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.

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 2^nd 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?

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.

Truths: Dreaming of that one day

 Last night I drove back to my home town to meet my lifelong best friend, Kelly, for a slice of pizza at our childhood pizzeria and attend a self publishing workshop.

If only it was truly that black and white.

Her and I are each working on books that we want to publish – one day… Mine has been in the works for nearly 4 years now.  The story of my dog, Thorp, the tragedy of puppy mills, the laws I lobbied for to end them, and finally, the happy ending of Thorp working with special needs children.  It’s a Marley and Me type deal…

But it is painfully close to my heart and soul and that takes time to resonate – time to think objectively, time to… well, it just seems to take a lot of time.  And things are always getting in the way.

Silly things… I mean maybe not silly things – but life, in general, and it shouldn’t – I let it.

Every year I make new year’s resolutions – and for the most part, in the last few years, I have stuck to them.  My most recent, which was really from 2011, was to run a 5K – I did that two weekends ago.  And it felt good – and it reminded me that while I might not have done it in 2011 like I set out to – I did it.  Meaning it was well worth never taking it off the list.

My book has been on the last for 4 years now.

And, it totally is more important to me than the 5K – so why can’t I do it?

The irony is that I never thought I was a runner – but I have always considered myself a writer.  When I drove through my hometown and had flashbacks of my childhood…passing my high school – I remembered how much I was always writing.  How I loved writing for the yearbook, how I really loved English class and Creative Writing – and most of all, all the journals I have kept over the years.

Last night I was in my hometown 20 years later, attending a self publishing class and searching my soul for answers to why I haven’t made something so ingrained in me, something so close to my heart a priority.

And who would have ever guessed that the answer would come from a crazy comedy show like Cougartown.  I am not a regular with that show – so forgive me that I don’t know the character’s name but what she said hit home and shed light on what I have been struggling with.

This character’s dream was to open up her own cake bakery.  She had been making cakes in her kitchen for years – incredible cakes that people loved but when it came to this opportunity to share her cakes with others – to actually take the leap and start her business – she didn’t want to.

And how she explained it spoke to me.  I know it would be inaccurate for me to try to actually quote her – so here is the gist of it…

Yes, I want to open a cake shop – one day… I have dreamt of it for my whole life.  But if I do it now and I fail – then my one day is gone forever.  I want to hold on to my “one day.”

When I heard her say that – everything made sense.  My procrastination, my hesitation, all of it.

I cherish my one day.  I dream of my one day.  And if I put myself out there and it is a disaster – the one thing I always wanted will be over.

It seems easier, safer to just dream it than to risk losing one of the things that means the most to me.

I know all of the adages: “its better to try and fail than to never try at all,” “nothing worth doing comes easy,” “live without regret…”

Yada Yada – they go on forever.

I know they are true – much of my life has been based on those very mantras.  Except the passion closest to my heart.

I wish I could say that I am going to start today – that last night’s class changed everything for me – but the reality is that I am not.

I already have plans today and tomorrow isn’t good either.

But now that I know – what has been keeping me from achieving the one thing I want most in this lifetime of achievements – I can begin to move forward.

Sure dreaming of my “one day” is romantic but the possibility of actually accomplishing it would be unsurpassed.

It is time to wake up from the dream, to open my eyes and make it my reality.

Tails and Truths: The act of giving

I sent a check for $200 today… to a small little rescue in central WI. And when I placed it in the mailbox - and got today’s mail – filled with envelopes from charities across the globe – in my case many animal welfare groups – I knew that I did the right thing: I gave to a place that is making a direct impact on where I live and what I believe in. In fact, I know that 100% of the money I gave will go to help the very thing I care about: puppy mill dogs.

On Saturday, 12 dogs were taken out of a puppy mill in northwestern WI – the very location that my Penelope and Thorp were rescued. See, puppy mills do still exist.

The laws in WI have made an impact – millers are closing up shop because they don’t want to follow the stricter guidelines and in turn, hundreds of dogs are either being taken in by local rescues or euthanized for $10 at a nearby vet clinic.

There are many things that sadden me in this world – but one that really hits me hard is that these 12 dogs whose fate was either be rescued or put to death – were all breeding dogs for their entire lives – for them that meant 9 plus years because all of the dogs were seniors.

