We went pound shopping before Sam was born. With pretty low expectations. We hoped for a trained dog who wasn't too old and obviously had to be good with kids. Preferably not a mutt of unknown origin.
This was seriously not going to happen. We came very close to landing lots of sad cats and some very questionable dogs. Pounds are sad places.
Then Scott calls me....with a dog in the car. He got a call from a pound in East-of-No-Where, CT. They had several pure bred labs that were picked up running as strays on New Year's Eve. This fellow was the last one left. An under weight chocolate lab with stage 3 heart worm. He was maybe 2 or 3, we thought. In hindsight, he was probably older.
I was skeptical to say the least. Little did I know that Rockport T. Dog, henceforth called Rocky, would become a member of our family, a playmate for the boys and an all-around sweet and loving dog. He knew the school bus sound and ran to the window when one drove by. He laid by the baskets and beds of the boys and chased the cursed bees that had the nerve to bite his boy.
He endeared himself to everyone, even dog-non-lovers. Mom. He occasionally wandered, down to a local cafe where they fed him french fries and then called us to come get him. He was an inveterate thief! Coming home with anything he wanted that wasn't tied down, especially the dogs' bones from across the street. He was just a good dog.
In December, when we moved his hips just were not going to make it anywhere with more than a step or two. John was wonderful enough to take him since his house fit the bill and he loved Rocky.
Today, John had to do what every pet owner dreads. He had to put Rocky down after a long and happy life. I feel like we saddled him with not only that decision but also the deed. I'm really grateful because I'm just not suited for it.
Here are some pictures that typify Rocky. Rest in peace, buddy.
Tuesdays are my new Thursdays. Scott used to sing on Thursday nights. I would pick Sam up from school and go directly with all the boys to swim class. I would run like someone was chasing me for 25 minutes on the treadmill and go back for showers. The boys insisted that I bring “comfy” clothes i.e. jammies. This allowed me to go home, feed them, brush teeth, cuddled swim-sleepy boys and put them to bed. By 7pm they were out and I got a night full of Ugly Betty, Greys and whatever ABC forced on me after that. Topped off with a glass of wine and some nail polish. Thursdays were my favorite night of the week.
Scott has started singing again and the boys take skating lessons. All on Tuesdays.
I leave work at 2:45 to get the boys at 3:15. We go home. Sam takes dog out while I change out of work clothes and throw something in the crock pot. On to the rink where we collect our skates and line up three boys, three helmets, six gloves and approximately 16 yards laces. (Seriously have you seen the length of the average hockey lace?!) On to the ice for 45 minutes, where Sammy has decided that skating forward is soooo easy and Aidan and Noah dropped their walkers today after 3 lessons ever. Off the ice and undo it all. Distribute water bottles, tie 6 shoes, collect helmets, hat on heads and go, strategically avoiding the video games and counting the seconds while they all visit the men’s room alone. We come home, again let the dog out. Sam and I go over the homework while Aidan and Noah do puzzles. Sam does homework, everybody gets showers, dinner is ready.
Stories.
Teeth.
Bed.
And I am fried, but satisfied because Tuesday is my new Thursday, with more miles and I got it all done with smiling boys. Sammy was learning tenses at school today and the way he described it to me was by conjugating “love” as in “Mommy loved me when I was a little boy.” “Mommy loves me today.” “Hear how I don’t say ‘Mommy love me.’ because that wouldn’t make sense.” Yes. I got it all done!
Tonight once they were asleep, or close because Sammy *had* to finish one more Hardy Boys chapter, I poured a glass of wine, pretty happy with myself (did I mention the dishes are all done and homemade muffins are ready for breakfast?). I figured I’d scratch some notes for my acceptance speech for Mother of the Year since I know I’m going to beat out that controlling bitch with more kids and a reverse mullet.
The dog crapped on the floor.
Ah well. Tuesdays are my new Thursdays and it was a good one.
In March 2003, I left my full time job be a mom to this boy.
I never had any regrets.Especially when these two were added to the mix.
For five years, I ran a small home business as a part time job.In no uncertain terms, my full time job was otherwise occupied.In June 2008, the boys were 6 and 4 and 4, preparing for 1st grade and part time Montessori.
I had begun to shop my resume around.We were fortunate enough that I didn’t need to work and frankly had structured our lives and choices around being a single income family.I did not need to take the first thing that came along and in fact the year before had turned down a job that was right on paper, but wrong like Lindsey Lohan.
