Truths: A little more eggnog please

Where to start these days? In a world full of uncertainty I think my house tops the list of utter chaos. Lots of people say that – but few could ever entertain the thought of their house looking like mine right now.

I would love to say something like, “there is wrapping paper all over the room, the ornaments have crashed to the floor, and the outside lights are hanging by a string” but the truth is our Christmas is going just fine.

The presents are all wrapped and my holiday cards are sent. In fact, we have already celebrated two of our main Christmases. We went up to our cabin where I decorated our tree and I cooked and we enjoyed being with our granddaughter. Watching her play in her new pink kitchen and undress her new doll – who for some reason HAD to be naked all of the time. It was a great time.

Then, last night, we did the modern version of Christmas and “Skyped” with our grandson in San Diego. We spent an hour in the virtual world living room and got to see him open his gifts and find utter amusement with the wrapping paper and the buttons on the computer – which often interfered with our techno communication. None the less, it was a lot of fun and I can say that I actually felt like we were all together. Now that is making good use of the cyber world we live in.

However, while the celebrations are still to come – there is a circus going on in our house.

For a few months now things have been moving at a steady even somewhat slow pace with our remodel. Beautiful custom built-ins have been created and modest changes have been made to the house… that is until last week when what I thought was a house became a pit filled with crap we probably never needed… and now we are hauling it from one room to another.

We are replacing all of the dated oak trim and shitty hollow doors with trendy white trim and true six panel doors through out the house and all new windows, too. No, it doesn’t seem like a big deal – but can I even describe what it is like to empty one room so the trim can be nailed in, the windows can be installed and the painter can come?

It started out smooth. Me carefully organizing anything that came out of a closet… placing it in a fashion that maintained a sense of control. Until one day, there was no more room, the windows were coming and the next thing I know – my underwear is tossed into a linen closet, my blow dryer is under the bed and my nightstand is in the bathroom. Chaos, utter chaos.

We are living like that right now. And if you want to know how crazed this all is – I showered at my ex-husband’s house yesterday. Really think about that.

So, as I gaze at my pretty tree and the mound of wrapped presents, as I read through the holiday cards and write out the ingredients for the Christmas cupcakes I will bake – there is stomping feet, hammering of nails and the smell of paint lingering above me.

Thank God no one at our house believes in Santa Claus anymore – because one look in the Monroe house and Santa is running out the door – that is if he can find the door behind the piles of laundry and dog beds.

I don’t drink eggnog – but if I did I would undoubtedly fill it with booze. The truth is – I don’t even need the eggnog…

Truths: Where to begin?

I have so much to say after yesterday that I don’t even know where to start. I try to look at days like yesterday as learning experiences and maybe as I write this blog something of an educational nature will come to me. I hope.

The day started out in a way that some would find disappointing from the get go. The painters were supposed to come and start spraying all the new trim boards which will undoubtedly be a three day project. But, early on I found out that the painter was sick and wouldn’t be coming at all.

For me it was actually a huge relief – almost cause for celebration. For the last two months someone has been in my house working everyday and to know that no one would be here and I would be home all day (my car is in the shop…part two of the story)- I couldn’t stop smiling.

I worked out – walked around in my spandex because NO ONE was hear to see me… and then I got down to business and took on wrapping presents. I told my friend, Nancy, “Wrapping presents always seems like such a fun, Christmassy, thing to do – but in reality it is just a pain in the ass.”

Worse is when you have PMS. PMS and the paper rips or the tape runs out or the damn shirt won’t fit in the box (the few boxes you did get from the stores – they always seem to run out every Christmas – can no one anticipate anything?)

So, if wrapping gifts and PMS don’t go together you can surely imagine what it is like when the dealership calls to tell you that your car won’t be ready and they don’t even know what is wrong with it.

I avoided these calls and left them to Bill. I knew me responding to any of it would have ended in a lawsuit.

And, if all of that isn’t enough – add a hormonal 13 year old to the mix and it is nothing short of disaster. And while you might be smiling – it is NOT funny.

Abby pretty much had a hissy fit and blamed us for the fact that she would be up until midnight studying for a test that she knew NOTHING about all because we had to go get my car – not my car – but the loaner they were giving us – because they are idiots and don’t know how to rotate four tires in less than 8 hours. (its Anderson BMW in Crystal Lake, IL – I thought you should know.)

It’s a 20 minute car ride to the dealership and NO ONE talks. All you hear is deep sighs and bodies shifting. I can feel my stomach turn upside down and my head exploding.

I remember these days with my mom. I do. So, now, instead of antogoninzing the situation, I choose to say nothing at all. I am sure some psychologist is gasping because I am teaching my daughter to avoid conflict. But conflict with an adolescent girl seems more deadly than a future of poor communication skills.

And then as we ate dinner out – the words that I have feared all a long came blurting out, “I HATE the divorce!”

It was dumb of me to ask – but at the time I didn’t get it. “What divorce?”

“Yours and dad’s, duh!” Okay she didn’t actually say, “Duh,” but I know it was implied.

The weird thing about the divorce is that we have been divorced for 10 years – it is pretty much all Abby knows and yet, one day, we all knew it would surface.

So that was the ultimate bomb of the day and that pretty much put me in a dark place. One bottle of 64 wasn’t going to make that go away. I don’t even know if a case would have helped. But, being that it was my lucky day – we didn’t have any 64 at home. Go figure.

We are home now – and Abby is in her room – still sighing and stomping – Bill and I are in the basement – mostly silent – because what is there to say… and out of the blue, Keith, my ex-husband, comes over.

For a moment – I really thought Abby called him begging for an escape out of the Hell we have her in but no, he stopped by because he had gotten me a gift certificate that I needed for someone for Christmas. Isn’t that what all ex-husbands do? And how many women actually feel blessed to see their ex-husband at the door.

One because I did think he was taking Abby away… and two – because it broke up the wall of tension building in our house.

I know suicide is not a laughing matter – but I can’t help but think that it was the mom of a teenage daughter who said, “I would rather slit my wrists.” Because that is truly how I felt last night.

Sure by the time we went to bed – the house and its raw emotions had settled down – and by this morning things were back to whatever normal around here is…but enough had been said and not said to make me realize that last night wasn’t really the last night – it was just the first night of more like it to come.

I am going to have to step up my game to straight shots and forget about beer. What else can I do?

And, that is my educational take away.

Truths: 13

13 years ago, right now (its 9:30am) I walked into Good Shepherd hospital to have a baby. My water had broke at 7am… you know where you feel like you can’t stop peeing and within 15 minutes I had a contraction. A real contraction not one of those Braxton Hicks kind that you worry about early in pregnancy… the ones you swear you will get confused with for real thing and spend sleepless nights panicking that you won’t know when you are going into labor… Even though every doctor and mother on the planet promise you that you will KNOW…

Boy, when you get that first contraction – you KNOW.

While I never had another baby – my labor was relatively easy. I mean as far as having a watermelon come out of your body easy… and only after I got the epidural.

That was 13 years ago… and there are days, like today that I wish I could have that epidural again!

See, it is Abby’s birthday today and according to her and by 7am this morning (ironically when my water broke in 1998) this is her worst birthday ever!

She had to wear her pom uniform which is painstakingly itchy (I can’t really argue – polyester?), she HATES (I don’t approve of her using that word… I only use it on a very select but deserving people) her teachers – ALL of them… AND, if that weren’t bad enough she has a band concert tonight “on her birthday!”

(Now, I think a band concert on any night is punishment but I guess on your birthday it could be worse.)

So, even though she got some presents and hand delivered flowers from her dad and Carol this morning and calls and texts – this is undoubtedly the worst day of her 13 year old life!

Which pretty much makes it the worst morning of my life! Have you dealt with an unstable, moody girl at 7am?

13 years ago she screamed bloody murder when she took her first breath and today she wallowed away when she took her first step out of bed.

Despite the wrath of the morning – today gives me pause to celebrate her life. The places we have been in just 13 years and the amazing way she has changed nearly everything about me.

I won’t lie – the toddler years weren’t easy for me and even some of the early school years – and certainly days like today with her are no picnic in the park… But, now as she matures I see this real person who I am so proud of.

In less than 2 years she will be driving, 2 more and she will be in college, 2 more and she will be drinking (who am I kidding – that is probably just 3 years away). The first 13 years are safe ones the next 13 – God help me.

Today marks her entrance into a teenager, which by the looks, of it marks my opened gate to hormonal hell… But we will be okay (as long as I keep the cocktails coming)

All jokes aside, I had no idea what I was doing 13 years ago. I remember walking out of the hospital with this little baby and thinking, “I cannot believe they just let us leave. They didn’t even tell us what to do.”

But, we faked our way for the last 13 years – and I think we have done okay. The 6 pound baby has become a beautiful girl – teenager now… and while she is having the worst day of her life – I am counting my blessings.

Tails and Truths: Plans are what you make – life is what you get

Yesterday I emailed back and forth with a fellow rescue friend who met me during the time when I attended my first Amish dog auction. Thorp, the dog I rescued, was technically supposed to go to her and to Chinese Crested Rescue. It wasn’t that they “wanted” him necessarily – it was just that they were willing to save him, if needed.

I wasn’t ever a part of that plan because I attended that auction not knowing anyone and certainly I never even thought of taking a dog home that day.

That day will be re-lived in my head for the rest of my conscious life. It changed every part of who I am and who I will be. Neither of which I ever planned on to begin with.

But yesterday, my friend emailed back, “You were meant to be at that horrific auction.”

And, I must have been.

We spend so much of our lives planning. Soul searching and seeking out opportunities we think will be right for us. We want to be “something” that we usually are not and we always desire what we don’t already have.