For 9 plus years they sat in cages without the gentleness of a human’s touch, without a toy to chew on, without a blanket to cozy up to. Instead they spent their lives on wire flooring, giving birth and surviving in the extreme WI temperatures of hot and cold.

Basically, they have lived a shitty life – and unless a rescue could take them in – their only other fate in life was to be euthanized.

To type the words brings tears to my eyes. What is wrong with us?

What rescues need most is space – families to foster these dogs – and for me that isn’t possible. With 4 of our own dogs, two of them aging and ailing, space isn’t something I can offer. So, in turn – we offered money.

All of us offer money to charities we believe in. Organizations we feel are doing something good for the world.

For me it was a small rescue in Central WI… a rescue who against all odds found a place for some of these dogs on Saturday.

As it turns out, one of these dogs probably has testicular cancer which isn’t unusual in dogs who are not neutered.

I don’t know what his ultimate fate will be… but what I do is that for at least a few days or weeks or months he will have the opportunity to be loved and that is all I could ask for.

My desire to see dogs like these 12 get homes will never cease… it seems the least we could offer them after treating them like machines for so many years.

But, after writing the check today and glancing through the mail and seeing the numerous requests for money… I also have to reflect on the idea of giving to charity and the importance of giving where it matters.

Sure, I believe that international organizations like HSUS and ASPCA and Best Friends Animal Society have an impact on animal welfare on a grand scale – and that once in awhile they directly affect my part of the globe - but actually seeing where my money is going to go – and knowing how unwanted dogs suddenly became wanted because a small organization made it their goal – that means more to me.

The act of giving is far more rewarding when it comes with the understanding that two dogs who had never even had a name – now have the second chance they deserve.

Truths: “Hi”

I get to be cynical today. Its not an emotion or behavior I am fond of – but there are times when there is no alternative. Today is one of those times.

Let’s see… My house has been in a state of renovation for 5 months now. 5 months of dust and people in my house from 8am to 4pm. No peace and quiet. Constantly keeping the 4 dogs contained and the one from not biting anyone. Can you blame her – she is tired of it too.

5 months of living in the basement and walking thru sawdust, of moving furniture and let’s not forget: paying bills that seem unending.

I almost lost it yesterday with one of the contractors – I cannot help myself I am coming to my wits end.

And then, if that wasn’t enough to set the sanest of people off – I have a teenage daughter going through puberty – who is, basically, a train wreck!

On Monday when she got into my car from basketball practice – I heard the door opening and a bunch of gasping and my immediate reply was, “What is wrong?”

But to my surprise, she was laughing. I mean really laughing. It was a shock to my system – one that took a few minutes to comprehend. See, every time – or almost everytime – Abby gets in the car after a practice or some event she is crying. She is either sick or hurt or a teenage girl and the world is falling to pieces. To hear her laugh – well, that was pretty much unbelievable.

But, I should have know better… flash forward 24 hours and we are back to huffing and puffing, to being a brat and then 36 hours later – in tears that everyone is mad at her.

I can barely contain my own emotions these days – let alone calm the fleeting ones of my teenage daughter.

Sigh.

She is off to school and I am home thinking about yoga and attempting to ignore the painter and the carpenter one floor down.

But, what will be most irritating to me today is when I walk into Walmart or get a sandwich at Jimmy Johns and the employees will immediately greet me with a half hearted, “Hi!” when I walk in the door.

I am, I think it is safe to say, a generally, nice, friendly person. But, for whatever reason – I don’t want to be greeted when I walk into an establishment by some stranger who is only really acknowledging my presence because someone is paying them to do so.

I want to walk in and order my sandwich in peace – no conversation needed.

I want to wheel my cart into the store – as I look at my list and not feel the push to make conversation with some “greeter.”

Isn’t there enough pressure in life to get along? Now I have to get along with random people just because for $7/hour they say hi to me.

I know it is many things for me to sound like this. I am certain that I sound like a selfish bitch, or a cynic, or lunatic… I get it, I do.

But really think back to the last time you walked into a store and the employees started talking to you… did you really feel like talking back?

They do it at all stores these days. All the stores Abby shops in – even with the music blaring – “Hi, what can I help you find? The graphic tees are 2 for $10 today.”

Here is the reality of that scenario… more than likely he or she will not be able to find you what you want and the graphic tee you pick will not be a part of the 2 for $10 deal! So why do they even bother?

