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.

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. 

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.

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.

For my children.....why Facebook/Twitter/Instagram are not the real world.

Dear Thing 1 and Thing 2,

As I listen to you playing dolls in the other room on this Fourth of July 2013 I feel the need to impart some mommy wisdom to you that kind of hit me today.  Ya see, I had many plans for this week of perfect weather.  But then Thing 1 acquired this viral thing that has caused her to practically be incapacitated for the last six days.  This has brought many tears from Thing 2 because all of the fun plans she had are gone and the trip to the cousins for the weekend is also out.  So, to say I'm not a little bummed would be a lie.  However, after heading to the typical social media sites, I came to realize a few things that you may find helpful someday. 

Today is a holiday which brings people together.  So, of course, besides the typical wishing America a Happy Birthday and being thankful for the freedom which we have, there are many amazing pictures and gatherings happening that I was instantly made aware of.  Once I finished scrolling, I kind of sat staring and the fighting within myself began. Questions like, "Why didn't we get one invite anywhere for the 4th?" to "How in the world can they be on another vacation?" to seeing pictures of my hometown with my mom in the background and feeling a little homesick.  Immediately, my insecurities rose and my sadness began.  So I vacuumed. Yes, if I can't quite think clearly, I do a mundane task that requires no major skill so I can think.  This is what I came up with. 

My dear girls....you are being raised in an age that scares me, yet excites me.  The amazing things that come with technology is mind boggling. But the power that comes with technology makes me shudder.  Your age group is going to be caught up in the kind of life where social media appears to be life.  I want to help you understand a few things about that whole topic.  What you see on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram (none of which you are on yet) can cause your heart to hurt.  It can allow you to believe your life is nothing or that you have nothing or do nothing of value. It can cause you to covet what others have and it can make you greedy.  It will make you believe all families/friends/neighbors celebrate holidays like the silly picture above.  You may think you're missing out on life.  You may feel unworthy and many times not good enough when you see photos your friends take places that you weren't invited.  You will wonder why you aren't invited to different activities that you could easily have attended.  You may compare yourself to others with no true merit for that comparison.  I can guarantee that some, if not all of these things will happen if you allow yourself to believe that most of what you read on social media sites are real life. 

Real life is the many who post pictures of their toes by the pool or the beach, but deep down are lonely, even if they're surrounded by family and friends and this is their fifth vacation this year.  Real life is the insecurity that is behind the smiles in the many selfies that are posted.  Real life is the tantrum that was thrown minutes before the family photo was posted from another family get-together where earlier there was an argument amongst family members and there are some sitting apart from each other because of baggage carried for years.  Real life is the credit card debt that increased when that new purchase so proudly shown was made.  Real life is also people like your mama....who gets caught up in wondering why she/we aren't invited places when obviously the photos and posts show her friends are getting together....and she assumes she isn't important enough.

My hope for you is that even though social media will be a colossal part of your world, that you'll have the wisdom to still make a phone call to someone or heaven forbid, actually drop in on them and have a face to face visit without technology being a part of it.  My prayer is that you will know behind every smile there is many times a battle raging that could always use encouragement whether that be a note in the mail, a hug, a reminder you're praying for them even when nothing is wrong, and so on.  My dream is that you will grow into women who will not get caught in the comparisons that this world (and social media) fosters so easily.  My desire is that you will pay special attention to the single parents, the single people in general, and the kids who maybe don't have a family that can surround them on holidays and you will reach out to those people, specifically since your mama spent many holidays sad, plus you began this world journey as an orphan but were chosen by God for me.  There are many "orphans" in this world who could use your love and care.  Let's never stop remembering that. 

Love, 

Mom

The Plight of the Rutabaga

This summer I'm changing things up a bit in my life.  One of them is health and I am currently eating lots of vegetables and drinking lots of water.  I've been doing this for about 2.5 weeks now and have noticed  a difference in my overall feeling of health, liking of life, energy level and so on.  However, I've got to admit I'm getting slightly sick of salads.  I counted back and I've had some form of lettuce every single day in the past 17.  It seems like no matter how I try to spice it up, make it exciting, change its appearance by adding other cute little cut up vegetables, it is just not going down as smoothly.  Take me out to a restaurant where they make it for me, and I'm a little happier.  But, overall, I knew I will probably be on this path for awhile so I better figure out some other vegetables I will eat.

That's where the rutabaga came into play.

Seriously, have you seen a weirder looking vegetable?  It took me two trips to the grocery store to actually find it and when I asked a kid in the helpful, smiley aisles, he stared at me blankly also not knowing what the heck a rutabaga looked like.  When I saw it, I was almost taken aback with its looks.  As I glanced through the other lucky produce in under the lights that were drizzled every once in awhile with fresh water so they glowed and remained fresh, I realized this thing in my hand was definitely the wallflower of vegetables...the last one to get asked to dance or go to prom or told they're pretty. So, I brought it home.

Once home, my girls and I stared at it for awhile trying to figure out how to eat it.  Thing 1 thought we could just peel it off and jump in and eat it.  Thing 2 said to just take a bite.  Something told me there was more to this odd looking vegetable than it appeared.

