Monday, January 31, 2011

Know What Drives Me Nuts?...

...when I say I want to do something or go somewhere and someone (usually someone older) says, "Oh, you don't want to do that!"

Well, actually, yes, I do. Because, you see, if I didn't want to do something a certain way or go to a certain place, I wouldn't have said, "I want to do this" (insert desire here)...

And while I appreciate that whoever has claimed to know me better than I know myself has my best interest at heart and wishes to impart his or her experience to me, really? I'm old enough to decide for myself what I do or don't want to do...

So when I want your advice on how to live my life, I'll ask you for it...until then, remember, you've lived your life your way and done it the way you wanted...it's my turn to do the same...

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

An Update...




It's been a couple of days since my last post, and based on the phone calls, emails and comments I've received since I wrote about Murphy, I thought I should probably give you an update...

To quote Mark Twain, "The report of (her) death was an exaggeration."

Murphy appears to have recovered from Monday's death knell quite nicely, thank you very much...

In fact, she appears to be somewhat annoyed with all the hoopla surrounding her...especially the attention that Ian is now giving her...he gets a little concerned (ok, that's an understatement of epic proportions)that she is not jumping up and down in excitement when we walk through the door or get up in the morning...like any old lady, she takes her time rising from her position of comfort, but in the end, she does get up...

On Monday night, Brian slept downstairs on the couch to keep an ear out in case anything happened to Murphy during the night and to keep her from trying to climb the stairs to her usual sleeping spot...

Last night before dinner, Murphy had had enough with not being able to move beyond the main floor and shoved the chair (the one blocking her passage) out of the way, slowly climbed the stairs, then lay down on the landing, wheezing and coughing, but looking at me with the most gleeful, defiant look I've ever seen on a dog...it was like she was telling me, "Try and keep me from doing what I want, will you? Ha!"

And so the wait continues...because even though she seems to have gathered a second (third? hundredth?) wind, we know the time is still coming in the not-so-distant future that she will be leaving us for good...

Until then, we are taking things one day at a time...getting in as many hugs, kisses and loving as we can and taking picture after picture of this grand old lady...

Monday, January 17, 2011

Murphy...

I'm not even sure how to start this post.

Murphy, our 13 1/2 year old rottweiler border collie cross, is dying.

We've known for a while that she was long past middle age and well into her sunset years and each time she seemed a little slower getting up or took longer get up the stairs, we'd look at each other and sigh unhappily...because we knew that the day was coming, sooner rather than later, that we would have to say goodbye...

This morning when I woke up, Murphy was on the landing to our second floor, lying in her own urine. The poor girl couldn't get up...her back legs simply would not support her.

Brian and I sat with her for a long time, crying, petting her, wondering what we were going to do...every pet owner we know would tell us that the humane thing to do would be to take her to the vet and put her down..."It's what we do for our pets when they're old," is the refrain I've heard from many friends and family...

Ian, who had come upstairs, lay on the floor next to Murphy, crying...begging us not to put her down..."You promised me you would let her die of old age!" he told me...

Which I had...some time in the last year, Ian had come to me, visibly upset and asked me if I was sorry that I had killed Casey (a cat I had owned long before I met Brian, and who had been put down in the spring of 2005)...he then begged me to never do such a thing again...I promised him I wouldn't...

Because, you see, I am a practising Catholic...one who actually believes in the Church and her teachings...my faith is a central part of what makes me me...and I try to teach my children their faith every day...we are not Catholics at Christmas and Easter only...not even only on Sundays...we try to live out our faith every single day...and my faith teaches me that killing is wrong...whether it be abortion, euthanasia or premeditated murder...killing is wrong. And I do not want to be a hypocrite in my children's eyes...saying that it's ok to kill a dog, but not a human...not when we've made it clear to them from the day they were born that Murphy is a member of our family...

There are many people who disagree with how we raise our kids...I can already hear Brian's mother, my family and most of my friends telling me I'm crazy not to put the dog down...that it's not killing Murphy, it's the humane thing to do...

But none of them live with Ian. They love him, they understand that he's different from others...they know that he sees the world in black and white. There is no grey for my son. You are either on the side of right or you are not. Period. Putting Murphy down is not humane to Ian. It is killing a member of our family. "Would you do that to me if I was sick?" he asked me that day.

"No," I answered, knowing what he would say next.

"Then why would you do it to one of our pets? It's no different," he reasoned. "Killing is killing. Isn't it?"

And how could I argue with that? No matter what kind of pretty words you use....abortion, euthanasia...it's still killing.