I applied for and got a position with a community agency with a myriad of services, most known for its soup kitchen and homeless services.I was the volunteer coordinator and development associate.That is to say, I was the right hand to the development director.As with any small business, there were general responsibilities, including wearer of many many hats. I was thrilled.I told Sammy I was going to work, he asked, “doing what?”For my little man of 6, I said, “I’m going to help people who don’t have enough food to get enough food.”Without missing a beat, he said, “That’s an important job, Mommy.”
With the boys in the capable hands of Miss Adrienne after school, I was on the job! August 2008 was hot like the seventh circle of hell in southern New England and the Executive Director of the agency that hired me came in like a screaming white lightning bolt, called “Diane!Leah!I need to see you in my office!”In we went, glistening, because, did I mention IT WAS SWELTERING!!!And our esteemed leader announced, “I was up all night.I don’t know how we’re going to keep the heat on this winter.”It was August.“So-and-Soleaned over to me at the meeting this morning,” she continued, “and said if everyone just gave a dollar we’d all be fine.I just don’t know what we’re going to do.”We rolled that around for a few minutes and agreed that if everyone did give a dollar we would all be fine.We set a meeting 2 weeks away and planned to bring in one of the influential board members to try to think of how to get everyone to give a dollar.
Now my momma didn’t raise no dummy.I can do this math.Two weeks into August is almost the end of August, then Labor Day and then school starts.Nothing until the middle of September.By the time we made this idea a plan, it is cold already.
I asked permission to “come prepared” to the meeting in two weeks.My development director gave me her blessing.Armed with a little bit of education, a working knowledge of powerpoint and inspiration, I dove in. With a little ditty Jack Johnson likes to call “Hope”, I crafted a 3 minute, self-running presentation, that pretty much said:
One Dollar
Once a Week
October 1 – March 1
22 weeks.$22
Exclusively devoted to community heating assistance.
I had defined the parameters and method and drafted some “how to’s”.The middle part of the story is that it was well-received internally, refined and then taken to the streets, so to speak.We had the benefit of a fantabulous PR maven on our side, who insisted we have a launch event.She got this little thing picked up by NPR, a local TV station, both local papers and the not-so-local paper.
At the launch event, we had the state senator speak, followed by the fire chief, then a woman who shared a personal story and finally a representative from a local oil company.I was making some nice with the senator and fire chief, when this woman shared her story of moving with her three children from an oil-heated apartment to one with electric heat.Why?She could not afford the minimum 100 gallon delivery of oil that is the standard for oil companies.“I could have done 50 gallons or $100, but not 100 gallons”.Incidentally, oil was around $4.25 gallon that year.So this single mother with two jobs lived without hot water and heat just as long as she could, then moved.She was just one story.Not the elderly couple or veteran on a fixed income or unemployed parents of 2 who could just almost make it.Just get by.Just before that beastly heating bill.She was just the one who was brave and selfless and strong enough to publicly share her story.
The senator leaned over to me and said, “is that true?”I confirmed that I had spoken with the woman myself the day before and she shared that bit of her life in conversation.We in turn asked her to share that publicly because it was important that people shared their experiences.He leaned over to the fire chief and said, “we need to talk to Joe about that”.
The next day we got a call that we could go to the following three oil companies to arrange for a 50 gallon deliveries to people who needed it.
And off it went.This thing got legs!Then it got wings!We got change in envelopes.$22 checks.Single bills faithfully delivered in collection baskets, at our front desk, as direct withdrawals.As October 2008 turned into November 2008 and those who had, had less and those who had not, well, needed more, we were able to give support to a small community with a massive need.We were able to keep people in their homes, out of shelters and off the street.We were able to ask and receive just a little from many, when this community had already given what they had to give to this and other agencies.
In the end, one dollar at a time, this campaign raised over $20,000 IN A RECESSION exclusively devoted to heating assistance.
I am so very proud to have been part of this effort.Ironically, about half way through this campaign, my husband lost his job and we moved to Buffalo where we could lean on more family.I left this thing that was very dear to me, this job where I realized that I could again be a professional adult and my friends, Diane and Laura, who showed up to play every day, giving their intelligence, creativity, commitment and passion to make this a better world.
So as you sit warm this winter, remember that there are so many men, women and children who aren’t and that if you ever question what you can do, know that A DOLLAR MAKES A DIFFERENCE.
