About seven years ago I read a book called Hold On To Your Kids. It was an interesting read, although quite long for saying ultimately what they wanted to say, which was essentially this: our culture has allowed kids' friends to basically "raise" them. In other words, instead of the tweens and teens and even younger kids attaching to parents and other family members, they attach themselves to their friends. They prefer spending time with their friends over spending time with family. They make decisions based on what their friends advise more than what their family would have chosen or advised. It was a concept that made sense to me and maybe it's because I teach and see it constantly where kids are inseparable to the point of ridiculousness many times. Mostly though, it made me think about my own girls and the choices I would eventually make when the time came that friends were becoming important enough to want to spend more time with them. For Thing 1, the time has arrived.
Because of the situation I went through at four (my father's friend raped me), I have a strict rule about sleep overs. That won't change no matter what. There are few that will be given the chance or privilege (HA...privilege!) of having my girls stay at their house because their psycho mom insists sleep overs be here mostly. I haven't fully explained to Thing 1 why, but she gets that there is something there and she doesn't usually question it. I wonder if I'm being over protective, but that quickly fades when I realize that it seriously takes a split second for someone to change another person's life. I also know I can't protect them from all the evil in this world, but I figure when I can, I will always choose to. Always.
We've been in middle school one full week and already I've noticed Thing 1 having some different opinions and actions on things because she is back to being surrounded by her friends. Don't get me wrong, she has wonderful friends and she is a great kid and still is making good choices (at least the ones I see her make). Yet, my heart strings tug sometimes when I know she may decide to only tell her friends certain things and not her mom anymore. I guess I'm at a "rite of passage" as a parent....the first of many I'm sure. And the benefit I have that many don't is I'm actually in the building where she is also attending and adjusting to middle school so I can keep my many eyes (thanks friends!) on her and know if issues arise. Today a woman at church mentioned her admiration for me doing the two girls alone thing. Then she added, "You just wait." Hmmmm. Really? Is it necessary for those who have gone before to scare the crap out of those who are following behind? It's almost like the labor and delivery stories that people tell pregnant women. What if I believe my girl, who is drama-filled for sure, will continue to be the kid I envision her being? What if she still decides to trust me and talks to me like I also pray happens? And yes, what if she makes some huge mistakes and increases her attitude allotment 100 fold? Does this advice help me in any way?
Middle school is the armpit of life. My daughter knows that because she's heard me say it over and over. She also knows her mom is over protective and will always want the truth even if it hurts. Of course I'm not naive enough to think we're going to make it through middle and high school unscathed, but I believe my girl also knows that when I say, "Nothing you could do or say would ever make me love you less," I mean it and will stand by it. She believes it. She believes in me. And now, I'm going to choose to believe in her, even if she is a hormonal wreck about to enter the armpit of life....
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Monday, August 12, 2013
Doing the right thing truly sucks sometimes...
Less than a year after I wrote this post , I am writing yet another one about something I loved dearly. Last month I had to put our puppy that had just turned one to sleep. It was a horrific week of agonizing decision making which ultimately had no other option but the one I chose. It was the right choice. It was definitely the hardest choice to choose. Doing the right thing truly sucks sometimes. Yet, there are lessons I've learned through this puppy, too.
Above is our sweet Olivia when she was merely two weeks old. She was Ophelia then because of her O on her head which she had all the way to her death. Thing 1 is the one holding her in this photo and little did we know then she would be ours. At this time Bailey was still alive although failing quickly. Ophelia or Little O as we called her all the time, was a survivor who fought back from near death at birth, who was the runt of the litter and who almost died when being spayed. She had fight in her that's for sure. Her story was similar to my children's stories of being survivors in situations that aren't always easy to survive.
Olivia was the most beautiful looking puppy. She had the coolest markings. It made her unique. She was also the favorite of my great friend, Angie who had fostered these pups from the start. She was Thing 1's clear choice when deciding which of the litter to choose. In the above photo, I was taking pics of the pups and guess who came up to my leg, placed her paw gently there as if to say, "I'm your girl. I need you and you need me." I was smitten.
Above is her first picture in her new home....ours. As I look back, I should have known something was a little different with her. One of the first things she did when we were in my back yard was run to the door when a car drove by. Another thing she did was rarely slept more than an hour or two at a time, which is unusual for a puppy. She woke three times a night regularly until she was eight months old. Anxiety was her guide and it broke my heart.
There's no question puppies are cute. Olivia was continually changing looks. Some days spotty looking, other days more dark than light. She was unpredictable, which in the case of looks was fine, but in the case of behavior was getting concerning. One of the first things I noticed she did differently than any dog I've had before was she would bark at people walking on the sidewalk while riding in my car. She would also almost go after any drive thru person we would encounter. Strange, but yet, I believed fixable. So off to puppy classes we went.
Because of those eyes that looked at me with trust and love and commitment, my heart was absolutely torn into pieces as I listened to the behaviorist we visited go through Olivia's issues. Statements like, "She is sharp shy. She can't be changed. This is a genetic brain issue that will always be there. I can take your money and say I will train her, but she can't be trained." I stared blankly at him. What? Her first birthday is in two days and you're basically saying I need to kill my dog for her own good? He continued, "Think of something you're afraid of and imagine living in fear of that not just at certain times, but rather all day long. That's Olivia. She has no recovery from fear; a normal dog will bark when someone is at the door, see them come in and stop the behavior. Olivia can't stop. She is afraid when someone is at the door, like a regular dog is, but she doesn't have the brain's ability to say 'it's okay, that's a friendly human' like most dogs do. She isn't living a happy dog life you know. She is living in constant anxiety and fear. It's not 'if' she bites someone, it's 'when' she bites someone out of fear."
