Let's back this train up. Now.

Before children, I never yelled.  Rarely screamed except in excitement for a great shot in golf or tennis.  But, I have come to place in my life where I seriously don't recognize myself.  Three hours ago I was in a Bible study on the topic of mercy. I admitted there how becoming a parent has changed me and right now, not for the better.  I felt better after coming out of the "I'm a Yeller" closet and being affirmed in the fact that I'm not alone. Others yell.  However, little did I know that I would be home and sitting at the computer after having a "moment" with my little cherubs once again. I need to blog right now or I will leave.  You think I jest, but I'm not kidding.  I would walk out of this house and disappear for the entire day in a heartbeat, if I didn't think the media would catch wind of it and go crazy over a teacher abandoning her children whom she adopted simply to "get away."  Those who know me, know that my luck would have that EXACT thing happen.  So, I'll stay and I'll state honestly that parenting has never been so hard as it is right now. Here's one reason why. She's four. 

When Thing 1 was four, all hell literally broke loose.  She became possessed by some inner attitude that brought me to tears quite regularly.  I was hoping that prayer and alcohol combined would make those memories leave my mind, but as Thing 2 turned four this summer, it was almost like I didn't want to walk down that dark hall because at any moment there would be something horrific jumping out to say, "I'm back!"  My fears have taken shape and the shape looks like the above photo.  When asked to do something, anything, even simply to put her shoes in her room, the same face and wide open screaming mouth that you see above come to Thing 2's face and her body drops to the ground with continual strains of "I can't!  I can't put my shoes away! I can't! I don't want to!"  I stay calm quite well for a bit.  But then this happens. 

Thing 1 decides to join the party. Thing 1 would normally appear to others to be docile, kind and an amazing big sister. I agree that she is that. But when Thing 2 loses it, Thing 1 can't stand it.  This then causes my household to go from one screaming four year old to a house with a yelling 10 year old and this usually will bring the dog to its barking mode, too.  The accusations begin about Thing 2 just faking it so she doesn't have to do anything and Thing 1 will state repeatedly that even the sound of Thing 2's voice makes her want to hit her.  I thank her for her honesty, but continue to remind her we have to be patient because Thing 2 is four and when YOU were four, THIS is what you put ME through.  By this time, Thing 2 has escalated to being covered in boogers from her screaming cries, Thing 1 has begun yelling and telling her to stop it and almost to the point of yelling the "s" word (shut up) at her.  The dogs look at me begging me to make it all stop, so I do what I know how to do best.  I just shut the door and walk away from both of their rooms, turn up the music, and go to the mountain of laundry waiting for me. 

While sorting the whites from the coloreds from the neons from the glittery tops, I think to myself that this whole parenting thing has turned me into someone I don't recognize and I'm not just talking about butt size since that has changed, too. Who would have thought I would ever yell and worry about the neighbors hearing it?  I hated being yelled at when I was young which was why I never truly yell at my students---that and it made me giggle because my voice sounded weird when I yelled.  Yet, I'm a yeller.  Who would have thought I'd want to run away from the two things I waited years for and the two creatures who have become intertwined with my own soul so much that I ache for them when they hurt and yearn for them when they are away from me?  Who would have thought the girl who dreamed of nothing more than being a mommy when she was little would ever want to look at new parents and shout loudly, "Run now! Run far away from that little thing because what it will do to you will make you unrecognizable in a few years!"  Sigh. 

I know this would be the point in a blog where there would be some resolution to the conflict stated.  As a Christian, this would be the place I would say something faith-based and profound and show my strength comes from God and that I will be fine. As a single mom, I could also say something about that being the problem and that maybe eHarmony is the next stop in the world wide web for me.  But at this very moment, when my two precious gifts from God are in solitary confinement in their bedrooms and my two furry gifts from God are keeping my feet warm while I type, I have no resolution to this conflict.  I have theories.  I have experience.  I have many who could give me lots of advice. My only rational thought is I have to figure out how to back this train up.  Now. 

What my dog taught me

A month ago today I had to say goodbye to my sweet, practically perfect Bailey Ann. She had been in my world 12.5 years. Longer than my children have been.  Longer than some of my closest friends.  It was definitely time well spent and more of a gift to my world than any human really deserves.  Good thing God doesn't give us what we really deserve.

Many will see a dog as just that. A dog. Ever since I was a child, I had this incredible love of animals, but this deep bond with dogs. My family always had a dog around, sometimes two if we were lucky, and I believe my connection began one night as I lay in bed sobbing about some hormonal teenage thing I'm sure.  Our dog, Ginger, came sauntering in my room, jumped up on my bed and leaned against me.  Weird, but it was exactly what I needed at that moment.  She stayed until I calmed down and eventually fell asleep and even though I woke up and she was gone in the morning, I was hooked on this dog and what she represented to me that night.

Bailey was an abandoned puppy in a park not far from where I live now. I found her at a shelter and she was, as all puppies are, adorable and exceptionally rambunctious. Within nine months though, I found out she was incontinent. A puppy who pees is normal; a puppy who pees when she is asleep, not so much.  My wonderful vet began what turned into many years of testing and medicines trying to help me get through having a dog that peed in her sleep. As with all illnesses, the problem would come and go with intensity, but ultimately, it was a part of who Bailey was. What many didn't understand, especially because this involved quite a bit of vet bills and I had already had a dog with cancer, was this was the SMALLEST part of who Bailey was.