I believe the actual quote is something like, “Life is what happens as you are busy making plans.”

How true.

Oh how VERY true.

Going to that auction and rescuing Thorp was never in any plans I etched out. Battling WI legislation and becoming a part of a rescue group attending dog auctions wasn’t something I went to school for. And, if those weren’t enough moments to last me a lifetime – who would have thought I would keep going and train the misfit of a dog I rescued by a freak accident to be a therapy dog. I didn’t even know much about therapy dogs… let alone think to have one of my own.

However, as much as my life changed in the years that I got involved with mill dog rescue – nothing would have ever prepared me for actually doing therapy work with Thorp. No one on this Earth could have told me that I would find something that had nothing to do with animals so rewarding.

Thorp and I have developed a reading program with the kids we see at Clay. We work in small groups or one on one with the kids teaching them how to read. (Okay, Thorp just sits there).

For that 90 minutes I sit on our blanket and work with the kids who are challenged in ways no one may ever understand or be able to “fix” - I am completely present. I don’t think many of us are ever completely present in any given moment. We worry about things, we think about what we have to do next – it is truly hard to stay in the moment.

But not for me at Clay. And for an impatient person as I am – being in the moment and working with the kids is therapeutic in a way I would have never fathomed.

I never planned to work with kids – it never seemed like something that spoke to me. But as I sit and sound out words with kids who are trying so hard to fit into life the best way they know how – it feels unbelievably truthful.

I leave the school balanced and passionate about what I did. I think about those kids long after I leave and wonder what it is I could do to offer more of myself.

In many ways, I ponder my future with the kids – if I should consider further schooling and make it a profession – or would it then just become a job?

The multiple experiences that I have had in the last 4 years have taught me a few things – one of which is the most important. We can’t make an outline for everything that we do – at some point we have to take a deep breath and allow life to happen to us. Not as victims – as active participants willing to be open to experiences we never would have chosen but find ourselves in.

It is these experiences that can lead us to destinations we didn’t plan on and these experiences define who we truly are and what makes us tick.

Its difficult to open one’s soul up to the unknown and then to blindly follow where it takes you. But having been guided by fate – I can assure you that there is no greater journey than the one you never planned on.

Tails: From wolf to slave

It’s obvious that this whole media scam has me in a tizzy. Me and many other people. And ironically enough, my dad just sent me an article from the Wall Street Journal titled, “From Cave to Kennel” the evolution of the dog by Mark Derr.

It talks about how they have found cave drawings estimated to be 26,000 years old with a young boy walking with his dog companion next to him. This would push back what was thought to be the oldest record of dogs by 12,000 years.

The writer speaks to the relationship between man and dog and states, “We chose them, to be sure, but they chose us too and our shared characteristics may well account for our seemingly unshakable mutual intimacy.”

He goes on to explain: “The relationship between dogs and humans has been so mutually beneficial and enduring that some scholars have suggested that we-dogs and humans-influenced each other’s evolution.”

Let’s assume that to be true. I certainly believe it is. But what does that infer in our debate about puppy mills? Could it be that our evolution as humans has come to a halt? Does it mean that we have stopped moving forward when our belief becomes we should cage dogs and use them up like expendable objects?

It seems to me that up until the last few decades us and dogs moved ahead. Humans got smarter, dogs got smarter and we thrived on this Earth as a partnership. But, now, it seems both of us have gotten dumber and less productive and more cruel and lost our compassion for life.

Derr states, “Highly social wolves and highly social humans started walking, playing and hunting together and never stopped.”

That is, until today, when we have chosen to lock them up in barns and throw away the key.

Derr continues with: “Recent studies suggest that the dog has unique abilities among animals to follow human directions and that its capacity for understanding words can approach that of a two year old child.”

Do we lock up two-year-old children in crates?

Derr ends his piece like this: “The relationship (between human and dog) has endured not because dogs are juvenilized wolves but because they are dogs-our faithful companions.”

Faithful companions that we neglect and torture and if that wasn’t bad enough we tell ourselves that we don’t.

Tails: Take the blinders off

Recently, channel 27 out of Madison, WI did a special report on the effects of the Puppy Mill Bill which was made into law earlier this year.

Sadly, what they reported was skewed and the reasons are sketchy… Some infer that Representative Pridemore was behind it in his tactics to overturn the new law and lessen the regulations placed on breeding facilities, shelters and rescues. I cannot say with certainty that this is true – but I can say I don’t doubt it.

But dirty politics aside, the sad truth is that the story itself was ill-reported. Ironically, the state vet, Dr. Bob Ehlenfeldt, told the reporter that to date the law has not shut down any puppy mills and suggested that he didn’t think there were that many bad places in the state.

This reporting is horrific to people like me who have had the unlikely experience of seeing dogs come out of the bad places Dr. Ehlenfeldt doesn’t seem to think exist in the state of WI.

Ironically, the segment aired on the same day that a fellow rescue friend had taken 7 dogs from an Amish Mill in WI where the Amish farmer explained that the new law was shutting him down and he would no longer be in the business.

I am more than disappointed in the reporting – and it pains me to know that the reporter even went so far as to interview Furry Babies – a known pet store selling puppies who come from mills across the country and WI. It would be like interviewing John Wayne Gacy on the death penalty.

I have two dogs, whom I took from the dredges of WI mills, and have spent long hours teaching them how to act like dogs and not fearful, empty shells of dogs who never knew a gentle hand or a kind act. Every day I get emails of more dogs being rescued from the bad places that reporters seem to go out of their way to report don’t exist – or state, “They aren’t as bad as people think.”

They ARE as bad- in fact for the common pet owner they would be worse than they imagined.

Bluntly, I am sick and tired of the crap, the BS, that the news spreads to unknowing consumers. I have no idea what it will take for WI and our country to realize the horror of puppy mills. The inhumanity that exists for the one animal we call, “man’s best friend.”

Right now, as I look to my left and see Penelope, a used up breeding female whose uterus was so overworked that it fell out during her spay, sleeping on a chair – I can’t help but me mad that people are saying these places don’t exist and that laws won’t make a difference.

Or, later today, when I take Thorp, a used up male breeding dog, to Clay School and he wears his Therapy Dog bandana and sits with kids who suffer from behavior challenges – I can’t help but shed a tear that dogs are not meant to be treated like caged animals. They have a higher purpose – one that WE taught them through years of domestication. We taught them to be our companions and yet in 2011 we treat them like trash.

Frustrating doesn’t describe the emotion felt by people like me – who have fought hard to free dogs of agony and neglect. It is so hard to know the truth and see it reported like a fallacy.

For years I tried to get my local paper to report the truth – to showcase an epidemic – but they said they couldn’t talk bad about a local business: Petland.

Apparently, channel 27 has its own reasons to save the public from the truth – maybe its political, maybe Furry Babies offered them a cut – truthfully, I don’t care the reason – I only care that thousands of dogs sit in wire cages with no hope of freedom and that I blame on the media.

Truths: THE Annual

So, I was getting ready for my big annual gyne exam by plucking the two wirery hairs from my chin that appear every now and then as a reminder that I am 40. I did a few other hygienic things to prepare for the appointment but no need to go there…

This appointment is a big one for me – because in the 20 or so years I have been going to the gyne – I have had nearly as many doctors. I mean lets be honest – it is a pretty personal experience and if you aren’t comfortable with your doctor – well, the horridness of it is just made worse.

Now, I have had good doctors here and there. The man who delivered Abby was great and a few others in that practice when I was in my late 20’s but they all left the practice one by one and eventually, I did too.

I googled and asked friends for references and ended up in a newer practice with a woman doctor some of my friends raved about. I went there a few times but I just never felt like I connected with her. And, so, I ended up not going back and let the annual exam become more like an every two or so years exam – and that time was now.

This might or might not be funny… but as my dad’s cousin and her daughter were standing over my grandma’s bed when she was in a coma in hospice – somehow the conversation led us to gyne’s. And, they both raved about the doctor they went to. I figured I would give it a try.

So, that was May and by September I decided to make an appointment which ended up being yesterday.

It was an hour to get there and, yes, I was nervous. I had a lot to talk about as I enter this stage of menopause and all the crap that goes with it – not to mention the harsh fact that I would be exposing myself to someone I never even met before as I blubber through my hot flashes and painful periods and rampant yeast infections.

It is times like these that I am assured God is a man.

It was an easy drive and though it was near the city – it was a stand alone building with its own parking lot – that helped. (often, it’s the little things).

But what took me by total surprise was when I walked in the building. Huge, comfy sofas encompassed a lit fire in the beautiful stone fireplace. Warm, hip painted walls – wood floors and a flat screen TV – it was as though I walked into a dear friend’s newly decorated loft. If I just had a glass of wine or a beer in my hand – I would have never left.

However, I have been down this road before so I knew better than to let a comfy couch and a saltwater fish tank mask the reality of what was next.

Soon, I found myself walking to the bathroom to pee in a cup – but the surroundings continued. Cherry trim, warm soothing colors, décor from Pottery Barn- it didn’t stop. Hell, I almost forgot to pee in the cup as I gazed at the artwork!

But, the real test would come later – anyone can have a pretty office.

The actual exam room certainly was appointed by the same interior designer. Beautiful furniture, classy stainless bar sink, wicker chairs, low, soft lighting. I mean if it wasn’t for the exam table, the room could have graced the pages of a decorating magazine.

