Very recently, my close friend adopted a dog that within 2 months was diagnosed with some serious medical conditions. She made the comment that when she got home that day, the dog was so happy to see her, despite probably feeling so ill. She referred to dogs as “such loyal creatures”. She was so spot on.
Growing up as an alcoholics 4th child, there was only one constant and that was change. By the time I entered high school, I had gone to 7 schools. I had numerous bedrooms, sleeping arrangements and school orientations in my short lifetime. Through all those years, we had a Miniature Schnauzer that moved right along with me. He was my “Sam”. He didn’t like men, so he bit at their ankles. He ran away every chance he could get which meant the only way I could catch him was that he stopped at EVERY tree on the street. But he was always there for me. At one point, my mom had a 2nd shift for a job and I went to AM kindergarten. Mom recalled years later that she knew she had to get a different job because she would watch me come home from school, get my own snack and go to the TV without asking her for any assistance. All of this was done while I told Sam about my day, what was on TV and anything else a 6 year old though was important to tell their friend.
Today, the first thing I say when I walk into the door at home is “Hello baby girl” to my Ziggi (6 year old Springer Spaniel). I then look up to see if Maddie (11 year old tuxedo cat) in near by (which is almost always is) and I give him a cheek rub and remind him how handsome he is. The last thing I say as I walk out of the house is to Ziggi and Maddie that I love them and to be GOOD. By just saying the words, I have a warmed heart.
I have always said that I cannot trust people who choose not to have kids or animals (except due to medical or housing issues). This is because I don’t think they truly understand “unconditional love”. Animals have one of the best qualities, and that is they are UNABLE TO LIE. No wonder we find them as such LOYAL companions, because they can’t, won’t and don’t hurt us emotionally. Instead, they give us an outlet to say what we want, with no chance of repeating. We cry near them and they usually snuggle closer to us, because they understand whimpering as a sign of hurt. They know how to nurture – thinking back to when we first got Ziggi and she had a “False Pregnancy” where she was actually lactating. She would get all the stuffed animals from the kids rooms and hoard and lick them, but she never chewed or hurt them. It broke my heart to see she just THOUGHT she was pregnant and these natural instincts were displayed.
After mom passed away and we were living in Iowa, away from family, we got a kitten. This was my first cat; I had always grown up with dogs. Maddie (named after Madison) was my baby, my best friend and confidant. Many times I would cry myself to sleep and he was always there for me. He would actually lick my tears. To this day, if I am upset and crying he will come find me and just be hear me. That is loyalty.
I have wanted to add another dog to our family, but have feared that Ziggi and Maddie would feel somehow cheapened, so I have shied away. Thinking back to when Noah was born, I made sure Maddie was held almost as much as the baby, so he wouldn’t get resentful. Most photos have me holding both of them.
Recently, Scott told me he has always wanted an English Bulldog. Being a salesperson, I have seen this a HUGE opportunity to get my 2nd dog in the house. I have read as much research as possible, talked to Veterinarians, others that have them and decided that we could easily add one to our family with little turmoil. My extra time has been dedicated to this search. Wanting to give an animal a 2nd chance, I have been contacting all rescue organizations in the area. The first one that we seemed to be interested in had a donation fee of $600. Is this REALLY rescuing a dog? Needless to say, we had to look for additional possibilities. What has me worried is that my husband has seemed to catch COLD FEET. He is thinking of the expense (probably 1/50th of what he spent on golf this year). He wonders how we will travel (the whopping 3 weekends a year we go to Sparta) and he has tried to serve me a huge “Poo Poo Platter”. I am heartbroken. But being a salesperson, I will not give up!
I have been accused to like animals than most people on earth. If it were up to me, I would have a boarding service and spend my workdays with animals instead of people. That isn’t going to happen anytime soon (hello WI lotto), so I will continue to say hello and goodbye to my Loyal Creatures everyday, and always tell them what they mean to me. After all, they show me every day.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Being a stepparent can be a thankless job
You know that feeling when you are babysitting someone else’s kids and you find yourself OVERLY cautious with the kids? You fear them crossing the monkey bars, because WHAT IF they fall. You cut up their food in tiny bits because WHAT IF they choke on their food. When you take them outside to play, you make sure they have on proper coats, hats, mittens, etc because WHAT IF they get cold and possible frostbit. You watch everything you say in front of them because WHAT IF they tell their parents a “new” word they learned form you. You monitor any movie or TV shows because WHAT IF it is inappropriate and you just aided a new negative behavior to brew within them.
