Monday, May 14, 2012

Tails: Mother’s Day might be over but keep in mind…


Yesterday was Mother’s Day and as many children and husbands frantically searched for the right bouquet of flowers or a sparkly jewel to give mom in appreciation for all that she does that no one ever thinks about – other Mothers weren’t so fortunate.

Ever wonder where all those puppies in the window of a pet store come from?  For every puppy that is sold in a pet store there is a mother dog wasting away in a wire cage.  Each time a puppy is bought – a mother dog is forced to make more cute puppies.

Many organizations, including the Humane Society of the United States, have begun marketing awareness of puppy mills with Mothers Day.  It makes sense.

While the message to rescue, adopt, and save dogs from shelters is growing and people are listening – not enough word gets spread about the dogs sitting in puppy mills across the country who are chained to a lifetime of breeding.

I will be descript because I think the topic deserves some uncomfortable realizations.  I believe that people need to really visualize the life these poor dogs lead.

My most horrible story is that of a mother dog in Kathy Bauks care (I use that term loosely as she did anything BUT care for dogs) – a woman in Minnesota who ran one of the biggest mills in the US.  There was a video taken by an undercover investigator detailing the plight of a mother dog, I believe a Shih Tzu or other small “popular” breed whose leg was broke while giving birth because Kathy yanked the puppy out herself and then left the mother dog to die in wincing pain.  No one checked on the mother dog again until she lay dead in the crate she lived in her whole miserable life.

That story will haunt me until I die.

And, if there are still disbelievers out there – here is one that should make you think twice about supporting any part of a pet store who sells puppies…  My little Penelope, a Shih Tzu I rescued at an Amish mill auction – whose claim to fame that day was that “she’s a good mother about to go into heat.”  I cannot lie – I put too much money in a miller’s pocket that day to get her out – but any dog who is treated like a machine needs a second chance at life.

And treated like a machine, she was.  She was 4 years old when I got her and took her to the vet to be spayed.  My vet said that he had never seen anything like it – her little uterus just flopped out it was so overused.  Saying she was overbred would be an understatement.

Penelope and the poor dog who died at Kathy Bauk’s hell hole are only two dogs out of thousands who suffer every year – all in the name of a dollar.  All in the name of the next designer dog toted around by someone like Paris Hilton.

Mother’s day might be over – but the plight of mill dogs is not.

Not everyone can physically rescue a mill dog but there are things anyone can do –spread the word: share what they know about puppy mills, stop spending money in stores that sell dogs, donate to rescues who help mill dogs, volunteer at shelters, write to legislators asking them to support stronger regulation and enforcement of breeding facilities.

My Mother’s Day is over – but my wish for the next one is that thousands of mothers in the mills are freed this year and adopted into homes full of love.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Truths: Her life, my expectations

I remember being in high school and talking with friends about having children.  Our biggest, naïve and ignorant concern was “what if they were ugly and unpopular?”  I know that sounds extremely shallow – but we were teenagers – everything about us was shallow and self-centered.

As we moved into our 20’s and having children seemed to be a closer reality we worried if they would be healthy.

After our children were born and healthy – we worried about their development.  Would they walk soon, when would they talk… were they behind – or better yet, were they above average?

Soon our children got to school and we worried if they would make friends, if they would be nicer to the teacher than they were to us, or if they would be gifted.

Once in school, we started signing them up for extra curricular activities.  For Abby it was soccer – though I had hoped she would like dancing.  Sure, she tried it and cheerleading and horseback riding but she liked soccer.

When soccer became a part of who she was – she added basketball… we gave hip hop a shot – but she stuck to “real” sports.  (Much to my dismay)

She has been playing both sports for most of her young life now… even through some tough breaks (literally): two broken wrists and a fractured foot.  So, when she had another injury last month – we really thought nothing of it – and assumed, wrongly, that it was yet another fracture.  (she should drink more milk)

But, it wasn’t a fracture or a torn tendon or anything that would show up on an x-ray or MRI.  It was deemed tendonitis and for the 2nd time in her life she would wear a boot.

It happens to be travel basketball and soccer season right now – so she was out of both sports for 3 weeks.  This winter she was out of basketball much of the time due to vacations and illness.

And quite honestly, she has fallen behind.  Not just because she has missed so much – but because her body and her personality haven’t kept up with the girls around her.  They all have at least 6” on her and the more I watch these girls play – I notice how much more aggressive they are.  They are tough and… Abby isn’t.

For 8 years she has hung in there – neck and neck with everyone – but I just don’t think she can do it anymore…

She doesn’t talk about it – and we tend to think that her foot thing is really a cover for not participating.  (she denies it).

Maybe a part of me wants to believe that the injury will heal and she will take practice seriously and make a HUGE comeback by fall…(eventually earning a full-ride scholarship as the point guard for Illinois – I am kidding – I was naïve at 16 not at 41)

But then last night, as I watched her keep stats for the team on the sidelines – I couldn’t help but notice the pen she was using… A gerber daisy… and then there were the hair scrunchies she made for the team – that I didn’t see anyone using – except her.

I have to face that Abby is a girly girl and tough athletics don’t seem to be in her future.

It happens to be pom tryouts this week.  A sport that I had wanted for her all along.  In fact, last year, when she hesitated asking if she could try-out – I nearly jumped for joy.  A sport I understood.

See, I did soccer when I was young… and I played basketball in junior high (and I danced all along from the age of 2) I tried the “real” sports and made the team but usually sat on the bench.  Eventually, my two best friends grew 6 inches taller than me – and could dribble and pitch and shoot like I never could so I let go of the career I never thought I had and became a cheerleader and a football manager and a yearbook editor…

I don’t know what expectations my parents had for me.  But, I do know that once I found my “thing(s)” I was happy and I was good at them.