Are there some random test cases situations where shoppers actually said that they enjoyed the interaction with the employees – that it made them actually buy more?

I don’t believe it.

It only makes me want to get the hell out of there and shop somewhere we I am left alone to wander aimlessly.

The other day I walked into Menards – and immediately, I felt the knot in my stomach – the customer service employee would undoubtedly be greeting me and I was going to feel the need to acknowledge him.

But, as I walked through the sliding door – I looked away and pretended not to hear the prostituted hello…and kept walking.

I had just left my house – bustling with people who want to ask me questions and talk about the work to be done and I just couldn’t bare one more person making conversation. And should I have to – when I walk into a store where I am going to spend money? Shouldn’t I be treated the way I want to?

This weekend as we were on a mad search for what turned out to be a needle in haystack (an entry door with sidelites – in stock) we found one and the manager who took the sale began telling us his life story. Things like where he vacations, the house he rents, the boat he lost… The three of us listened as our stomachs rumbled for lunch and after we listened to ten stories we didn’t want to hear – we handed over $1500 and said thank you!

It is a goofy world we live in… I know I sound cold and heartless but aren’t we all running on empty – aren’t we all craving a little down time – even if it has to be in the way of walking aisles buying toothpaste?

All I am saying is that I don’t need any extra stress in my life. I don’t need to feel pressure to be nice to a person I don’t know and won’t ever know and who is only being nice to me because it is their job description.

I will say, “Hi,” when I feel like it.

Tails: A matter of time and fate

I have been away for nearly a month – an amazing trip to Antarctica. And while that deserves its own blogs of varying proportions something else amazing hit me the other day: my first day back.

Last Friday in Miami on my way almost home – I got a call from my friend, Mary, who is also the teacher Thorp and I volunteer with at the school where we do therapy dog work. Somehow, through various happenings, the paper wanted to do a story on us and how we created a curriculum based on my trip to Antarctica and Thorp, the therapy dog. The news reporter and the photographer were going to come to the school the day after I got back to interview us and take pictures.

Mary and I were pretty excited.

But, the real story lies beneath the initial, “I am going to be in the paper” excitement.

See, it is almost 4 years to the day that I brought Thorp home from the puppy mill auction. A day that will forever be burned in my brain and my heart. A day that changed my life just as much as it changed Thorp’s.

So, this Tuesday I took Thorp to the groomer to look white and fluffy for the camera and “his” big interview and as I drove there I realized that it was nearly 4 years ago that I was driving there in tears with a sightly, terrified dog that I blindly rescued the day before. A dog that unknowingly to me to would have endless emotional baggage.

I remember calling the groomer practically begging for an appointment because the strange, sick dog I took home smelled and his coat was so matted – it was solid as concrete. I remember leaving him at the groomer – clueless and overwhelmed by the horror I saw the previous day. And I remember picking him up – seeing him completely shaven down to nearly bare skin. And I guess that day, everything he ever knew about life – was shaved away, too. From that day on, he would be loved and cared for.

From that day on neither of our lives would ever be the same.

It was a long road between then and now. For Thorp and for me.

But, on Tuesday, here we both were – in a place that demonstrated how far we had come. We had taken all the bad we had both experienced. The trials and tribulations we accumulated and they brought us here – to a place that showcased Thorp as a hero – a friend – an educational mentor to kids.

I, too, have changed.

I remember 4 years ago, the anger and the tirade I felt. The depression and the grief. What I saw at that auction changed everything I knew about life and suddenly in 24 hours I became an activist and now, in hindsight, a freak!

I ranted and raged to anyone and especially the newspaper. I demanded change and the truth and felt like no one would ever understand.

But, on Wednesday, when I was interviewed, I was calm. Yes, they asked about Thorp’s background and I was eager to share his beginnings and where he came from – but I did it with poise and integrity. And, the reporter got it.

There Thorp and I were – taking in the interview – both relaxed – telling of our tale but confident in who we both became.

Four years ago, I walked into an Amish barn and what I saw appalled me. I took this unbelievable leap of faith and brought home a dog for $65.00.

There are so few things in life that we are ever really certain of. So, few moments that reach from inside our souls and tell us what to do. But, when those moments arise, no matter how far fetched they may seem, I have learned that we have to listen to them.

Many people only talk about fate as an excuse or as justification for their actions but when fate truly intervenes in your life – deep down you’ll know it.