For this reason I could never have been a teacher. I would be so preoccupied about the WHAT If’s; that I couldn’t concentrate on what I COULD teach them that is positive. All teachers have the most respect from me along with admiration!
Now that I am a stepparent, all the WHAT If’s come to mind on a daily basis. I make sure I watch my mouth so they don’t go to their mother, school or friends to share what their “step mom” taught them. What the _____ happened in here? I stress about meals, making sure they are balanced and healthy to provide the needed nutrients for growth. Finish your milk before you leave the table. I monitor candy, sweets and other non-nutritional items. No, you can’t keep your Easter or Halloween baskets in your room to graze on. I make sure all movies; TV shows and video games are suited for ages 9/10. No, you cannot rent HALO. I am fearful of broken bones, so I have to put a kibosh on many requested activities. No, you shouldn’t stand on the skateboard, get pulled down the hill by him while he rides his bike.
My name at home is “Fun Wrecker” and I where that badge honorably. Yes, kids are kids and there will be a time when I cannot protect them. My hope is that they will learn right from wrong and possibly actually calculate the risks before they act. But right now, while I am leading them, I can TRY to keep them from harms way.
I have always believed, with ALL my heart, I was doing the right thing by making sure I was a good example to my step kids. Even when my voice or decision is unpopular with them, I believe (and hope) someday they will appreciate me. In my heart I know I have tried as much as possible to be the best parental figure.
With all of this being said…. Why is it that the maternal parent can do everything they want, not even within reason, and it is OK? Letting a 9 and 10-year-old watch Gran Torino horrified me. Her reasoning was that she wanted to explain things to the kids herself, instead of learning it at school. I am not sure HOW you explain Korean was Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, Racial slurs and Gang Rape to kids that still sleep with blankies.
Why is it OK for her to let her 10 year old read the Twilight books? If a Google is entered on the age appropriate for the series, every response was age 13+. Not to mention it isn’t even carried in the school library, which has always been a standard of appropriate reading material.
Now, does this mean I should just let the kids eat, watch, do whatever they want because their mother does? NOT A CHANCE. I have too much self-respect to let my parent duties become a popularity contest. The not so fun part is the kids know they can do what they want with their mom, but not with their step mom. I love these kids and care about their mental and physical health. I will drudge on, pushing my way through the eye rolls and snake eyes, to deliver on my Marital Promise.
WOW, I really DO live in a fairy tale, too bad I am the Evil Step-Mother.
So, again, I say…Being a stepparent can be a thankless job.
For this reason I could never have been a teacher. I would be so preoccupied about the WHAT If’s; that I couldn’t concentrate on what I COULD teach them that is positive. All teachers have the most respect from me along with admiration!
Now that I am a stepparent, all the WHAT If’s come to mind on a daily basis. I make sure I watch my mouth so they don’t go to their mother, school or friends to share what their “step mom” taught them. What the _____ happened in here? I stress about meals, making sure they are balanced and healthy to provide the needed nutrients for growth. Finish your milk before you leave the table. I monitor candy, sweets and other non-nutritional items. No, you can’t keep your Easter or Halloween baskets in your room to graze on. I make sure all movies; TV shows and video games are suited for ages 9/10. No, you cannot rent HALO. I am fearful of broken bones, so I have to put a kibosh on many requested activities. No, you shouldn’t stand on the skateboard, get pulled down the hill by him while he rides his bike.
My name at home is “Fun Wrecker” and I where that badge honorably. Yes, kids are kids and there will be a time when I cannot protect them. My hope is that they will learn right from wrong and possibly actually calculate the risks before they act. But right now, while I am leading them, I can TRY to keep them from harms way.
I have always believed, with ALL my heart, I was doing the right thing by making sure I was a good example to my step kids. Even when my voice or decision is unpopular with them, I believe (and hope) someday they will appreciate me. In my heart I know I have tried as much as possible to be the best parental figure.