The nurse was new and very kind as she went through my history- which when you hit 40 is rather long and when we were done – I got to get naked and prepared for the paper towel they have you wear. But, who am I kidding – there wasn’t going to be any paper towel for me to wear. It was a real gown – a nice gown in a lovely maroon fabric that actually made me feel like I was in my PJ’s not trying to cover my entire body with a tissue.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, the doctor came in. And in an instant I knew I had finally met my match. She was dressed to the nines in a cool dress, fashionable shoes and funky jewelry that I would wear. She smiled and introduced herself and immediately sat down so we could “talk.”

I really felt like I was sitting with Addison Montgomery on Private Practice. She was that good.

And, we DID talk… really talk. She never got up or acted like she had better things to do. She offered her own life experiences and laughed about what it is like to be menopausal. She got it and she understood and most of all, she was listening to me.

I had a lot of things I wanted to talk about and she wanted to hear about each one of them. She never rushed through issues and I felt like I had known her my whole life. I didn’t feel embarrassed or uncomfortable and EVERYTHING I needed to talk about was said and she had knowledgeable, caring answers for it all.

The exam itself was remarkably fast: she talked about life and we laughed and by the time the story was over – I was done and I didn’t even know it.

The nurse came to take some blood and the doctor came back to talk a little after I was dressed and when it was all said and done she hugged me and said it was nice to meet me. And, it wasn’t a fake hug – it was an endearing hug and I hugged her back.

The whole way home I smiled because for the first time in 20 years I felt like I met a gyne who got me – who enjoyed what she did and wanted me to feel comfortable talking about things that are usually embarrassing.

I also spent time in the car re-thinking how old I am because when I left the comfy sofas and warm fireplace I left with a bag full of literature on all the tests I had to schedule: bladder diagnosis, mammogram, bone density, and an ultrasound to look at my ovaries. Not to mention some drugs to ease the constant PMS I suffer as I go through this life changing thing called menopause.

I might be falling apart – but for the first time in 40 years I finally found a doctor who made falling apart okay. In fact, I look forward to going back to talking with her and waiting on the amazingly cuddly sofa and facing the rest of crap I am about to go through because I trust that she will care about me. And, maybe, just maybe – I will bring my own beer.

Truths: The skinny on jeans

Ugh… what could be worse than going jeans shopping? Well, yes, bathing suit shopping. But, other than that, what?

You know how it is. You need new jeans – the ones you have are well – more suitable for yard work or painting than they are going out in. But, they are comfortable and they fit and you “think” they look good on you.

Or maybe, like me, you finally lost some weight and the jeans you have, yes, do look like you should yard work in, but they are baggy and no longer very attractive.

So, my friend, Nancy, recommended that I go to the Buckle and check out their jeans.

She didn’t really recommend this… we were out drinking one night and she said, “You should try my jeans on.” And so, we went to the bathroom and switched pants. (you know you are close with someone when this seems like a good idea – that, and you have had too much to drink to think otherwise.)

So, we switched pants and we went out to our husbands, and right or wrongm my husband and Nancy’s husband both said that the jeans looked good on me.

Enough said – sign me up.

So, Friday Nancy and I headed off to the Buckle. Now, mind you I hadn’t been to this mall, let alone this store, in a good 8 years. The last time I was at the Buckle it was about the size of a closet and I bought a belt and some boots. They didn’t have much else.

We walked into the mall and I couldn’t believe how it had been updated. It sure beat 8 years ago and then we came to the Buckle and apparently, it had a facelift as well – along with a few huge additions – it was a lot different than I remembered.

And, it looked like jeans were strewn across the whole place. There were jeans everywhere.

This is something that Nancy warned me about. She said that we would be there for hours and that they would just keep bringing me more jeans.

That was, unmistakably, the truth.

Now, the last time I bought jeans was a year ago at Old Navy. I happened to see a pair that I liked – tried them on and bought them. The time before that I was at Kohl’s or maybe even Kmart and saw a pair I liked and they fit so I bought them.

I was nowhere near ready for what was about to happen.

I started looking through the tables of jeans. And within minutes a cheery salesgirl approached me and asked what brought me in today.

“Jeans, I need new jeans.”

“Well, then let’s start looking,” she said.

I had a few pairs that I thought looked nice and she took them and said, “Why don’t you look for some cute tops, I will take care of the jeans.”

I ignored her advice – because I didn’t need tops – I needed jeans and in a few more minutes I walked to my dressing room to see a STACK of jeans. I mean, like, 15 pairs!

Luckily, Nancy had the room right next to mine and off we went. It was like a horse race. Ready at the gate, go!

The first pair I tried on felt – well, tight. And if it weren’t for the fact that the dressing room didn’t have a mirror (I hate that) I would have never went outside for anyone to see. But I did, and to my shock, they both said maybe I should try on the next size smaller!

Huh?

Now, it probably does matter that the jeans I walked in with were about two sizes too big – not to mention that they were a baggy style to begin with. I guess anything I tried on was going to feel “tight.”

So, they agreed again and I went back into the room to try on another pair.

This went on for 2 hours – yes, 2 hours. This pair and that pair and every fricking pair in the store. It was exhausting. It finally came down to about 5 pair and I was so confused and overwhelmed that I didn’t know what to do.

So, being that the way your butt looks plays a very critical role in if you should get the jeans – Nancy and I did what any good girlfriends would do. She took pictures of my butt in all 5 of the jeans and then we flipped through them on her phone!

It really was an amazing and effective tactic. Within minutes – I had it narrowed down to three. My goal was two pairs.

Now these jeans don’t come cheap. And some will gawk when I say this, “But they really are better.” They fit better, the denim is better… There is a reason celebrities don’t wear jeans from Kohl’s or Kmart.

I am short – well, pretty short. I say 5’5” but in reality I am probably 5’4” and for the most part I have never put on a pair of jeans that fit. Too long, to big at the waist, too tight at the hips… you get the picture.

But these jeans – they fit. They fit everywhere. That’s kind of what made the choices so hard. There really wasn’t a pair that I could complain about. It came down to what the pockets looked like.

I guess at 40 – the way your jeans fit does become a priority. And as Nancy and I rationalized – we don’t have to buy work clothes and we wear these jeans all of the time.

So, I bought three pair. Three pair that I love. Not many people can say that after a day of jeans shopping.

Although not many girls can feel comfortable that a friend of their’s has 5 pictures of her butt on their phone!

Truths: It was worth all 4 pounds

I turned 40 this year – which meant that 3 of my closest friends from high school turned 40 as well and that meant celebration.

We chose our celebration to be a week long stay in Ft. Lauderdale – kind of the spring break we never took together. And back when we went to spring break – Ft. Lauderdale was the place to go.

Two of my friends that went (Kelly and MaryKate) have been my bestest friends for 30 years. We lived in the same neighborhood and have been friends since we were 10 (yep, 40 – 30 = 10 – good math). There isn’t enough room in this blog or probably in cyberspace to detail the things we have done together.

I mean when you are friends with two girls who have seen you through puberty all the way to premenopause – truly – what on Earth could they have missed?

My other friend who went, Joanna and I met in high school. And, to be perfectly honest, well, we really didn’t hit it off so well.

She became my best guy friend’s girlfriend so you can imagine how this went. I was jealous of her for spending time with him and she was jealous of me for knowing him so well. We even had a “cat fight” at my locker one day. Yeah – it wasn’t good.

I am not sure at what point things took a turn for the better – but I know by the time I got married she was one of my bridesmaids and I was one of hers. And, Mike, well neither of us talk much to him anymore.

Joanna lives in Michigan and MaryKate lives in Spain – so our normal method of communication is email. And even though Kelly and I live about 40 minutes apart – we, too, rely on the internet.

However, for 6 days we all shared a beautiful suite overlooking the ocean. It really was an amazing place. (Nope, no 20 year old chicks chugging beer with guys on the beach like I imagined spring break to be) But, none the less – it was ideal.

We had nights in – where we talked for hours and stuffed our faces with pizza and beer. And we had nights out that were down right crazy.

Karaoke one night… where Kelly couldn’t have been more in her element. I believe Guns and Roses’ song, “Sweet Child of Mine” won her an encore performance – not to mention a video and more than likely a shot at youtube. And we stunned ourselves when we didn’t get home until 5am!

Club dancing another – where we brought down the house and made friends with the DJ.

We found time in between drinks to enjoy the spa (where, thankfully, they served champagne).

And we sat at the pool and soaked up the sun.

And, what kind of girls’ trip would it be without some shopping?

Yep, we did it all and we had a blast doing it.

But, truly the take away (besides the 4 pounds that I gained) was 6 amazing days of being close with three people who know you unlike many others. Three people who have seen your heart get broken and watched you lose all that post baby weight.

And, I think another wonderful thing about being on a trip with friends at 40 – is that you are 40. You are confident with who you are. Its not about anything but the moment you are in. You walk around in your bathing suit without feeling self-conscious – Hell, half the time (okay not half- some) practically naked in the hotel room getting ready… I actually can recall days gone by when we couldn’t even change our clothes in the same room – let alone let someone walk in when we are showering.

Yes, the scenery was beautiful and the weather sunny and hot – but the true beauty of the vacation was the time we got to spend together. Time we can never take back and never re-create.

20 years ago we had endless nights and days together – days that I guess we took for granted. So, when you get 6 uninterrupted days with such close friends – that is what you treasure most about a vacation like ours.

It was hard to say goodbye and watch MaryKate get on the plane to Spain so very far away – and it was hard to hug Joanna and know that I probably won’t see her for many months… (It would be hard to say goodbye to Kelly but I know that if we ever really needed to we could have lunch on a moment’s notice)

But, the last few days have been hard. There is something unique about living with your girlfriends. Going to bed talking and waking up talking. (yes, this would be a guy’s nightmare) but when you have your girlfriends right next to you – where you can ask for reassurance or make a total ass of yourself and still feel loved – that’s a magic you don’t get everyday.

