a couple of years ago to stop worrying about what the neighbors think is happening.   I try to remain composed, to periodically check on her and remind her that she is making a choice NOT to try and calm down.  I try not to engage because in this state she is only going to continue to request things she cannot at this point have, like the ability to go outside in yard (not while you're screaming at the top of your lungs, kiddo), to have a donut (sure, a little MORE sugar to go with that would be GREAT), to get out of her room (Yes, the moment you have stopped screaming and stayed stopped for five minutes.  FIVE. FREAKING. MINUTES. Surely that's not too much to ask?)

I cannot say these things to my child.  And the stress of hearing her rage on and on like that makes me want to come unglued.  

We see a new behavioral therapist next week.  I am under no illusions that we are going to give her a pill or institute a stratgegy that is going to turn her into a perfect, non-bipolar child.  I realize that.  I love her just as she is, even when she makes me so frustrated I sit behind the door in my room crying into a pillow so that I won't go careening down the hall and scream at her to stop screaming (I know, the irony of it gets to me too).  I wouldn't not change a hair on her head.  Wanting her to get better isn't and should not be all about making MY life easier.  What I am hoping for, at best, are ways that I can help her to learn how to better calm herself down.  Ways I can teach her in a way she accepts and understands, the importance of taking her medication (and not throwing it in the garbage can after she sees I'm not looking).  Not for me, but for her.  Because I won't always be there to shield her.  I won't be there to make sure she goes to her doctors and takes her pills.  And that really frightens me.  I hate the things I can't control.  I know that I can't control them, but that doesn't make me stop hating it. 

I accepted long ago that "normal" would have to be redefined for my family.  If we have a day where there is only one meltdown, where the kids fight only half the time, where there are only a few timeouts, I am grateful.  Those are successful days.  The days when she brings home a postcard from her teacher that says "A had an AWESOME DAY in school today!" are the days when we have a celebration, with ice cream and special privileges. 

I try not to waste time envying mothers who have children who are "normal."  My life is what it is.  My mother HATES it when I say that, but it is the best way I can say my truth, in cliches.  "It is what it is."  "I'm doing the best that I can."   Those are my truths. 

I can't wait to go home from work today and pick up my kids and have another shot at having a good night.  Every new morning is an opportunity to do better than yesterday, to not have her rage, to not lose my temper or control over my emotions, to see if they will get along with one another.  That's my hope for today.

Pearls of Wisdom

Truth of the day #1:

If you, like some of us who shall not be named, are over 40 and wearing bifocals, to properly maintain your eyebrows you will need to dump your little 2x magnifying hand mirror and buy the 8X magnification standing mirror. 

Truth of the day #2:

If you, like some of us who shall not be named, have spent the majority of your life ignoring proper skincare routines and have gotten maybe one or two facials EVER and don't own any skin care products beyond moisturizer and soap, you do NOT want to buy the 8X magnification standing mirror. No, you DON'T because when you catch sight of the pores on your nose in glorious 8X magnification for the first time you will be so mortified (horrified, disgusted, aghast) that you will never want to be seen in public again.

Truth of the day #3:

If you are a five year old boy, a new Hot Wheels car greatly eases the pain of shots.

Truth of the day #4:

If you are a five year old boy and you want your mother to give you a piece of gum, the best way to get Mom to give it to you is to say you need TWO pieces and one is for your sister.

Truth of the day #5:

If you are a dog and you have been neutered for a couple of years, it makes not one bit of difference to what you try to do to your cousin dog who just came out of a heat cycle. If said cousin dog happens to be a dachsund and you are a rather tallish pit mix, this might be rather hilarious.  Except if your owner happened to be extremely PRO spay and neuter in which case only your cousin dog's owner would think it was hilarious.

Truth of the day #6:

The noise factor of a household containing three large dogs, two small children and three cats is exponentially increased by a factor of about twelve gazillion simply by the addition of two small dogs.