We recently celebrated our tenth anniversary. In addition to the functional fun yellow plates, sheet sets and kitchenware, we also chose to register for a pasta maker. I was getting married and evidently transforming into a gourmet chef with time on my hands. Time marched on. We moved. Often. Two houses, three states and three apartments later, the dishes and sheets have been replaced and some of the kitchen stuff. Untouched and still boxed sits the pasta maker. Surprising really because I really use my kitchen and I do make stuff from scratch. My pancakes are the stuff of legend, and my muffins? Well, they have been known to make a grown man cry. Though Mark may also have been emotional from the pending beat down Suzanne was going to deliver when she thought he asked me to make them. I like the version that makes me look better though. My muffins rock.
Still no pasta that Barilla didn’t make.
My kitchen prowess aside, I’m not all that crafty since I’ve had young kids. I have a friend who is actually making Christmas stockings for her 3 year old girls using swatches from their first Christmas dresses. Another friend, a single mom, kept TWO baby books so that her son’s dad would not be left out. Seriously I am in awe. But this puts me to shame. I’m going to have to give the kids my Snapfish password when they want to see baby pictures of themselves. And crafts? I have seen come and go a sewing machine, knitting needles, paints, stencils. I think the last thing I made was a wreath as Colleen & Michelle’s housewarming gift…circa 1997. Very very very sweet that Colleen still has it. I have largely made peace with the death of my former inner Martha.
So you can imagine how my mom could hardly contain her shock when I told her I bought a bread maker. Now in my defense, I was saving Julie from the guilt of never having used it from HER wedding 10 years ago. And nothing to it, they tell me. Toss the stuff in and turn it on. Boom. Bread!
I seriously underestimated the entertainment value of the bread maker. Friday night, my boys passed up a movie in the interest of the bread maker. First, there was the choosing of the bread. That consisted of each boy browsing the 2 inch bread maker cook book. We landed on chocolate chip bread. Then there was the measuring. Tools are fun. Flour is messy. There was some tasting. You cannot measure out chocolate chips and not have a few. There were experiments. I had to get out visuals to demonstrate how the ingredients in separate corners of the bread maker get mixed in more or less simultaneously. Then there were buttons to push. It makes noise and has a little window to peek in. While it was rising, we all walked the dog and came back in time to add the chips.
This thing could have produced a hot brick. The entertainment value, team work and young boy banter was worth it. But it wasn’t a hot brick. It also wasn’t chocolate chip bread either. More like chocolate bread since I added the chips too soon. It was real bread however. I became a woman on a mission!
Now I turned off the machine before going to bed and had seen the bulging loaf of goodness that smelled divine. The boys went to bed leaving a lump of dough. I woke up to “MOOMMMMMY!! Come see our bread!” The gadget I really wanted to appreciate with the Grind and Brew. All three of the boys, including 7 year old Sam who isn’t always as excitable as the 5 year old twins.
We had chocolate bread French toast for breakfast and they could have liked it a little more. That did not stop them. They were dying to turn this thing on again. We dove into the cook book again. I’m still not sure where or how I made this leap, but I announced we were making our own pasta and THAT was a hit! We borrowed Gina’s sweater drier, threw flour, water and salt into the magic pot and waited. We strapped this odd looking pasta maker to the table. Holy smokes!!! I thought the bread maker was entertaining. They got to touch this!!! And move stuff. And it was almost instantly gratifying since it looks just like spaghetti and in a few minutes on the drying rack feels like spaghetti. These were excited boys and thankfully Aunt Gina was there to help reign in the madness. Sammy said in the middle of it, “Mommy, I can’t believe we have all these fun things and YOU’VE NEVER USED THEM!”
We finally sat down to dinner and Aidan said, “Mommy, when I grow up and move into my own house, I will get my own bread machine and pasta maker and I will remember how we made it together.” Noah added, “I will too. And I will close my eyes and see all the steps and tell my kids that I made it with you.”
Mission Accomplished.
And if he forgets what it looks like, I can always refer him to Snapfish.
Not to blow Scott's delivery, because he's got so much more to tell and show. Here are the boys at the Art Spot at the Mystic Seaport with their own buckets of art supplies. Their work will be shown here later...
We had an absolutely fabulous, fun-filled week that went too fast and during which we, of course, did not get to do everything. There are more stories to tell and pictures and video to post. But tonight, this is all I've got after an 8 hour drive followed by clean up, reset, dinner, bed.....
Some of my favorite people are geeks. I am in fact the mother of at least one junior geek. I don't mean the pocket protector kind. I mean really smart, hard-working, really smart and maybe just a little socially awkward, if only for a period, folks. My nerd herd is heavily represented by guys, with homage to Debbie and Marsha, who are and always have been fabulous women in a male dominant sub-sect. I don't mind saying that this focused, principled, kind, assiduous crowd that I have been privileged to know would run into traffic for a friend and are some of the best parents, especially in the face of unimaginable challenges. We have been recipients of amazing support, love and generosity throughout this unpredictable year. As a side note, we had three separate families, to whom we are unrelated, offer us a place to live. Something that even today moves me to tears and for which I will be grateful for the rest of my life. You know who you are. Think about that. We are a family of 5 humans, a cat and a dog. This circus doesn't travel lightly! Saying thank you then and now seems so small. So T&E, A&B and H&C, truly there are no words.