I have already lost that 4 pounds and sadly, I have lost that time with my friends.

Sure we have facebook to re-live the fun and email to offer each other comfort but nothing makes up for not being together. There is a quote, “Don’t be sad its over, be grateful that it happened.”

I am very grateful.

Tails: I believe in karma

I am a horrible person. I am.

I actually reveled in a person’s injury yesterday. Smiled when I heard about it on the news. Raised my arms and waved them like when I cheer for my daughter’s soccer team.

I could not have been more elated.

Michael Vick, Philadelphia Eagle’s star quarterback, the one they signed for 130 million dollars broke his arm yesterday.

What utterly gratifying news.

No, it wasn’t quite as good as it could have been. He broke his right arm not his left and he is a lefty QB – but it is my hope that his return is doubtful.

I don’t know where to begin really. But I do believe in karma.

Vick whined on TV last night – crying that people are out to get him… the refs don’t call roughing the passer like they would on other QB’s. That they treat him unfairly and allow him to get injured.

BOO HOO!

How on Earth can anyone feel one ounce of sympathy for a dog killer – and not just one dog – many dogs and not humanely – he strangled them, he beat them, he shot them.

Forgive me for reveling in his injury – but does he really feel he doesn’t deserve the punishment?

He violently hurt helpless dogs – they didn’t have helmets or pads – and they certainly never blamed their injuries on the refs.

Quite frankly, I praise the players who go after him with a vengeance. I even praise the refs who perhaps might just look the other way. Someone needs to make him pay for what he did – certainly no one else has.

So, I believe in karma – not just how it has come back to bite Vick in the ass (pun kind of intended) but how it is killing the owners and coaches of the Eagles.

Shame on them for giving such a “jerk” a second chance. (I wanted to use another word – but I refrained)

Now as they watch their 130 million dollars flash before their eyes and their hopes of winning a superbowl go down the toilet, I smile.

In fact, I laugh.

There is one group of people I do feel sorry for: the players on the Eagles who never got to voice their opinion. I am certain there are a few on the team – who despise Vick for what he did – but now they are stuck with him.

And maybe I feel a bit sorry for any Eagles fans – who love their team but hate cheering for Vick.

Vick suffered a concussion last week and now a broken arm – how can you not believe in karma?

Tails: No “Vick”tory last night

Yesterday morning I was quick to throw on my Green Bay Packer gear in preparation for Sunday football. Our family bleeds green and gold and Sunday is always the day to show it off.

We spent kick-off at Abby’s soccer game (in the rain) but managed to get to a bar by 1:30 to watch the Pack score their way to a win. All in all a good day.

But, amazingly, the real game for me came Sunday night when the Atlanta Falcons took on the Philadelphia Eagles. Some people might not understand the magnitude of the game so hear it is… Michael Vick the now quarterback for the Eagles used to be THE quarterback for the Falcons – in fact he was such THE QB that he had a 130 MILLION dollar contract. Don’t quote me but I think the HIGHEST paid QB ever.

That’s all fine and good and maybe at the time he deserved it… But fast forward and well, it turned out Michael Vick was a scumbag and was convicted of felony dogfighting charges and sent to prison for 2 years.

Some may say so what (shame on you). But, the real story lies in the gory details of what Vick and his cousin and other low-life friends did. In fact, I just finished Jim Gorant’s (Sports Illustrated Senior Editor) book, “The Lost Dogs” which details the story behind the Vick tragedy.

Michael Vick and a few others got together and started a professional dog ring. He bought a house and built a few back barns and bought dogs and raised them to fight. Mostly, when you read the book, he raised them to die. Because Vick’s dogs weren’t winners and when they lost they died – either by a hanging or a beating or a bullet to the head. And they were buried in the backyard.

For some death was actually a blessing. Others were bred in rape stands – some females even had their teeth removed so they couldn’t fight back. Other dogs were left on chains in the backyard to fight the elements and be left to helplessly fight in the ring.

The scene is out of a horror movie. Even for a seasoned animal rescuer – there are moments in the book that made me cry.

In 2007, a drug warrant allowed police investigators into the home and when they found the traces of dogfighting – the real investigation began. They found the equipment, the chains, the dead bodies and lots of blood throughout the property.

The local authorities stalled (probably for political reasons) so the feds stepped in and within months Vick was convicted. His cronies were fast to turn on him.

But, the real story comes after – all the dogs who were left. It was the first time that dog fighting dogs would not all be euthanized. The case was too big and the stakes too high. Animal welfare organizations from all over stepped in to save them.

That is except for two organizations, PETA and HSUS who felt the best bet was to euthanize the dogs.

Instead about 30 of them were saved. Gorant’s book details the lives of each of the dogs and where they are now.

It wasn’t easy – some dogs managed to spring back into life – but many of them were so afraid, so broken that it took months, even years, to rehabilitate. The scars, both physical and emotional were so deep.

All because of a Vick – the 130 MILLION dollar star quarterback.

Once the allegations were proven true – the Atlanta Falcons fired Vick – and later, of course, he would go to prison. He was also required to pay for the care of the dogs as restitution.

After 22 months of prison – Vick emerged a “changed” man. (Give me a break). And lo and behold, the Philadelphia Eagles thought it was worth giving him a chance.

And this year, after his phenomenal return they signed him for 100 million dollar contract making him the only QB in history to get TWO 100 million dollar contracts.

Shouldn’t America be proud? Rewarding a convicted criminal for heinous activity. Inhumane behavior – true cruelty.

Its obvious I have my issues with the NFL, the Eagles, VICK… I hate that man – and I tend NOT to use hate lightly.

So, last night as we turned on the Sunday night game and the Falcons took on the Eagles - I have to admit that I cheered louder than I did for the Packers. See, yesterday was Vick’s first return to his starting team – Atlanta. The team that gave up 130 million dollars when they realized they employed a true criminal.

There were boos and cheers for Vick’s return – probably a few wished horrible things like I did as I watched.

But, I did watch the game – with my heart and soul. Each sack – each interception Vick threw. And yes, call me vindictive but when Vick got hurt last night I could only think of it as karma – the dogs’ retribution.

I wish the Eagles a losing season. Its too bad for the other good players on the team – but how on Earth can any goodhearted person cheer for a team that employs a killer?

And even though every game day I will throw on my green and gold and cheer for the Packers – my soul will be wearing the colors of whatever team Vick is playing.

And the dogs he killed will be looking from above wagging their tails every time he gets sacked. They deserve at least that.

Tails: Puppy Mill Awareness Day

Tomorrow, Saturday, September 17th is "Puppy Mill Awareness Day."

To many people this might not mean much. But to people like me and dog's like Thorp and Penelope - it couldn't mean more.

Each year THOUSANDS of dogs are kept in tiny wire cages mass bred for petstores across the United States. Each year thousands of unknowing consumers flock to these stores and pay thousands of dollars to take home a cute puppy they saw in the window. And each year, hundreds of these puppies die in the first few months because they are sick. Sure the pet store will reimburse you or exchange the dead pup for a new one - but what does that say? A dog is no different than a broken TV?

This week an email was sent around - a true reason to celebrate Puppy Mill Awareness Day... Petland in Canada has decided to stop selling puppies due to the perception of Canadian consumers! This is a huge step for dogs everywhere. And my utter praise to Canadians for getting their point across and ending the misery for many dogs across the continent.

However, Petlands in the US have not taken this approach because not enough US people are complaining or protesting their stores. It is only until we say we have had enough - will Petland US make the same retail decision.

You have seen it on the news, read it in the paper and overheard "crazy dog" people gossiping about those puppy mill places... Its not gossip. I saw it with my own eyes - and I rescued two dogs who lie next to me as a type this to prove it.

Please take a stand on Saturday - get the word out - share with your neighbors. And if you are feeling really brave - walk into your local petshop that sells puppies and ask to see where they came from - ask them about puppy mills and watch them squirm. Sure they will lie about where the dogs come from BUT if enough people keep pressuring them - they will, just like the stores in Canada, crumble.

At the very least - take your own dog for a walk tomorrow. Allow him a day to enjoy on behalf of the thousands of dogs crammed in barns - with only distant thoughts of a warm bed, a dog treat and family to love.

Petstore puppies are victims and their parents who sit in filth indefinitely are prisoners to a life they never asked for. My favorite quote is, "The greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated."
- Mahatma Gandhi

If you are looking for a puppy or a dog - thousands are available at breed rescues and local shelters - many are mill survivors - who like Thorp and Penelope will give you love unlike any other dog you have owned.

Please adopt don't shop for your next pet: www.petfinder.com

Tails: Free to Good Home

Hardly the case these days.

I have spent the last 5 years immersed in animal rescue work. And I say that with the understanding that I have been “rescuing” animals all of my life. From caterpillars to frogs to strays and birds. But, for the last 5 years I have found myself amongst many wonderful people doing what they can to save that one last dog or cat from euthanasia or an abusive situation or a puppy mill on an Amish farm.

I have learned a lot about it all. I even learned the difference between “animal welfare” and “animal rights.” But, saddest of all, I have learned that no matter how many of us there are – there will always be an animal without a home.

But, what is a home for a pet? Can you define what one would like? Should it be 3000 square feet or can it be a trailer. Should the pet live outside or have its own 4 poster bed with silk linens? Should the pet have good ole Purina Chow or should it be served fresh ground meat and rice three times a day. Does it need a diamond studded collar or will a black nylon collar from a thrift store suffice? Can the owner work 8 plus hours a day – or should they be home with their pet? Will children be allowed? What ages? Should the pet be an only child or can it grow up with other pets of many species?