Truth of the day #7:

One's viewpoint on many of life's little traumas can improved by the application of red wine and chocolate.

Author's note:  All of the stories presented herein are based on real events.  Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

 

SEE IT

Avatar, that is, if you haven't already.  I know, I'm probably wayyyyy late sailing on this particular boat.  I meant to go a long time ago, but just never quite got into going by myself.  What's the fun of going to a movie if you don't have someone to turn to afterward and say "Oh.  Emmm.  Gee.  That was AMAZING!"  (Or alternatively, "I paid twenty bucks to see that shit? FML.")

My brother called Sunday night and after I bored him filled him in on all of the shit that happened last week, he decided since he had a couple of days off, he would come spend a couple of days here.  I love having company, even if it seriously  compromises my internet time.  The kids, of course, were THRILLED.  I told them Sunday night that Uncle Kenny would be visiting, and they were all "SQUEEEEEEE!!  UNCLE KENNY!!!!"  On Monday when I woke up Little Man, he rolled over, half opened his eyes, and asked me, "Is Uncle Kenny here yet?"  "No, not yet, he's coming tonight."  "NOOOO!  I want to go back to sleep until Uncle Kenny comes!"  Uncle Kenny, apparently, has more cred with my kids than even Santa Claus. 

Last night the kids were at their dads, and rather than sit around and drink too much wine and talk about Dad (sometimes that gets old), we decided to go see Avatar.  I can't believe I waited this long to see it,  what an incredible visual buffet for the eyes and mind!  The storyline was sort of "meh."  Its as old as time, hero sent to study/control/infiltrate indigenous people, falls in love with clan chief's daughter, acclimates to said indigenous peoples' way of life and eventually either the story has a happy ending (Pocahontas) or everybody dies (Dances with Wolves).  It was the setting and the effects that took a somewhat boring story and turned it into something entirely new and different.   I am reaching for adjectives to support how mesmerized I was by the realism of the animals and the characters, and failing miserably.  I think I said "Incredible" already?  Yes, yes I did. 

I'm kind of excited to see how many movies are being released in 3-D these days.  They've improved the technology so much they can even put it on DVD's now.  I bought a two pack of "Monsters vs Aliens" with a bonus CD with some little short movie on Bob (the Blob) and the short was in 3D and the package came with four or five pair of paper 3-D glasses (which the dogs promptly chewed up, but that's another bitch session story.  Loved the trailer for the new Alice in Wonderland, that looks like a 'must see' although I have to say I'm not excited about Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter.  Dont' get me wrong - I adore Johnny Depp.  If he would only agree to leave his longtime love and move to the sad, mundane middle of Washington State to keep me company for the rest of my days, I'd probably keel over from the sheer joy of it.  What I don't like is how unappealing his character looks.  I prefer to enjoy my Johnny Depp LOOKING like Johnny  Depp, not like my Uncle Frank's ex-wife Vi on LSD.  I know, call me picky.

Off to enjoy a cup of coffee with my big brother before he heads back home.  Enjoy YOUR day, however you spend it.  And SEE AVATAR if you haven't yet, in 3D if you can.  Worth every penny of the admission price.

Todays Recovery Funny

These are from Stephen Frasier's blog Let it Happen .  As a person who spent many years completely enmeshed in my codependency, I got a great deal of joy in recognizing myself in every. single. one. of these 12 steps of Non-Recovery:

1. We admitted we were powerless over nothing, that we would manage our lives perfectly and those of anyone else who would allow us to.
2. Came to believe there was no power greater than ourselves and the rest of the world was insane.
3. Made a decision to have our loved ones and friends turn their will and their lives over to our care, even though they couldn’t understand us.
4. Made a searching moral and immoral inventory of everyone we knew.
5. Admitted to the whole world the exact nature of everyone else’s wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to make others straighten up and do right.
7. Demanded others to either shape up or ship out.
8. Made a list of all persons who had harmed us and became willing to go to any length to get even with them all.
9. Got direct revenge on such people whenever possible, except when to do so would cost us our lives, or at the very least a jail sentence.
10. Continued to take inventory of others, and when they were wrong promptly and repeatedly told them about it.
11. Sought through complaining and nagging to improve our relations with others as we couldn’t understand them, asking only that they knuckle under and do it our way.
12. Having had a complete physical, emotional and spiritual breakdown as a result of these steps, we tried to blame it on others and to get sympathy and pity in all of our affairs