Somehow, I knew that day that I took Thorp home it was the beginning of something bigger than myself…and here we are our changed lives impacting kids lives for the better.

Truths: On the brink

You know those glossy pages of home decorating magazines – the ones that picture gorgeous homes showcasing their recent makeovers? They’re beautiful, right? Spitting images of a dream come true. Fresh paint, granite counters, custom kitchens, sparkling large windows… It is everything a person can hope for.

What’s funny is how they never show the pictures of during the renovation?

Sure, just like diet commercials, they show you the before… the fat lady wearing a bikini or the kitchen with the red laminate counters and brick linoleum – but what about the in between. You know the fat lady craving that donut or the boxing of the all the crap that was in that dated kitchen so the reno could begin.

No, no one shows you any of that stuff – because no one ever wants to think about that.

I didn’t.

I am unsure of the internet rules of using foul language in a blog – so I will refrain – but if you could just envision what I would say right now… It would be something like… “My house is a ------ disaster! And, I am on the brink of ------- insanity.”

There I said it.

Right now, as I type there is a saw blade ramming through three layers of flooring in my laundry room: 2 layers of god awful linoleum and 1 layer of hideous tile. If the noise of the saw wasn’t enough to make your skin crawl – surely the fine white powder that is spreading thru my house like a nuclear cloud should be.

Oh but wait… let’s talk about what the dust is falling on top of… Piles of crap that is stuffed in every nook and cranny of the upstairs right now. (Oh who am I kidding, the downstairs, too).

See, if gutting the first floor wasn’t enough, we decided to completely re-do all the trim, doors and windows upstairs. That doesn’t sound like a big deal in theory – until you realize that everything in every room needs to be moved so that it can be done. Pieces of each room are spread out like the rubbish from a bomb. To be honest – I don’t even know where my laundry basket is right now. Maybe in the office?

There are rooms plasticed off – there are closets without doors, there are shoes in bookcases. I can’t even make this stuff up. I am living in chaos.

Every morning I wake up and scurry around making room for yet another guy to work. Moving that dresser into the hall and checking to make sure my underwear isn’t laying around somewhere.

It all started so simple. In fact, I would even be showered by the time the guys got here – that was a few months ago. Now they are lucky if I brush my teeth and pull my hair back.

I used to vacuum, keep the house in order – but that too has been shot to hell – being that half of our current floors are plywood and we have no kitchen – only studs on a wall.

Today, they pulled out the washer and dryer – and yes, it was embarrassing. There was nearly enough dog hair to make another dog – not to mention dog treats, bobby pins, dryer sheets and wrappers… It was disgusting and a few months ago I would have lowered my head in shame – but today – I laughed it off and grabbed a dustpan. I just don’t have it in me to care anymore. I can only imagine inviting them all over for a party in a few months so they can see we really don’t live like slobs.

How can I let something like that bother me. I have a dishwasher in my dining room (though as I type – that seems convenient), there is a refridgerator in my living room and a stove in the middle of both. With a brand new table and chairs scattered amongst it all.

That is what I do – keep myself preoccupied with the new. Focusing on the happily ever after. The new furniture, the new lighting, the new flooring, the new counters… I stare at my mock up boards – reminding myself of what will replace the stenciled walls and dated oak trim.

This morning that just isn’t enough. I almost broke down into tears. Yes, I wanted this. I did. But, moving one pile into another room for the hundredth time is killing me.

However, forever the optimist I try to look on the bright side… all of these piles reaffirm that we have too much stuff… Piles of too much. Piles that need to go. It is obvious as you move them – that they are taking up space – physical and emotional – that is exhausting and wasteful.

The problem is that right now – all I can do is move them. There isn’t time to sit down and sort them into the piles they teach on “Hoarders” or “Clean Sweep.” You know the “keep” “donate/sell” or “throw away.” My only category is “find a spot.”

We are 6 weeks from completion. At least that is what I hope.

Right now I can hear the guys upstairs saying, “How bad is the dust right now?”

“Pretty bad.”

Yeah it is pretty bad…keep that in mind the next time you flip thru the fancy pictures in House Beautiful – long before they had that shiny new kitchen – they had a shit full of dust and piles of crap stacked in the dining room. Sure it was all worth it – but right now its hard to see the light out my new windows.

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.