Its crazy, right? To decide what is right and what is wrong – but the saddest truth of all is that there are hundred of rescues out there deciding for everyone what makes a good home – and while I would bet my life they take these decisions to heart and only want to find the best home for the pet – I also firmly believe that they are losing hundreds of potential adopters every year.

There once was a time when a sign outside a window read, “Puppies Free to Good Home.” Now that signage is so long and the requirements so outlandish that they take 5 pages to fill out and of course $$$.

Recently I overheard a conversation of two men: one talking about his desire to get a Doberman. He looked into good breeders but on average he would pay $1500 or more. So, he thought he would try a few rescues. In his words, “It was a bunch of bullshit the crap they wanted me to fill out. And, then they informed me that they had the right to come to my home whenever they wanted to see the dog!”

He went on to explain to his friend that he just couldn’t bare to jump through all of those hoops. So, he had turned to Craigslist and found some backyard breeder who had 15 breedings dogs and could get a pup for $500. He knew, he said, that it wasn’t an ideal situation but he also knew he couldn’t afford $1500 and he didn’t have the time or the patience to write a book about why he would be a good home for some rescue group to read. Though within the conversation I eavesdropped on, the man described that the dog would have 5 acres to roam, it would be “king of the castle” and it would undoubtedly sleep in his bed.

Its hard for me to accept this truth – that rescues are pushing people to backyard breeders and, potentially, god awful petstores… I can say nothing but that I have lost my own patience for their tactics.

A fellow rescue friend is a volunteer for a Shih Tzu rescue. I watched her rescue the smallest, frailest, shih tzu at an Amish auction once. A little dog who was basically about to die had no one stepped in. She saved that dog’s life. I couldn’t be more proud to know her.

I rescued a Shih Tzu at another auction. A little dog who had had 6 litters of pups in 4 years. She was tired and sick. We call her Penelope and she lives amongst our three other dogs and our three other cats, she plays with our friends’ kids ranging in age from 3-12 and on occasion sits with our grandchildren who are each a year old.

I mention this because based on these facts my friend’s rescue would never be able to adopt to me. The cats might scratch the Shih’s eyes out, the kids would be too rough and you shouldn’t have a toddler with a little dog.

I am not disputing the possibility of any of these things happening – of course, they are all possible – but what I can say without hesitation is that Penelope flourishes in our home. She lays with the cats, plays ball with the kids and snuggles up to my grandkids as they play on the floor.

Had Penelope been rescued by my friend’s organization, I could have never adopted her. How sad would both our lives be?

Recently, on one of the platforms I am on – a rescuer was questioning an applicant because of the vet they chose and, I guess, that is what got me on my soapbox, that, and the man I listened to at lunch (it all happened on the same day).

I “eagerly” replied that I think this has all gone too far. With millions of dogs and cats without homes – aren’t we getting a little picky – a little too snotty to be so judgmental of individuals who, for the most part, want nothing more than to add a furry friend to their family? That, bless their hearts, they decided to try rescue – only to find that they need to reveal everything about themselves and, hell, throw in their first born to make a deal.

The group I am talking about shares the availability of dogs coming from the mills The mediator of the platform posts when millers have dogs available whom they don’t want anymore – she states what day they are going to the mill to get which dogs and hopes that some of the members of the group will offer to take the dogs in.

Horribly, there is not always room for someone to add a dog. And a few weeks back one of the 10 dogs was going to be left behind. Someone did come forward – but it leads me to beg the question – are we really in a position to be so demanding – turning away decent homes because they aren’t “perfect” enough – not to mention trashing the whole concept of rescue by making people believe its more like signing your life away then it is about finding a pup to love.

My response was not well received by some of the members. And I have grown only more angry and frustrated. In a country filled with uncertainty and a poor economy – and way too many homeless pets does it really matter what vet someone goes to – isn’t it just satisfying to know that they go to a vet?

I could hold my emotion back no longer and sent this email:

I would rather rescue 100 dogs and place them in average homes than only rescue 5 and place them in perfect homes. And, I think if you asked any abused, neglected, puppy mill or stray dog they would say that they would rather have an okay home than no home at all.”

So much for “free.”

Truths (Tails): 24 hours of ups and downs

Aaah – I think yesterday was the first day of what was to be normal since Abby went back to school. First we had my stepdaughter’s wedding and then the clean-up that came after that, then we left for San Diego for our grandson’s 1st birthday, I spent the first days back clearing out my office so I could once again get a fresh start working on my book… And truthfully, I think I needed to take control of my life in some small way…and then yesterday…

Aaah but yesterday turned out to be full of ups and downs…

(Down) it started with an emergency trip to the vet because Sadie had an ulcerated wound right where they found the cancer. We did xrays and luckily (Up) the cancer has not spread to her lungs and (Up) they decided not to do another biopsy. We are going to treat the wound with antibiotics first and hope it heals. Otherwise (Down) it could be the return of the cancer.

(Up) Thorp went back to school yesterday. We got to see all of the kids and they were so excited to have us back. At one point we were playing with a new little girl and (Down) she wanted to play petstore and I would come to buy Thorp. I know this was an innocent act of pretend play but I couldn’t help but gulp to myself. Knowing where Thorp came from and the mills that I saw – playing petstore with Thorp seemed like a cruel irony. Why on Earth couldn’t she have suggested I adopt him from a shelter?

(Up) One of the contractors came to bid part of the remodel job. He was really nice and I think he will do a good job. He didn’t quote yesterday but (Down) I am certain it will be a lot!

(Up) As I was actually working on my book and looking through files for agents who might have an interest – I found one, Gordon, who I couldn’t help get excited about. He looked like a really laid back kind of guy and best of all – he had an interest in nonfiction dog books! My heart raced and I swore fate had intervened. So, I typed up my query and with the blessing of my best friend and writing colleague I hit the send button. My stomach was in knots. Kelly said it could be up to three months before I would hear from him. How would I ever wait that long when I was already on pins and needles?

(Up) To sidetrack my anxiety, I put on my Packer shirt and Bill and I ordered pizza and sat down to watch the highly anticipated Green Bay Packers versus the New Orleans Saints game – the first official kick-off of the NFL season! And (Up) the Packers won! But, I have to admit, (Down) I fell asleep before the end.

(Down) I woke up this morning and as always checked my email and there was one from Gordon. Gasp! But, in a polite way he said, “Sorry, this does not fit my list at this time.” Sigh… My first rejection. And I am sure there will be more. I can’t lie it hurts. To have this idea you have poured your heart into – this passion that led you to write in the first place… and to hear, for the first time, its not a fit… It stings a little.

But… (Up) I don’t feel defeated. I can’t. Hell, I just re-did my office to get back in the groove and I took my first shot. I wrote a query I am sure I can use again and overall, I am better for all of it.

That’s my last 24 hours. People sometimes wonder what us people who don’t work for a paycheck do… and I think that a day like yesterday is pretty typical for most of us.

Today the roller coaster starts again.

Truths: Double Edge Sword

For years now, I have perused magazines – seeking out my dream house- cutting out pictures and painstakingly pasting them into scrapbooks. (This is my idea of scrapbooking…Abby’s baby pictures are piled up in an armoire waiting for me to have this kind of ambition)

I have a whole book filled with fireplace mantels and stair railings and built in bookshelves… Pages, lots of pages, of dream kitchens. And if that isn’t enough – I have pages dedicated to paint colors and furniture pieces even that art to hang on the walls.

I spend hours watching HGTV and have tivo’d shows that portray what I want…one day.

Yes, it has all been in the hopes of one day…

And, that one day has come!

Could I be more excited to see my house turn into my dream home? The oak trim out, the larger white baseboard and 6 panel white doors installed… the built-ins and the window seat and new flooring. And my absolute favorite – my large garden window over my sink. (new sink).

The pages I have created are about to become my reality. Talk about the need to pinch yourself to make sure you aren’t dreaming.

But, apparently, someone pinched me last night.

The contractor and the carpenter came last night to really start putting my dreams on my paper – to start planning out the phases and the materials and all the stuff it takes to make a page in a scrapbook become a bookshelf in your family room.

And after 2 hours – or was it 3 hours – reality struck. (at least the first reality… we will get the quote for the job in a few days and I am sure that will be a “I am not dreaming anymore” moment as well).

But it was when the Roger said something like, “The whole place is pretty much going to be torn up. If you want to keep any of the light fixtures you should take them down. Anything in the rooms is going to have to be moved. The closets will have to be emptied to re-case the doors and re-trim. We are going to have to hammer in some holes to see what is in the walls. Things are going to get messy.”

And Bill said, “I really don’t think she has any idea what this is going to be like.”

And, I guess, I didn’t.

I just pictured the old magically going away and the new being gracefully installed. No dust – just one day I walk into my house and realize that my scrapbook has come to life.

I am pretty sure that Christmas, this year, will be a small tree in the basement or a celebration at the cabin. The 50 snowman I have won’t be making an appearance and the stockings won’t be hanging on the mantel.

I have always lived by the mantra, “Good things don’t come easy.” The relationship with my husband didn’t come easy – we survived many stumbling blocks and ill will towards us…the writing of my book hasn’t come easy – things that mean so much to me – have never been smooth roads and why on Earth would this be any different?

Bill and I survived a nightmare remodel at our cabin – if it could go wrong, it did – but in the end we have this amazing place that we created and I believe that this transformation will be just as worthwhile (hopefully, without the nightmare).

I woke up this morning looking at my bedroom. Everything in its place. I walked down to the kitchen (and the ugly cabinets I hate) and saw the neatness… and I couldn’t help but take a deep breath and realize all of that is about to change.