J and I have recently been able to have some good conversations around the failure of our marriage and the things that we did that got us to that point.  It was good to be able to talk to him about the things I know I owned and to have a chance to laugh a little bit at ourselves and our hubris.  We each thought we knew everything that the other one ought to be doing.  We never looked at ourselves, all of our attention was externally held. 

I am so grateful for my recovery.   I am thankful that I can laugh at myself and learn from my mistakes.

***Edited 2/24 for spelling and grammatical errors.  Apologies to anyone whose eyes and/or brains were assaulted by my lousy grasp of the English Language. 

On how I fill the void

Rough week last week.  I miss my dog so much.  Changes in my relationships were difficult.  The kids have had some behavioral issues, not surprising with the loss we all suffered.  I had to change the desktop photo on  my laptop at work (it was this picture), I couldn't look at my screen without wanting to cry.

I've never been one of those people who are comfortable just sitting still with their feelings.  Perhaps I'd be more highly evolved if I could do that, and its something I'm working on, but I'm not yet to the point where I can experience a deep emotion and not feel like I have to get up and MOVE or DO SOMETHING to help alleviate the pain. 

So...

Meet Mali.

Mali is NOT my dog.  

The city I live in has a three-dog limit.  I've had three dogs for so long, either of my own or my own plus a foster, that I knew I would want another dog.  Never a replacement, but there are so many dogs out there in need that I feel that whenever I can, I should open my home and my heart to help out.  Its something I can do, its something I am good at.  But I decided instead of looking for another dog to be a permanent member of the family that I would put my empty crate and aching heart to better use and start fostering again.  Mali is my first foster for Pet Over-Population Prevention, a dog and cat rescue group in my area. 

I can help more dogs in the long term by fostering, and I don't know about where you live, but out here in the rural areas, the number of stray and abandoned dogs is just mind-boggling.  People drive out the rural highways and dump dogs by the dozens.  Its so sad.  Mali is one of those dogs, found wandering out along the Kahlotus highway.  She is a very sweet, timid Rottie mix who adores children and is very calm and submissive with outher dogs and cats.  She is housebroken and crate trained and we will be working on her leash training here, as she appears to never have been taught to walk on a leash. 

I'm half-tempted to rename her "Shadow" since it appears she has decided to become mine...

It is a fitting end to a difficult week.  In some ways I still feel as if I am being pushed down by gravity - my heart is heavy, I feel weight on my shoulders, I feel raw and emotional.  I know that I will heal over time and I know that God sees and comforts me with every tear I shed.  Helping others is the best way I  know how to help myself.  

Friday and an opportunity to help someone

I am breathing a sigh of relief, although I still have to get through work today.  In a way, my first day back in the office yesterday was a relief because having mounds of work to do and a plethora of people who all needed a piece of me kept me from dwelling on things.  And it was good to be around other people and to interact, laugh and talk and joke.  One more day to get through, hopefully with a lot of checkmarks on my To Do list, and then its the weekend.  Weather forecast says tomorrow might be riding weather!  I think a long ride on the river is just what the doctor ordered for this tired mom.