The blue heeler/border collie/mutt mix was the first dog who ever talked to me. Seriously.  I could look at her and wink from across the room and she would answer with, "booooof." I would ask if she was hungry and she would answer with, "boooof."  I would walk in the door and she was usually there with a little loving howl to welcome me. Whenever I would sit, she would walk over to where I was and put her head on my knee.  Sometimes she would stand there for a really long time, too.  One of my most precious visions I have of Bailey is when my dad was going through chemotherapy and he was staying at my house. He would sit in the recliner and Bailey would always go over and put her head on his knee as he slept or as he just watched TV.  In fact, he loved her and up until his last week of life, he would allow her to do this.  Dad always wore a baseball hat during chemo.  After he died, Bailey would go to his recliner that was in my house, stand there and put her head on the recliner. She also never allowed any man with a baseball hat near her without barking at them.  Before dad, she didn't care about whether a guy was around or whether or not he wore a baseball hat, but from the moment dad died on, she barked every single time.  And not just a "boooof" but a repetitious and quite annoying bark to be frank.  I found that connection she had with Dad quite cool.

If you're not a dog person, you probably can't fathom sleeping next to a hairy beast that sometimes smells funny. To me, it's no different than what most of you call marriage, but I digress.  To me it was comfort.  It was literally and figuratively warmth.  For me, many years of pain that accompanied being single was eased when I felt a living, breathing being beside me. She didn't care what baggage I carried, how much I weighed, whether I had cute pajamas or ugly ones.....she just wanted to be near me.  She asked nothing in return except for some food and water. If I didn't pet her, no grudge was held.  If I ignored her excited greeting because I was busy with something at the moment, she wouldn't say, "Fine, I'm done greeting you."  Whether I could spend a minute with her or an hour with it, it didn't matter because she was thrilled with anything I could give her.  To me, she was an example of grace that humans couldn't quite give me.

Deciding that the time had come to say goodbye was heart wrenching.  I agonized over it for almost two months. My vet had pretty much declared every option tried and failed.  It was now a matter of whether or not I could live with the mess that was increasing daily.  When the answer was no, instantly my heart shuttered at the thought of what was next. I could barely walk by her from that moment on without tearing up.  She simply looked at me with those eyes of hers assuring me that the love she had for me surpassed any I had physically known (yes, I know God's does, but I'm talking tangible love right now) and it would never, ever change no matter what I had to do.  She knew that wearing diapers and spending more time locked up in her kennel than ever before wasn't fair nor right, but she waited for me, her human, to make the decision for her, even though it hurt to the core of my being.

On that Friday morning, I sobbed when I woke up. I sobbed when Thing 1 and Thing 2 hugged her before leaving. I sobbed as I drove to the vet.  I sobbed through the entire process, which was incredibly beautiful.  She walked over to me as the vet had the sedative ready to go and she laid against my chest.  I hugged her tightly to me as she slowly went to sleep.  Within minutes she was snoring the most peace-filled snore I had ever heard.  A deep, joyous sleep. Then the final injection was administered as she was still against me tightly and again, in minutes her breathing stopped and she crossed the rainbow bridge, as they say.  I sat with her for another half hour before I could leave her side. My heart was broken, my spirit was sad yet my heart was so grateful for the 12.5 years of unconditional, pure love Bailey gave me.  I still miss her.  I always will. 

Poop. It rules my world.

No one ever warned me about poop's power.  Seriously.  No one.

One would think that poop would mostly be a word associated with a family of males.  Boys are supposed to like that whole bodily fluids stuff, right?  Right?  Whoa, was I misinformed.  Actually, uninformed is more accurate. Why would anyone write about poop, you're asking?  Well, various reasons.

Say poop. Now say it and keep a straight face.  If you accomplished that, now say it again except this time, say poopy pants.  Guaranteed you smiled.  But really, it's not about poop I'm writing.  It's about this whole concept of parenting and having to know more than I've ever had to know in my life.

Example: Thing 1 and Thing 2 have never been excellent poopers.  That's probably more information than they'd want me to share, but hey, I'm the mom and I don't care.  So, in order to deal with the problem once they're out of diapers, one has to ask them about their poop.  How much...how big...how hard...these may all seem like frivolous and honestly, quite gross questions to ask anyone, much less a child, but really, I've learned the hard way that if the poop isn't going well, nothing will be going well.  Parenting lesson number one---poop matters.

It has even become a topic of conversation at the dinner table since that's usually when Thing 1 and 2 get their "poop pills" as they so affectionately call them.  Just 10 minutes ago, Thing 2 was eating and had just taken her "poop pills" and suddenly stood up and said, "I HAVE to poop! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you for the poop pills!" Now seriously, I never in a million years expected to ever be thanked for this.  Scout's honor.  But it didn't end there. She exited the bathroom with pants pulled down, shirt totally off, exclaiming, "Mom, it was a medium-sized poop but it didn't hurt."  Are you still reading?  Why?  You obviously have the same weird problem I have of wanting to look at an accident scene, which this particular post represents.  Smile, wink.

Even when dealing with the dogs, one of the first things asked if they are sick is based on their poop.  My new puppy went to the vet yesterday.  What did I have to do upon returning home?  Collect a poop sample to return to the vet. I only relay this to not only show how much of an expert I am on poop, but also to show how its importance transcends simply humans.

Again, my purpose is mostly to address how surprising parenting is to me.  No manual warns you that someday, while sitting with your children, the topic of poop will be a discussion and it will be one that is contributed to by all involved. I don't think I've ever read a parenting article telling me that what poop looks like, floats like and sounds like when it hits the bowl is actually quite important.  Even now I'm not sure in my lifetime that the poop topic ever hit my parents lips except maybe to express a request like, "get your shit together, please."

Parenting: one surprise after another.  And I ain't shittin' ya.