My everyday quiet is about to turn into hammering and sawing and dust – lots of dust.

But, the hope is that when it all settles – I can throw away the scrapbook and actually live in my own pages…

Truths: Spoiled Rotten

So, I had the pleasure of caring for my 15 month old granddaughter the last few days. I mean that in the most honest and sincere way. However, unlike a good percentage of “grandmas” I also have a 12 year old daughter at home and well, that changes things.

I know, I can hear you saying it, “Big deal – lots of people have 12 year olds and 15 month olds in their home.” And while you are right – it begs the question, “Why?”

To me it just confirms that sex feels good and that it makes us do things we wouldn’t otherwise do had we had our wits about us. Why would you succomb to the mere mention of adding to your family when your youngest is 12?

This is how the last few days have been in my house…

Josee just pooped and I am changing her diaper which is a “bad” one and Abby yells from upstairs, “Mom! Mom?”

“Yes,” I answer as I wipe poop off my hands…

“Mom! Are you making my lunch yet?”

“No dear- I am not making your lunch – I am cleaning up your niece’s dinner.”

Later that evening as I am making Josee’s bottle and getting her PJ’s on…

“Mom! Mom?”

“Yes, Abby,” I say.

“Mom! My flashdrive isn’t working – you need to take me to Dad’s NOW!”

To myself I am thinking in superlatives… But I say, “Really, you think I can take you to dad’s right NOW? Really?”

To which she reacts as though our home is being invaded by aliens, “OH MY GOSH… this is due TOMORROW – what am I supposed to do????”

Thankfully, my husband takes her because, really, – “what am I supposed to do???”

And, it was at that moment I couldn’t help but wonder what the Hell people do do? A baby is crying for their bottle, its passed their bedtime and your snot nosed 12 year old decides to have a crisis.

Now, I preface my own crisis with the fact that my daughter is basically an only child in our household. Yes, we have two older daughters (the ones who made her an aunt) but no other “child” lives with us and that obviously, rears its ugly head when we have times when life is not all about HER.

Having your granddaughter stay with you is certainly one of those times you realize such a thing.

There were other times…

As I held Josee on my hip – let the dogs in and fed them with my other hand and Abby screams from the top of the steps, “Mom! Mom? What time is it?”

“Don’t you have a clock up there?” I say… which was really meant to be a lot more than a question – more like a “are you fricking kidding me? I am doing three things at once and you can’t even read the clock in your room…”

“The clock up here doesn’t say the same thing as the one down there.” She huffs down at me.

And, really, what do you say to that?

I said nothing and instead chose to listen to Josee as she woofed like a dog and looked out the slider to point out to me that I had forgotten one of the five dogs in the yard.

It became painfully obvious that the most silent one in the crowd was definitely getting her point across the best.

There was the time when Abby came home from soccer and I was getting Josee ready for a bath and for the first time in 12 years Abby decided she WANTED to take a shower. Of course she does, why on Earth didn’t I expect that – I don’t know maybe its that for the last 12 years I have begged and fought and screamed and cried trying to get my daughter to see the importance of showering and now, like some unprecedented miracle, tonight as my 15 month old granddaughter splashes playfully in the tub, Abby decides SHE should be clean.

She also decided this week that everything would be SO MUCH BETTER if I drove her to school. This week? The one week that I am waking up to a baby, changing a diaper and feeding her breakfast all before 7 – this is the week I should drive her?

Yes, at 12, Abby can be an enormous help with Josee. Offering to feed her and play with her and dress her but those time flit and flap like the wind and when I find myself in a crunch – mashing up noodles, cleaning up a spill and stirring spaghetti sauce as I sing, “The wheels on the bus go round and round…” Hearing my affectionate name, “MOM!” belted from the top of the house only sends chills up my spine and makes my hair stand up.

I couldn’t do it. I guess had my life been different – I could have. But, the demands of a 12 year old meshed with the demands of a 15 month old – are enough to put anyone over the edge.

Josee went home yesterday and I already miss her. She is adorable and makes me laugh. And, now, to Abby’s liking – life can be all about HER again.

Truths: Expect the Unexpected

Last night as my daughter and I laid on the couch and watched the Bachelorette – I had this overwhelming feeling that everything was at peace. There was a contentment in my heart and a wholeness in my soul. (none of this had anything to do with the Bachelorette… who is as annoying as Hell)

The day had started like many others have in the last few months… running a couple miles, endlessly counting sit ups and wincing with each push up – all in an attempt to get in shape for the wedding of my step-daughter.

But around 10:30 as I embarked – things took a turn.

It was Monday which meant that Abby would be with us – but she was with her dad at his lakehouse and they weren’t coming home for the week… Sure, they offered to drive her home but I had no problem going to get her – just an hour away…

So, I packed a bag for the day – swimsuit, towel, etc and headed to my ex-husband’s lakehouse to enjoy some boating and swimming with his wife and their children – and of course the daughter we have together.

The thing is – this is NOT a big deal for us…

I don’t think of Keith and Carol as ex-anythings – we think of them as friends – really good friends.

We had lunch and got on the pontoon boat and anchored in the bay where Carol’s sister-in-law and nephew came to join us…and we floated in the water and played with the kids – and not one of us thought anything about it.

Well, I guess I do – but only because those moments I find myself catching my breath – taking in the amazing thing we created. Finding appreciation in what many consider completely insane.

No, it didn’t happen overnight but it did happen – and that is both unexpected and beautiful.

The kids went tubing and we stopped by Carol’s sister-in-law’s house and talked and eventually made it back to the house when Carol’s mom and more nieces and nephews came. And it wasn’t just “their” family – it was like an extension of our family. We know them all – see them at other family gatherings we hug and smile and laugh… and its good. It is healthy.

Abby and I could have stayed for lunch – heck – we were welcome to stay the night – but we needed to get home so we said our goodbyes…

The car ride was quiet – we were both tired…and as I looked at Abby I could only think – how little she understands. To her, a relationship like this is normal – seeing her parents and her step parents hang out isn’t odd. And, I guess that means we did a good job at accomplishing the extraordinary.

I think as I laid on the couch last night – I felt whole because our lives are whole. What was once perhaps considered broken and fragmented – is now seamlessly one. And it gives meaning to, “expect the unexpected.”

Truths: A cabin up north

This past weekend we were up at our cabin. We are fortunate enough to both have a cabin up north in WI and to drive 2 ½ hours each way to get there. Five hours every weekend are spent in the car – time that would otherwise be used for maybe more productive things – or even just relaxing. But, it just seems that relaxing is never the same as it is at the cabin – up north.

I thought about that a lot this weekend. Why is folding laundry and making dinner so much more pleasant at the cabin? Doing dishes by hand, because we chose not to have a dishwasher just seems like part of the charm and not a complete waste of time.

Covering and uncovering the boat, hauling coolers down a flight of rock stairs, and spraying round-up in our gravel driveway are all amazingly fun.

What is it about a cabin that takes away the drudgery of every day life? Why is it so much simpler only 2 hours away from home?

Nothing seems to matter when we get there on Friday night. Our troubles seem to fade away the moment we pull into the driveway. We sleep in, we watch the hummingbirds and somehow we even take the time to lay in the hammock and watch the boats go by. When was the last time we laid in a hammock at home? (okay, we don’t have one at home – but even if we did – no one would be laying in it watching anything go by.)

There is a simplicity sitting on the ½ acre of land we own – a belief that its about living life in the present – and that is truly a blessing.

I couldn’t help but wonder what 170 miles does to separate us from this point of view. Why does driving away from home make us grateful for the days we are given. Why does leaving one of our driveways and pulling into another erase our cares?

Is there a way for us to feel like that in our own homes? I mean why can’t we live our whole lives with the philosophy we have on the weekends up north? Why not during the week in our hometowns?

If you are looking for an answer I don’t have one. Sorry.

I guess at home we pay the bills for the cabin (and the rest of our necessities). We attend meetings and some of us work. There is school and activities and neighbors… and I guess overall there are just expectations we find ourselves living up to. None of these things exist at the cabin. (yes, we do have neighbors and friends up there – but they seem to possess only one main quality – friendship without any strings attached. They are there when you need them – and non-existent when you hope to spend the day alone.)

But still… why is it okay for flip flops to pile at the door at the cabin, but one pair of shoes in the hallway at home makes my skin crawl? Why can friends walk into the cabin and see towels strewn across the sofas and I don’t care.

I guess, basically, why is it okay to really live up there and down here it is only okay to pretend to live like Martha Stewart? We are, obviously, capable of both.

One day, Bill and I hope to spend ½ the year up there and I ponder whether it will offer the same relaxation it does now when we are actually living there –paying the bills, belonging to groups and doing the dishes by hand every day. We are already talking that when that day comes, we are going to have to, somehow, create more space.

None the less, I am going to attempt to bring the cabin philosophy home. To take a deep breath and ignore the things that pull us away from the hammock (we don’t have at home.) To smile when I fold the 3rd basket of laundry and to say no to commitments I don’t enjoy.

We are lucky to have been given the opportunity to realize a different way of life – a slower pace and a change in zip code doesn’t have to change that.

Maybe I can even find a way to shut my eyes as the shoes pile up by the door?

Truths: The Bermuda Triangle

So, in the last few days I have found myself in what I believe I should call, “the Bermuda triangle of age.”

Too old for one thing – too young for another.

Last weekend my step-daughter and grandson came to visit. It was going to be the bachelorette party and the bridal shower – so Lindsey came into town and we got to watch Oliver. We were very excited.