Speaking of tired and speaking of moms, if anyone here follows Anissa Mayhew's blog, you probably know about Anissa's stroke.  For those of you who don't, Anissa is a well-known long time Mommy blogger.  She originally started her blog when her daughter Peyton was diagnosed with Leukemia.  Peyton is doing very well these days, but 92 days ago Anissa suffered two strokes and has been in the hospital and then in a rehab center ever since, slowly regaining strength, the ability to talk, sit up, and move about.  Her husband Peter has been updating her blog as frequently as working, parenting the kids and spending time every day with Anissa would allow.  This is a truly amazing family, and this couple's love for one another shows in every word.  Anissa's getting ready to come home, a step which her husband and children are so very excited about.  She will still require outpatient treatment, but the family's copay for 40 days of outpatient treatment will be $100 a day.  This is not a wealthy family, like many American families (me included) they're probably a paycheck away from the cliff's edge.  Peter has asked their friends if 400 people could send them $10 apiece via paypal, which would cover every single day of Anissa's outpatient therapy.

I'm not in the habit of asking people for money, and I'm not really asking you for it now.  But if you follow the link above to Anissa's blog, you can read her story, and if it moves you the way it has moved me, maybe you would feel up to clicking on the Paypal link that Peter has provided and show little tiny bit of love for these folks. 

I hope you all have a beautiful weekend and that you get a chance to do something you really enjoy.

Gone

While I was sitting at the airport waiting for the second of three flights yesterday, I got a call from my petsitter.  My bullmastiff, Lady, was dead in her crate when she arrived to let the dogs out.

I adotped Lady in the late spring of 2006.  She had come from a high-kill shelter in West Virginia.  She was two years old, not housebroken, but she had that bullmastiff personality and charm.  My friend Liz, who I'd known from fostering for two different boxer rescue groups, was fostering Lady, and the minute I saw her picture posted on the available dogs page, I knew we belonged together.

She was my dog and I was her person.  When I went to Liz's to get her, she was waiting at the door for me, tail wagging.  Liz told me she'd started smiling the minute she head my car pull up outside.  I'd seen it happen with many of my own fosters.  Somehow, when their forever families arrived to get them, they just knew.  They would bounce to the door, grinning, wiggling, eyes a-sparkle.  They knew.  Lady knew. 

Lady never met a person she didn't like, and she was especially trustworthy with children.  I have never known her to growl or snap at anyone, although there was one teenager on our old block in New Jersey that she would bark at if he walked by the house.  I'm pretty sure he was not a nice person, because Lady never barked at anyone else.  She didn't bark much, period.  She would tolerate anything from children, even being climbed on, although as Little Man learned the hard way, sometimes she might get up and walk away, and if you were trying to ride her like a pony, you just might fall off and break your arm.

After some flight problems (mechanical issues, diversions, standby on two connections) I made it home with enough daylight left to say goodbye to my girl.  J and I buried her in a sunny spot in the pasture and through tears I bid a final farewell to one of the most special dogs this life will ever bring me.  She loved to sunbathe, and I will plant a tree next to her so that I can go sit and spend time with her.  I don't know why she died, she was only about 7, which isn't young for a bullmastiff but not ancient, either.  The sitter said she had thrown up the night before, but otherwise was acting normally, eating, playing, going potty.  I will probably never know how it happened, but I will be wondering for a long time and wishing I'd been with her at the end.  From the looks of her, she died peacefully in her sleep. 

Sleep well, big girl.  I will miss you always.

The Rainbow Bridge

There is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth

It is called the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors

Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge

There is a land of meadows, hills, and valleys

With lush green grass.

When a beloved pet dies, they go to this place.

There is always food, water and warm spring weather.

Those old and frail animals are young again.

Those who have been maimed are made whole again.

They play all day with each other, 

But there is only one thing missing.

They are not with their special person who loved them on earth.

So each day they run and play, until the day comes

When one suddenly stops playing and looks up.

The nose twitches, the ears are up, the eyes are staring...

And this one suddenly runs from the group.

You have been seen.

And when you and your special friend meet,

You take them in your arms and embrace.

Your face is kissed again and again

And you look once more into the eyes of your trusting pet.

Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together.

Credit to Terri Pike for the movie and Ken Muzzey for the music, this was the best version of the Rainbow Bridge story I have ever found.  

 **Updated:  Visit here to see the slideshow I created for Lady.