And so I promised I would let our pets die of old age...and here we are, wondering when Murphy is going to leave us...

I'm listening to her drink from her water bowl as I sit here and I can feel the tears starting to prick the back of my eyes...because I don't know how many more days I will have to be with this beautiful creature who has never asked for anything from any of us, but who has given nothing but unconditional love and loyalty for over 13 years...

But I do know this...Murphy will go when she's ready and she will not be lying on a cold table in the vet's exam room...she will die at home, surrounded by those of us who have known and loved her her entire life...that, to me, is dying with dignity...and Murphy deserves that, because, as Emma put it this morning, "Murphy is the best dog in the whole world. Ever."

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Well, That Was Strange...

Getting out of the shower today, I had an experience I've never had before.

Jamie, my six year old, knocked on the bathroom door and said, "Mommy, can I see your boobs?"

"Uh, no," was my first reaction. "Why?" was my second (now let's get it clear that I don't actually have a problem with my son seeing me naked...I've just started getting used to the idea of not walking around my room in the nude because it freaks out Ian, who is 10 and has decided that seeing his mother without clothes is not something he cares for - a normal, 10 year old boy reaction, Brian assures me)...

But back to Jamie...

"I just want to see them," he replied. And then proceeded to push open the bathroom door...

He grinned and said, "Oh man! They're awesome!"

And then he slammed the door shut and ran down the stairs, yelling to his brother, "Ian! I just saw Mommy's boobs!"

Ian's response?

"Ewwww..."

I'm not sure how I feel about either of their reactions...

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Day 2...And The Joys of Parenting...

Last night after dinner, Emma, who was supposed to be putting on her pajamas, came downstairs bare arsed...

When I asked her why she was half-naked, she informed me, "I thought I had to fart, but when I farted, it wasn't a fart that came out. It was poop."

Excuse me?

"It was poop."

Yep. That's what it was. Poop. Runny poop. As in diarrhea. On the floor. Specifically, the bedroom carpet.

Thankfully we have a steam cleaner (very handy to own, with four kids and a dog who for the last year had too many accidents to count on the living room floor)...

And Pepto-Bismol...

She seems to be fine...in fact, there were no further incidents after the one I just wrote about...

But it does makes me wonder when, if ever, there will come a day when I don't feel like I'm living inside a tv script...

Monday, January 10, 2011

The Challenge...

My husband has challenged me to write for one hour per day, in an effort to hone my skills. Mainly, I think it's because he's tired of listening to me moan about how I don't know what to do with my life...but he seems to think that I am actually a fairly good writer and that I should be actively pursuing what he sees as God-given talent...

My grandmother told me the same thing when I was ten...this after starting a story about being a soldier in World War I...a story that I never finished, because with her praise, I became paralyzed by the thought of continuing...what if the rest of the story wasn't as good as the beginning?

And so I sit here, staring at the screen, waiting for some sort of inspiration to hit me...after delaying the start of my "hour" for about as long as possible...I got the kids off to school, Brian off to work, the dog walked, the kitchen cleaned, laundry taken care of...each time the thought started to cross my mind, "um, you should probably head to the computer now", I found another small task that needed to be completed...

Brian thinks I'm afraid of failure. And of success.

Which kind of makes me crazy, don't you think?

How can you be afraid of both at the same time?

It's not like I've never written anything before...page after page of bad (and sometimes outright depressing) poetry while I dealt with many issues from my childhood, short little stories for the kids...journal after journal since I was a kid myself...and then there's this blog...I've been doing this for a couple of years now...I've written articles for on-line magazines...technically, I'm a published author...

But the weight of "what-if-I'm-not-good-enough?" sends me into enough of an emotional tail spin that it's just easier to sit and play Bejeweled Blitz on the computer...

And when your husband and several of your friends are really good writers, it makes the pressure (at least in my own mind) even worse...

So the question is, do I have what it takes to actually see this thing through? I know that many people in my life, both past and present, have this idea that I'm a take-no-prisoners-don't-get-in-my-effing-way kind of person, but in reality? It's an act. I'm more likely to curl into a ball and beat myself up until I believe that I'm not any good at anything and that I never will be...that ugly voice has been with me since I was six years old and no matter how many times I've tried to shut her up and out, she keeps finding a way back into my head...

I keep telling my girls to "find their power" when they come to me whining about something that one of their brothers did (usually kicking them off the computer or the television)...I'm trying to take my own advice...because just for once, I want to finish what I start and finally kick that nasty bitch inside my head out so that she's never able to come back in...