I guess it all started Friday night when we took Oliver to dinner… Lindsey was already gone. I was walking Oliver around the restaurant when one of the waitresses said, “Oh, mom’s got you now, huh?”

It continued the next morning when Abby and I took Oliver to the farmer’s market and three people proceeded to tell me what a beautiful son I had… When I said he was my grandson – their faces said the rest. Even a lady I am in Garden Club with fumbled for the words when she saw us, “Becky, I didn’t know you had another child?”

Its refreshing of course to hear that you are too young to have a grandchild – to constantly be mistaken as the mom and not the grandma…especially when you are 40 and age seems to be a factor in all that you do…

And just when I was boasting about being young… Saturday night hit – to make me start to question where I stood on the timeline of life.

It was the bachelorette party… The moms were all invited for a champagne toast and to go to dinner with the “girls.”

To me it was merely 8 years ago when my friends and I were sitting in the same place in Lake Geneva celebrating our friend’s bachelorette party – boating in the afternoon, partying in the bars… 8 years ago is a hardly enough to make you feel like you don’t belong right there again.

I happily took my beer from Lindsey and pondered the situation.

We walked our way to dinner where we enjoyed a great meal, more drinks and I got to know Kristin’s friends a little more. Sure they are younger than me by 10 years – but we laughed and told stories of their youth and how they party… and one of their friends was already pretty drunk so she acted as such and we giggled at her expense.

All through the night I couldn’t help but keep weighing what my next step would be… do I leave and act like a responsible adult – the stepmom of the bride, whom I am supposed to be? Or do I just act on my natural instinct and party until 2am with girls I can actually see myself hanging out with.

Sigh…

I guess Oliver was the determining factor. I knew that I would be the one waking up with him the next morning and coming home at 3am – probably wouldn’t cut it. And so, Judy, the groom’s mom, and I graciously said our goodbyes and the whole drive home I second guessed my actions.

Sunday hit and that was the bridal shower. Abby and I arrived late – because I am not used to getting a baby ready and myself… and when we got there the tables were full-up and it appeared the only opening was with some older ladies – which would have been okay and I am sure we would have found something to talk about but when I caught a glimpse of some seats with Kristin’s friends I think I sprinted to the table.

I wanted to re-capture what they had… I wanted to remember what it was like to be hungover at your friend’s bridal shower – I wanted to hear what I missed out on the night before – even if the truth was they didn’t remember much of it.

And then just when I was in the midst of questioning where the Hell I belonged – yesterday came…

Reality basically hit me upside the head as I was standing outside the dressing rooms at Hollister. If you have never been there – first you are lucky – but let me describe what you are missing…

On the outside of the store – there is no name – instead you walk onto a porch that looks like it should be in Key West, you pass surfboards and California photographs until you find yourself standing in the dark, adjusting your eyes and wishing they would turn down the damn music.

Just when your eyes adjust, your pre-teen daughter demands that you follow her around – even though anytime you offer your opinion she rolls her eyes and walks away… That is until she screams your name from a dark corner and expects you to offer another opinion which she will immediately ignore.

Once in a great while she actually says, “Oh, you think so – you like it – I guess I could try it on.”

And that is when you make your way to the small space they call a dressing room identified by the CA signs that read, “Clothing optional beyond this point.” How cute.

You can only take 5 items into the dressing room probably because the lights are so dim – it would be easy to shoplift a few. And since the rooms are too small for more than one person to be in – I get to stand outside under the clothing optional sign waiting.

There are no seats to relax in – the music still blaring and my eyes still hazy from being in the dark…No I just stand and wait.

And then it happens – another mom and her preteen daughter enter into the zone and she finds herself in my same position… holding the unallowed 6th and 7th items, standing and waiting.

We both stood there and many times I was about to say something like, “What is wrong with this place? Don’t they know that its us parents who are buying the clothes – can’t they afford better lighting – don’t they think the music is too loud for anyone to think?”

But, I couldn’t say it – I just couldn’t allow myself to actually speak the words – because as I played them in my head all I really heard was, “You are old, you are old, you are old.”

Forget the many cherished moments of the weekend where I was reminded I still have “it.” It doesn’t matter that I could still have my own 10 month old son…

No, the reality is that I am the real 40… The irritated mother of a preteen girl, the middle aged woman who needs both light and quiet to think about what I want to buy and who could really use a chair to sit in as she waits for her emotionally unbalanced daughter to walk out of the dressing room rolling her eyes at my mere existence.

It’s a Bermuda triangle I say… a place where time exists only in the words and actions which surround you… One minute too young to be old and the other too old to be young.

And like the tales of the triangle – once you go in – you never come out.

Tails: The sad truth behind the wag

Last week, as I was bringing in Sadie for what would be a very telling surgery – a young couple was sitting in the parking lot. I could see that the woman was in the backseat with a dog and I could easily see that she was crying.

I knew what was about to happen.

Sadie and I made our way to the lobby – I felt the couple needed to time without Sadie and I overlooking…

As we sat down – the couple came in with their dog, a mixed breed of something like a husky and a shepherd. The dog didn’t make it in the front door and started peeing all over the floor. It was obvious that he had lost control of his bladder.

The young woman was crying and I could hold back no more…I started crying.

Two of our 4 dogs are getting older… in the 9-12 year old range and seeing that couple only brought to the surface what is ahead for us in the near future.

In fact, it might be nearer than I even thought.

See Sadie was going in for surgery to have a larger mass removed from her mammary gland. The truth be told – I had found something a few months back…But thought it was just an infection. It turned out to be a very suspicious mass… and I found out yesterday that she has mammary cancer.

I rescued Sadie 6 years ago. I saw a 1” picture of her on Petfinder.com and who knows why but I had to have her. I drove 8 hours one way based on a 3 sentence description and picture I needed a magnifying glass to even see.

Sadie turned out to be a biter – I guess more of a nipper – but with sharp teeth. There has rarely been a time when one of us wasn’t holding her by the collar when a guest entered our home.

It is also true that Sadie was saved by the rescue I adopted her from. Her papers from the Missouri Animal Control said she was a biter and knowing what I know after working in Animal Control she would have been euthanized if a rescue didn’t come and take her.

For 6 years, Sadie has been a great dog, minus the biting. She is loving and sweet and has never had an accident (a real feat in our house).

And now, tomorrow, after more tests are done, we will know how much the cancer has spread and ultimately, how much longer we will be able to have Sadie in our family.

It certainly makes you stop and think.

We have 4 dogs and 3 cats – and there is rarely a day that goes by that I don’t say, “Oh what I would give to have ONE dog.”

And yet, now that the circumstances deal me the possibility of lessening my herd… it breaks my heart. Each of the 7 adds a dimension to our home. Obviously, we have the biter, then the neurotic, then the happy, the wimpy… those are the dogs… For the cats, we have the psychotic, the fat and the one who wants to be a dog. Taking any one of them away changes everything.

We had thought that it would be Buddy who went first.. He is the oldest and is senile and getting grumpier by the day… But to find that Sadie is the sick one. We thought her feisty little self would last forever.

When Sadie went to the vet two weeks ago, we also found that she suffers from severe osteoarthritis and probably has the beginnings of Cushings disease an illness that ultimately paralyzes the dog with its symptoms. Sadie is not well… and it is so hard to grasp.

She is on meds right now – for practically everything – pain, infection and arthritis… and they are making her a frisky dog again – despite the huge incision that lines her belly.

Maybe it will be a year before we walk into that vet clinic like that young couple or maybe it will be just a few months… Every pet owner dreads that day no matter when it comes no matter if it is planned or sudden…

And yet, those days never even come to mind when you see a dog on petfinder that captures your heart. For you know that that dog will add something to your life that you never knew existed and you will be a better person because of it.

As pet owners we become more tolerant, more loving, more compassionate. We take an extra moment to breathe by walking with our dogs, throwing a ball or just lying beside them watching football. They are there for us when no one else is and every time we walk in the house they greet us like we were gone for a year.

They never judge us or demand anything from us. The love us unconditionally even after we yell or fail to share our dinner with them. They are just grateful for anything we give them.

It is no wonder that when their time comes to a close – we find ourselves heartbroken and empty – as though we betrayed them and failed to live up to their expectations.

But they never had any expectations for us… They only asked that we be kind, a warm place to sleep, a full bowl and fresh water to drink. And if we could ask them – they would also add – they don’t ever want us to see them suffer… but that is the hardest thing of all to give them because it means they are no longer with us and as humans we can be selfish…

Sadie’s day could come before I am ever ready, if ready is even possible, and for each day until then – I will make sure to give her an extra hug, a bigger treat and say the words, “I love you.” But none of that will ever make up for all that she has given me.

Truths: I’m there…

Twenty years ago I would have put on my tightest jeans and my hottest top, spent over an hour getting ready and met my girlfriends at a bar – where we would have downed bottles of beer, barely touched our food and then, went to a club to dance the night away – even if it were the middle of the week. (and yes, we would have been hungover in the morning thrown our hair in a pony tail and made a dash for work)

Last night as I dressed in a nice sweater and the best jeans I have – which happen to be about 5 years old and touched up my hair after a day of cleaning the house and planting flowers in the rain…I left at 4:30 to meet two of my close college friends at The Cheesecake Factory.

Two of us managed to get in a little shopping before dinner and showed up with bags from stores like Coldwater Creek, Lord and Taylor and I had a huge bag filled with clothes from Baby Gap – I am a grandma!)