With all of this being said…. Why is it that the maternal parent can do everything they want, not even within reason, and it is OK? Letting a 9 and 10-year-old watch Gran Torino horrified me. Her reasoning was that she wanted to explain things to the kids herself, instead of learning it at school. I am not sure HOW you explain Korean was Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, Racial slurs and Gang Rape to kids that still sleep with blankies.
Why is it OK for her to let her 10 year old read the Twilight books? If a Google is entered on the age appropriate for the series, every response was age 13+. Not to mention it isn’t even carried in the school library, which has always been a standard of appropriate reading material.
Now, does this mean I should just let the kids eat, watch, do whatever they want because their mother does? NOT A CHANCE. I have too much self-respect to let my parent duties become a popularity contest. The not so fun part is the kids know they can do what they want with their mom, but not with their step mom. I love these kids and care about their mental and physical health. I will drudge on, pushing my way through the eye rolls and snake eyes, to deliver on my Marital Promise.
WOW, I really DO live in a fairy tale, too bad I am the Evil Step-Mother.
So, again, I say…Being a stepparent can be a thankless job.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Mom's Chair
Growing up, my mom was a single parent of 4 kids. She always had at least 1 of us tagging along to her errands, visits with friends and even simple trips to the grocery store. But Friday nights were different. Friday night was bowling league for mom, which meant I would be home with my built in babysitter Peggy. We would have the standard frozen pizzas and milk for dinner as a family before the hectic night. It was a night of organized chaos.
Getting out this one night a week was a routine but also special for mom. I used to love watching her get ready to go out. She had an old ratty green chair that was placed in front of her dresser. Avocado green, bench seat, with a short 4-5 inch back and most likely found on a curb somewhere. She would sit on this chair, doing her hair, applying her makeup and most importantly making chit chat with me. In the younger days, I could squeeze next to her with ease and watch the transformation of “single mom” to “going out mom”. We would talk about anything and everything. Sometimes I would stroll over to her jewelry case, (that really didn’t have much for jewels) and would ask questions about old broaches (that I never saw her wear) or someone’s baby teeth (she WAS the Tooth fairy after all) and all her sobriety coins. The whole time, mom would be sitting with her legs crossed, yet tucked underneath her, on that old bench chair.
For all my years, when I needed to talk to my mom, I could find her sitting on that same green chair. To me, she was the strongest woman I could ever imagine being. Being too big to sit on the chair next to her, I would sit on the floor and lean my head on her lap. My tears would make marks on her pants as she stroked my head and tucked my hair behind my ears. She always had something to say or a story to tell me that would make me not feel so alone. That chair was her throne. I truly think it gave her extra powers.
After mom passed away, I took the chair from her room. It moved with me from Davenport to Long Grove to Monticello. My husband (now Ex) wouldn’t dare get rid of it, he knew the priceless value of it. The avocado green linen was ripped, stuffing depleted and exposed bare wood was unsightly. One Christmas, he surprised me by having it reupholstered. It now boasted a beautiful tapestry with light colored flowers and it even had a skirt around the base. It never had a skirt in the past. Much like my mom, it wasn’t overly feminine, just strong. I was touched by his thoughtfulness and was appreciative, but the chair no longer looked like my moms chair. I couldn’t see or feel the presence of her. It was so feminine I almost didn’t want to sit on it for fear of getting it dirty. The chair moved with me to Stoughton and then to Oregon. It had it’s own place, in a corner of my bedroom, dutiful holding the extra pillows from the bed. But it wasn’t my mom’s chair.
Recently, the stresses in my life tore down my strength to the point I went to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I needed to be alone, yet I needed hear the voice I hadn’t heard in 12 years. I walked over to the chair and pulled off the pillows. I laid my head on the chair as if to hear it speak to me. With my eyes closed, I reached below the dressing and grabbed the legs of the chair. The nicks were still in place along with the smooth lacquered finish. I held on to those legs, with my ear on the seat, imagining the voice I was so desperate to hear. Even though my hair didn’t move, I swore I felt it go behind my ears. My tears soaked the cushion, but I don’t think it minded. In fact, I think the saline gave the chair new life, empowerment. I talked with mom and her words came to me so clearly. I was able to gather myself, dry the tears and stand up straight. I left the chair, knowing I would be back another day to hear the voice and feel the brush of my hair.