I cried all the way home. I cried the entire night as I held her close to me and looked into those trusting eyes. I cried the next morning as I awoke to the painful reality as I watched her outside at 6 AM barking at a person a block away who was walking by while her hair stood on end and her legs ran back and forth in front of the fence. A second after she finished barking at that person a truck drove by and the hair raised again on her back as she ran back and forth in fear of the sound of the truck. It was at that moment that I knew she really wasn't living the kind of life a dog was supposed to live. So, I cried. And cried. And cried.
Calling my vet was the worst moment of Olivia's and my life together. Her birthday was the next day and here I was calling the vet to make an appointment to put her down. I insist on seeing my vet because she is absolutely awesome, but she wasn't available for three days so I booked it first thing on Friday morning. It was Tuesday.
Above is our sweet Olivia when she was merely two weeks old. She was Ophelia then because of her O on her head which she had all the way to her death. Thing 1 is the one holding her in this photo and little did we know then she would be ours. At this time Bailey was still alive although failing quickly. Ophelia or Little O as we called her all the time, was a survivor who fought back from near death at birth, who was the runt of the litter and who almost died when being spayed. She had fight in her that's for sure. Her story was similar to my children's stories of being survivors in situations that aren't always easy to survive.
Olivia was the most beautiful looking puppy. She had the coolest markings. It made her unique. She was also the favorite of my great friend, Angie who had fostered these pups from the start. She was Thing 1's clear choice when deciding which of the litter to choose. In the above photo, I was taking pics of the pups and guess who came up to my leg, placed her paw gently there as if to say, "I'm your girl. I need you and you need me." I was smitten.
Above is her first picture in her new home....ours. As I look back, I should have known something was a little different with her. One of the first things she did when we were in my back yard was run to the door when a car drove by. Another thing she did was rarely slept more than an hour or two at a time, which is unusual for a puppy. She woke three times a night regularly until she was eight months old. Anxiety was her guide and it broke my heart.
There's no question puppies are cute. Olivia was continually changing looks. Some days spotty looking, other days more dark than light. She was unpredictable, which in the case of looks was fine, but in the case of behavior was getting concerning. One of the first things I noticed she did differently than any dog I've had before was she would bark at people walking on the sidewalk while riding in my car. She would also almost go after any drive thru person we would encounter. Strange, but yet, I believed fixable. So off to puppy classes we went.
After three rounds of class, a vet who showed much concern about her aggressive behavior from the start and the fact that nobody could enter my home without her losing control of not only her bladder, but also her ability to respond appropriately to a human, I realized there was more to this dog's issues than maybe I could deal with. I refused once again to listen and decided to try more things like a shock collar and lots of time on the internet scouring what fear aggression was and socialization issues and so on.
When it came to other dogs, Olivia was amazingly gentle if they were smaller than she was. By gentle, I mean she played with them without tearing them to pieces like she sounded she would do to dogs who were bigger than she was, except of course, for Jersey, my golden and her sister. They played constantly, much to Jersey's dismay sometimes. But Olivia loved a few dogs and this is Diego, our neighbor and her boyfriend. She jumped two fences to get to him daily. Did I mention her ability to jump like a kangaroo?
To my family, she loved us. She was sweet, gentle for the most part, quite affectionate as you can see above and she loved me so very much. I could see in her eyes a trust that came through our trials. Our nights of wearing the thundershirt and cuddling when it was storming out. Our nights of getting up three times or more to go outside simply to see what was out there, not really to go potty, but simply because she was worried or anxious about it. Our classes where she was scared like crazy upon entering Petsmart and would have me leaving with a migraine due to the stress of holding her back and trying to calm her when we first started. But those eyes told me that I was her person and she trusted me completely, even when the fear that ripped through her body dictated every move she made.
I cried all the way home. I cried the entire night as I held her close to me and looked into those trusting eyes. I cried the next morning as I awoke to the painful reality as I watched her outside at 6 AM barking at a person a block away who was walking by while her hair stood on end and her legs ran back and forth in front of the fence. A second after she finished barking at that person a truck drove by and the hair raised again on her back as she ran back and forth in fear of the sound of the truck. It was at that moment that I knew she really wasn't living the kind of life a dog was supposed to live. So, I cried. And cried. And cried.
Calling my vet was the worst moment of Olivia's and my life together. Her birthday was the next day and here I was calling the vet to make an appointment to put her down. I insist on seeing my vet because she is absolutely awesome, but she wasn't available for three days so I booked it first thing on Friday morning. It was Tuesday.
So for three days and three nights I looked at these eyes that trusted me, knowing that I would soon be closing them forever. I felt like a failure. I felt like there had to be another way. I just wanted so badly for her to be able to live in my bedroom for the rest of her life where she would be safe and secure and not afraid anymore so she wouldn't hurt anyone else. Again, I know that is no life for a dog meant to run and play and dig holes and eat sticks and jump fences, but I can guarantee you the wait leading up to the actual putting down moment was so much worse than the event. I was carrying this secret she wasn't able to know because I couldn't dare admit to her the fate that awaited her. So, I cried. Do you notice a theme here? Yeah, it sucked. Yet, it was the right thing. I had to restate that every single time those eyes looked at me. It was the right thing, but without a doubt one of THEE hardest things I ever faced in my 47 years on earth.
Would I choose Olivia again? In a heartbeat. Would I spend money I didn't have to try to fix her so she'd work right and people wouldn't be afraid of her and would see the loving dog we saw at home? Absolutely. With deep love comes deep hurt. When you commit to love, there are moments when the pain runs so deeply that the tears that flow seem to have heart juice on them because they come from the deepest part of my body. I still miss those eyes of hers, but have come to a peace knowing she no longer faces fears, no longer runs from trucks, and can jump every single fence and not get in trouble for it.
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