I ordered a pop and a water (because I can’t drink during the week due to a bet I have with another friend) and my two friends did order mojitos… but only one – after that, they went to Michelob Ultra (they didn’t have MGD 64) all because they were watching their calories. (and basically, saving them for cheesecake)

We each ordered a meal – which we easily ate at least ½ of and didn’t dash off to a club but sat there for 4+ hours talking. (The server did mention at 11pm that they were closing and she subtly thanked us for taking up her whole shift…)

Yep, 4 hours talking…and its important to say what we talked about. We spent a lot of time talking about our marriages, some about our kids, some about the sad fact that we actually do like a few of the clothes at Coldwater Creek…and we talked about the PTO, our hostility towards schools dictating what we can pack in our kids lunches, banning books…

Don’t get me wrong – looking back I think I enjoyed last night more than any night in a club – or at least this is what I enjoy at “my age.”

Last Sunday, as I was looking over my legs and Bill was putting together a mailbox – I found an unsightly truth – I have a few spider veins!

Tuesday, Abby and I were at Claires and I caught a glimpse of myself in a full length mirror and gasped. I was wearing a decent shirt, some denim shorts and sandals – thinking I looked okay – but when I saw me in the mirror – all I saw was the mom of a preteen… She looked all cute and put together and I, well, looked 40.

Its also come to the point where no matter what I do or what I wear my daughter has something to say about it and rarely is it ever kind. My earrings are hideous (they are just silver hoops), I, to her horror, wore the same shorts two days in a row, and it is appaulling that I actually have a few shirts from Aero. Not to mention her comment one day when I told her that Taylor’s mom bought the same Aero sweatshirt as I did and she said, “Well, Nancy will look good in it.”

I spent Wednesday night at the salon – 3+ hours basically foiling my hair so the grey doesn’t show and I have spent enough time on the treadmill, doing yoga and thousands of sit ups that I should look like… well, something I don’t.

Yep, I am there… that place of middle age. The place of realization. And, it kinda sucks.

You look in the mirror thinking you see yourself 20 years ago – and then, you are caught off guard at the mall with a glimpse of a person you don’t recognize.

Yeah, of course there are good things about this age... what are they?

Really, I am ok. I knew going into this year when I turned 40 right out of the gate…that things were headed down a different road. That clubbing it and shopping in the Jr. department were no longer in the cards for me.

I haven’t started going to dinner for the early bird special, so far I can’t get the Sr. discount, and I don’t read the obituaries…(sometimes I do).

But, I am aging.

But more importantly, beyond the spider veins and the embarrassment I cause my daughter – is 20 years of friendships. Last night as we tucked our shopping bags under the table – we were 20 again. Sure our life issues stem beyond what the cool bars are and who we “mashed with” over the weekend… But when it comes right down to it – “being here” is just as good as “being there” because the friendships I have now – mean so much more.

Truths: Hungover

So, last night my husband and I went on a date to see a movie: The Hangover, Part 2. During a recent blizzard this winter we had the pleasure of watching the first Hangover and by the middle of the movie we were crying and practically peeing our pants it was so damn funny.

When I heard that a 2nd was coming out – you can only imagine my excitement. And when I saw that it was playing at our local theater – the kind that only costs $6.00 to see a movie and offers free refills on everything – I knew it would be the perfect date.

My husband and I are fortunate enough that we go out to dinner often so its not a big deal in our house – but going to the movies isn’t something we do – so I made sure to shower and dress nice. Heck, it was a date after all.

I think, sometimes, once you are married, dates are overlooked. For years prior to marrying, you spend hours getting ready, picking out the right outfit, shaving your legs and putting on your pretty panties… and then one day you wake up with your wedding band on – a t-shirt, pajama pants that don’t match and the realization you haven’t showered in two days. Date nights make me remember who I used to be.

So, ironically, as I prepared to go see the Hangover I was reminded by my friend Nancy that we aren’t drinking. We have a bet that neither of us can drink during the week. That would be Mon-Thursday… Eliminating the weekends was never in the cards for us. So, as we left the house early and headed to the bar across from the theater – I watched as Bill gulped down a High Life… and took a picture and texted it to Nancy – stating that I think this bet was the dumbest bet we ever made. But, I held my ground. Only 10 more minutes to the movie.

We got our tickets and loaded up on buttered popcorn and giant cokes (I had save all my calories for this big event) and made our way to the theater and picked our seats.

The movies was hilarious… Goofy monkeys, foul language, crazy Chinese guy, - you name it, it was in it… it was laugh out loud, pee your pants funny.

But it got me wondering, as I wiped the tears from eyes and we left the theater… would everyone laugh at it? If you have never been drunk to the point of oblivion – does the movie even make sense? If you wake up each day remembering all that you did the night before – can you even comprehend what the movie is about?

I am not saying that every day of my life is a blackout… I am not even saying that I have partook in anything (okay almost anything) that they did in either of the two movies…But, I have been known to get inebriated and “forget” what I did.

Sure its irresponsible, immature – I know…But that has never stopped me. I am not necessarily proud of my antics but I have some of the best stories and the funniest memories all of which were re-created the morning after the party.

I think that is why the Hangover is so hilarious. If you have ever drank too much and woken up on the floor with your best friends and spent the morning with a throbbing head trying to figure out what the Hell you did the night before – this movie is for you.

Sometimes it has taken whole days to account for the mere 5 hours the night before. Sometimes it has taken weeks to get the whole picture clear. But, while the nights are never fully played back – the memories and the bonds that take place because of them are priceless. Not to mention that they provide years of payback and opportunities for blackmail. People that party together ALWAYS remain friends.

They didn’t make the marketing statement, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” for nothing.

I, by no means, am encouraging such behavior. It is dangerous and often illegal… I am just merely recalling what I can’t recall and saying how much fun it was.

If you have ever been hungover…go see The Hangover Part 2. And wear Depends because you will pee your pants… kinda like you did in college after you did shots and passed out… (not that I know anything about that)

Truths: Pretend was better

I was at the grocery store yesterday – which could have also been the day before – or the day before that because I pretty much go there everyday. I either forget something or realize that I don’t have something. Or my daughter needs another bag of Oreos – at any rate it is always something. I know the cashiers by name and whenever someone looks confused as to where to find something I can usually tell them what aisle and what shelf.

Its pathetic, I know.

So, I went for a few things yesterday – lets say there were about 15 items in my cart when I was done – and I am happy to say that I needed them all. I didn’t fall for any of those deals marketed at the end caps, I didn’t grab a bag of chips on my way, or buy 10 when I only needed 2… No, I stuck to my list and high tailed it out of there. Well, almost high tailed it out of there.

It was when I got to the check-out things took a turn.

Apparently, I am not the only one in the grocery store.

The lines were rather full. I don’t say long – because lets face it – it wasn’t a holiday – there weren’t people stacked up overflowing the line of traffic. They were just full.

So, I did what I have feared for a few years now. I went to the “do it yourself” lane.

I consider myself a rather technologically competent individual. I have an iphone, I twitter, I facebook, I text… but the “do it yourself” line at Jewel – intimidates me more than bungee jumping.

Maybe its because I don’t have a good track record. I can think of two times out of the 15 I have done it – that I didn’t need a real checker to come and save my ass.

So, going to the “do it yourself” aisle isn’t something I jump at the chance to do. Which is funny because besides playing school, playing store as a child was my favorite thing to do.

It was always so fun to line up a bunch of random items and pretend you were the cashier ringing them up… And I mean ringing them up – because I am old enough to admit that we didn’t have scanners. Nope – every item was added up by pressing numbers into a real cash register – not a computer screen.

I remember the day I saw my first scanner… wow – the sound of the beep – the speed of the transaction… how cool.

How cool – until you are the dumbass trying to make it work.

My first few items went fine. And then came the frozen chicken kiev (you don’t need to tell me how unhealthy it is – or how whatever is really in that plastic package isn’t chicken – I know that but my daughter loves them)

But, no matter how hard I tried – I couldn’t get the damn scanner to read the barcode. I set the three chickens – or whatever they are- back in the cart and proceeded. A few more successes, so feeling confident – I went back to my chickens. I got two to work but the third was still stubborn. Yes, I tried using one of the ones that did work – but, apparently, they were only good for one try.

Sigh. Back to a few other items.

And then the broccoli hit. Fresh produce. Now that could be a tricky one to some – because it needs to be weighed and you need to know that code – the one that you are always amazed at how every cashier knows the code for thousands of produce… But, I had been down this road before so I knew what to do.

I placed the broccoli on the scale and proceeded to look up my item on the touch screen. I found broccoli and pressed the icon – and it didn’t work. It said, as I feared through my whole experience, “Get help.”

Ugh! I can do this – so I tried it three more times.

I went back to the chicken and after three more swipes I finally heard that beep – the one I always wanted to imitate when I played store… a sense of relief came over me – until I looked in my cart and saw the damn broccoli still staring at me.

“Do I really need it,” I thought to myself.

Just then one of the cashiers I could identify from across the room – a friendly face I have seen at Jewel for 17 years walked by and I yelped for help like a lost dog.

“Ah, broccoli,” she said. “They took the darn code out and expect people to know it. I keep telling them to fix it. Sorry about that.”

Aaaaah – it was like the Heavens opened up. It wasn’t me – it was the damn computer.

But, truthfully it was me. Ringing up my own basket of goodies scares the Hell out of me. I feel like people are watching, judging me – laughing at me most of the time. And it seems no matter how hard I try – I always get the same message, “Get help.”

30 years ago, I would have paid to stand in front of a cash register (or computer these days) and play cashier. I could have spent countless hours – lining up grocery items and ringing them up. Filling baskets with groceries, reveling in the beep they made as they crossed the scanner, making change and swiping credit cards… even the joy I would have found bagging the purchases.

But, when pretend play become reality – it seems more like a nightmare.