Getting out this one night a week was a routine but also special for mom. I used to love watching her get ready to go out. She had an old ratty green chair that was placed in front of her dresser. Avocado green, bench seat, with a short 4-5 inch back and most likely found on a curb somewhere. She would sit on this chair, doing her hair, applying her makeup and most importantly making chit chat with me. In the younger days, I could squeeze next to her with ease and watch the transformation of “single mom” to “going out mom”. We would talk about anything and everything. Sometimes I would stroll over to her jewelry case, (that really didn’t have much for jewels) and would ask questions about old broaches (that I never saw her wear) or someone’s baby teeth (she WAS the Tooth fairy after all) and all her sobriety coins. The whole time, mom would be sitting with her legs crossed, yet tucked underneath her, on that old bench chair.
For all my years, when I needed to talk to my mom, I could find her sitting on that same green chair. To me, she was the strongest woman I could ever imagine being. Being too big to sit on the chair next to her, I would sit on the floor and lean my head on her lap. My tears would make marks on her pants as she stroked my head and tucked my hair behind my ears. She always had something to say or a story to tell me that would make me not feel so alone. That chair was her throne. I truly think it gave her extra powers.
After mom passed away, I took the chair from her room. It moved with me from Davenport to Long Grove to Monticello. My husband (now Ex) wouldn’t dare get rid of it, he knew the priceless value of it. The avocado green linen was ripped, stuffing depleted and exposed bare wood was unsightly. One Christmas, he surprised me by having it reupholstered. It now boasted a beautiful tapestry with light colored flowers and it even had a skirt around the base. It never had a skirt in the past. Much like my mom, it wasn’t overly feminine, just strong. I was touched by his thoughtfulness and was appreciative, but the chair no longer looked like my moms chair. I couldn’t see or feel the presence of her. It was so feminine I almost didn’t want to sit on it for fear of getting it dirty. The chair moved with me to Stoughton and then to Oregon. It had it’s own place, in a corner of my bedroom, dutiful holding the extra pillows from the bed. But it wasn’t my mom’s chair.
Recently, the stresses in my life tore down my strength to the point I went to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I needed to be alone, yet I needed hear the voice I hadn’t heard in 12 years. I walked over to the chair and pulled off the pillows. I laid my head on the chair as if to hear it speak to me. With my eyes closed, I reached below the dressing and grabbed the legs of the chair. The nicks were still in place along with the smooth lacquered finish. I held on to those legs, with my ear on the seat, imagining the voice I was so desperate to hear. Even though my hair didn’t move, I swore I felt it go behind my ears. My tears soaked the cushion, but I don’t think it minded. In fact, I think the saline gave the chair new life, empowerment. I talked with mom and her words came to me so clearly. I was able to gather myself, dry the tears and stand up straight. I left the chair, knowing I would be back another day to hear the voice and feel the brush of my hair.
Where should we go today?
Life brings changes on a daily basis. Are you part of the change, or part of the lag behind? You are your own vehicle, driving through life and experiencing transformations. Do you drive with the windows down, breathing in fresh air, or sit in stale recirculation? Have you ever fell into a pothole and just watched all the cars go by?
We don’t have to lead the traffic every day. Some days we can draft another car to help us through the day. Sometimes we need to take the slow lane, it may take us longer to get to the next stop, but we WILL get there. We have the option to pass others, but if we go too fast, we can get held back and even pay a fee for trying to go too fast. If we are lucky enough to have multiple people on board, we can take the car pool lane and enjoy the ride with others.
Where should we go today?
We don’t have to lead the traffic every day. Some days we can draft another car to help us through the day. Sometimes we need to take the slow lane, it may take us longer to get to the next stop, but we WILL get there. We have the option to pass others, but if we go too fast, we can get held back and even pay a fee for trying to go too fast. If we are lucky enough to have multiple people on board, we can take the car pool lane and enjoy the ride with others.
Where should we go today?
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