This post was initially headed towards how I victoriously conquered my iPhone and all of its mysterious technology. Yet as I typed I realized that was not going to happen. It seems so silly now and I'm not funny enough to stick the landing with any good humor. So I will say this, Scott and the boys and I are so blessed to have the people in our lives that we do. In no way do I mean to diminish all of our family, who been unwavering and enduring in their love and support, but I want to say thank you.
Thank you to our friends who have offered to help in ways that I didn't even know I needed. Food, child care, commiserating and turning me around to dive back into the chaos to get it all done.
Thank you.
For your time, insight, sympathy, boxes, texts, humor, meals, energy, booze, hugs, references, phone calls, strong backs, emails, reason, unannounced visits, compliments, tape, balance. Thank you to friends coast-to-coast, new and old, who bless our lives. We are happy and whole and better for having gotten roughed up a little and lived to tell about it.
And now let the inane banter resume aided by the 24/7 access of my fully operational iPhone.
We are a pound dog family. I feel like there are enough animals out there that really need homes. Not to mention we got the world’s greatest dog from the pound. Rocky was picked up as a stray. He was not neutered and had stage four heartworm. He was malnourished and had ribs sticking out. Scott went and picked him up, without telling me. In his defense, we’d been shopping for a dog at every pound, rescue society and web site in New England for a few months. I was about 4 months pregnant and we’d just moved in to our first home. Nonetheless, without telling me. He showed up at my office with the aforementioned malnourished dog, who was big! And ours. I never owned a dog. I really didn’t know how to have a dog. He was slobbery, big, didn’t tell me what he needed and made stinky poop from which I was not convinced that your average grocery bag was enough of a barrier.
This Rocky letting the twins read a mountain of books in his bed.
Rocky went on to show me that he could get along with Isabelle, the first pet, a cow-like cat, loved people, knew the sound of the school bus, would chase a ball as long as I threw it and would protect my his boys. He let little boys learn how to walk while balancing on him, patiently waited for little boys to use him as a step stool to get to the couch and dutifully ate anything they gave him, but never never never ate off the table or chewed things he shouldn’t. He barked only when he really really meant it. He only got on the furniture when (rarely) invited. I don’t count that he would go upstairs and sleep in the spare bed, unbeknownst to me, but not Scott.Now I don’t mean to talk about him like he’s gone, because he is dutifully retired from full-contact kid life with my father-in-law. They are good for each other and lead similar lifestyles. We miss them both terribly! They both miss the boys terribly, but living with high energy 24/7 is too much. Not to mention, Rocky’s hips got pretty bad and John has a ramp.Life without a dog is pretty lonely after life with a dog.
This was news to me, since in my life dog=Rocky=greatest dog EV-ER
Enter Violet. Not a pound dog, who chews, barks and lays on my furniture. She’s a puppy and I quote Molly, the animal whisperer, “puppies chew stuff and they have a knack for finding the things that you really love and chewing them”, like Noah’s “Toad” (of Frog and Toad) on which he drew a squiggly mouth because “he didn’t want anyone to see him in his new bathing suit” (full story and visual for another time). It almost drew tears from Noah and me. She nips at the boys…not at them really at something they are holding that she wants to play with or when Sammy is wearing one of Scott’s shirts as a nightshirt…because she is a puppy and is playing with her boys. She barks. She gets on the furniture. She is a puppy.
he is a puppy who went to get spayed this week.
The house was deadly quiet. I didn’t run. I had no company while plodding around first thing in the morning. Noah, Sam and Aidan separately then together talked about missing her. Noah sat in her crate.Scott brought her home today and if the surgery didn’t slow her down or change her demeanor at all. She was so happy to see the boys showed them and life with a puppy is back to normal. Having a puppy is an awful lot like having a baby with all the patience and trials that come along with it. When we ran tonight, yes she wanted to run, she got some energy out that she needed to then came home and hung around in the kitchen with us without jumping, barking or eating off the table. Tomorrow we’ll run again, reward the good behavior, redirect the bad behavior, run off the excess energy, love her lots, wash, rinse and repeat.
Oh yes and we also have a second cat, guppies and snails.