Now, I sit in the bleachers watching my daughter keep score instead of play – and worry that she is lost – that she is struggling with what she wants and what she is capable of.

I don’t know what to do…what to push or what to let go.

All of this time she stayed away from dance and performing and if she makes the pom squad again this year – I can’t help but believe that its going to be her thing.

How do you tell your own kid that you don’t cut it anymore in basketball- do you even tell your kid that?

I worry that its MY expectation she is on the pom squad.  While I have gone out my way in the past to encourage her to try things like dance and cheer – I have never made a big deal out of any of it.  But now I feel like I need to make a big deal out of something because she needs something to believe in herself.

Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me what Abby chooses (though I love the though of it being poms and dance) but I do believe that she has to choose at least one thing and maybe it will be her injury that chooses for her.  (According to her – poms doesn’t make her foot hurt)

Or I think – if she is going to keep stats – at least do it for the boys teams because that is what I did and I LOVED it.  (And, if I loved it – she should too, right?)

Being 13 is hard enough – I remember what it was like.  What I don’t remember was if my parents came out and told me what to do – what I was good at or if they let me figure it out on my own.

By week’s end we will know if she made the pom squad and perhaps that will lead to some parent of the year talk – where we calmly sit down and explore our feelings and discuss her future and where it is headed and by the end have a detailed plan, dance classes set-up and embrace like loving mother and daughter. 

I know its her life – but I get to have some expectations, right?

Monday, May 7, 2012

Truths: The Middle (not the TV sitcom)



So, a week ago I drove away from the car dealership in a Buick Enclave.  A car I wanted 3 years ago.

As I drove the Enclave away and fiddled with all the new buttons that I didn’t know what they did – I looked in the mirror and sighed.  I felt old.

At 41 – I guess you wouldn’t call me middle aged just yet – especially since my grandmothers lived well into their 90’s but sitting in my wood trimmed Buick, listening to not so rock, rock – I felt old – I felt middle aged – I just plain felt aged.

The week brought closer to the end the nightmare of our remodel.  It is 99.9% over… and with its finality comes the beginning of our new surroundings.  Of moving back in.  A time of adjustment after living in the basement and eating out.  It is funny the routines that can become normal because now – getting up and getting milk out of the kitchen- seemed strange.

So, one box at a time I unpack.  Deciding where things should go in the new kitchen with its new lay-out and new cabinets.  I honestly feel like we moved without changing our address.

Its truly like I inserted myself into Better Homes and Gardens and I feel a bit overwhelmed and I am still feeling old.

On Friday, I took a long anticipated trip to visit my dear friend Delreen on her farm in southern IL.  We have been friends for over 20 years and I have yet to see where she lives.  I was very excited – not just to see the farm – but to hang out and be together versus our daily emails to each other.

I had an amazing weekend.  We talked, we laughed, we nearly cried… I got the best tour of the farm – hung out with the cows, fed the barn cats… Teased her husband that he should have married me because, unlike Delreen – I loved tromping in the fields and making friends with the livestock (though I hated the thought that I would see them again someday…on my plate – medium rare)

When Saturday night came and I went to bed – I realized how sad I was to leave.  I had looked forward to this for so long and now it was already over.  Delreen and I write each other everyday sharing the details of our life: the good, the bad, the struggles and the successes.  Its not that I need to be near her to be close – its just that I loved being where she lived – taking in her life as it is rather different than mine in suburbia.

But, none the less, Sunday morning came and after one last tromp through the fields and with the cattle – I got in the car and make the 4 ½ hour trek home and this time I thought deeply as I continued to play with the buttons in the new car that made me feel old.

I drove through my college town of Champaign-Urbana home of the Illini… and that dredged up memories of my early twenties suddenly making my Enclave feel more like a casket than a method of transportation.  I smiled when I thought back to the late nights and the final exams and the sorority initiations and fraternity exchanges.  4 years of my life that came and went too fast.

But a few towns later, I sighed a deep sigh and felt this inner calm come over me – maybe it was the conversation Delreen and I had shared over the weekend, maybe it was the age dilemma that the car brought me, maybe it was the completion of our home remodel – or maybe it was all of that and more…

But the reality is that I felt good being old.

41 years of my life are over – gone for good.  I have some regrets – but not many and most important is that I can’t picture my life any better than it is right now.  All of the trials and tribulations have led me to where I am right now – and that feels great.

I have come to terms with all of the relationships in my life – I have the people I want -close and the ones I don’t - out.  I don’t waste time on the things or the people who don’t make me happy.  I am comfortable with who I am and I know what I have yet to accomplish.

These are all things I could not have said a few years ago.  I feel as though the first half of my life prepped me for the last half.  It taught me about who I am through many failures and successes.  And it taught me what is important in life – how weekends with life long girlfriends should be cherished, that time is precious, that being in love with your husband is a gift not to be taken for granted, that having healthy, happy children and grandchildren is a blessing, that still having your parents is priceless, that setting personal goals is a necessity and dreaming about new ones is important.

Yes, as I drive to my colonoscopy appointment I feel old – but I feel alive.  I knew none of those things for 41 years.  Instead I treaded water – drowning at times – just hoping to keep my head up.  I failed at relationships, at jobs, at life at times but all of that brought me to here – a place of inner peace and harmony.

Sure there are days it would be fun to relive a younger time – but I don’t want to go back. I appreciate where I have been – but I love where I am: the middle.