It had a thick skin and appeared not so tasty on the outside, but on the inside.....

Surprising isn't it?  It's pretty pure looking.  No seeds to fuss with removing.  No strange juices coming out.  Solid cleanliness. It may seem rather weird to turn this into something spiritual, but it was to me.  I realized that I probably look like a rutabaga to others (and most times to myself) but God looks so much deeper than the skin and outward appearance.  He knows that what counts is on the inside.  Even in the vegetables he created with strange names. 

This video cracked me up.  I can't begin to tell you how many times I've had to answer the same type of question for my children.  Add to that question the whole, "Are they real sisters?" and we have summed up a small plight of the Asian race in an area with an incredibly small Asian population.

My children are growing.  And before you call me Captain Obvious, I will admit to that statement being virtually unnecessary.  But even this week as my girls were playing with some new friends, the smaller kids of the group were doing the typical, "Where are you from?" to the girls.  Then the next step, the one I hate, "Why are your eyes like this (said while pulling back sides of eyes)?"  Now, to give my girls credit, it seems like Thing 1 has gotten to the point of ignoring these kinds of questions or answering politely.  Thing 2 hasn't really been exposed to it much and as she is about to enter kindergarten, I have more preparedness I guess to handle it when she comes home to tell me the kids are chasing her around the playground pulling back their eyes and making fun of her.  Or maybe she'll be the one who just decks them.  There's a 50/50 chance right there folks.  Although, as wild as she is at home, she's pretty much a marshmallow in public so who knows.

I know this isn't much of a return to the blogosphere that is going to make you do cartwheels and say, "Yippee, she's back!" but this just kind of hit me and I think that's what this blog is about....things that hit me.  Well, not literally hit me because I'd have to deck them.  There's 100 percent chance of that right there, folks.  ;o)

A Hill I'm Willing To Die On.....for now.....

It was a dark and stormy night. 

Well, okay, so that was only within the house.  It actually was one of my hardest nights ever, although I'm sure if I searched the archives of this blog I'd find that I've said that before.  The problem was this.

Thing 2 has always had an issue with picking up. To her, walking in the vicinity of the room and throwing her toys, clothes or various other sundries into her room was cleaning. I've redone her room twice to accommodate her problem and as you can see from the above photo, it wasn't really much of a help. And for those who think this isn't that bad, remember this is only half the room and she's FOUR.  Habits start early and need to be broken early and this night was the night I decided to begin the breaking.  I believe it might have been easier to break a horse, but nonetheless, I forged forward. 

I've seen Thing 2 scream. I've seen her cry.  I've seen most of her fits.  But this...this was different.  She hit.  She kicked me.  She screamed so much she started doing that "almost hyperventilating" thing while crying.  It was ugly. I felt horrible, but I also felt like if I stopped, she would win again and ultimately, my job would double in a few years when I was trying to get her to clean her room. So, even though I felt like bawling the whole time, I did this.

It took all I had in me to not stop.  I sometimes feel very single and alone and that night was one of the worst.  After the deed was done, I ended up sitting in the chair in the front room, holding my head in my hand (you know, the dramatic pose) and wondering if I had just added another year of therapy to my daughter's future.  It was then Thing 2 came waddling out of her room, tear-stained face, with Rapunzel blankie in hand and asked if I could hold her for awhile.  The only thing in this world that calms her down is physical touch and my heart was needing it, too so of course, I held her for about an hour.  I carried her to her room, climbed over the baby gate put up to keep the puppy out but mostly it just causes me to practically fall every time I crawl over it, and put her in bed.  I rubbed her head for a bit, said prayers and went to my bed where I sobbed. 

So scary this parenting gig.  Rewarding.  Amazing.  Still, so very hard.

PS: Thing 2's first words out of her mouth the next morning: "Mama, I love my clean room." 

Surviving in the Woods

Each day I begin class with what is called a Mind Stretcher.  The purpose is to stretch the minds of my 12-13 year old kiddos who would prefer to to do pretty much anything else but be stretched.  However, I try to make them either go with my lesson or fun to do so the pain is pretty minimal.  Yesterday  I asked, "What three things do you think you'd need to survive in the woods alone?"

Yes, I set myself up for the antics ahead of me as I allowed them to answer the question.

"I'd take an inflatable house that fits in my pocket so it's easily moved."

"I'd take my cell phone, a charger and solar panels."

"I'd take energy drinks and a knife."

"I'd take a blow torch. And gum."

"Definitely wouldn't go without my iPad."

"I'd take my dad."

Considering these are a few of the responses from my 115 students, you can imagine the creativity involved with the rest of them.  There were actually a few that were realistic taking water, flint and a knife with them.  It was a reminder of a few things.  One being how out of touch with reality these kids are.  They ARE city kids I guess and don't ever have to survive in the woods alone, but seriously, don't they watch Survivor and know a little bit of reasonable items to take?  It did remind that they are also young in their maturity and in our country, survival isn't really a fear because we have our basic needs at our fingertips most of the time.

I guess I saw this as a challenge, too.  A challenge to take these minds stuck in the technology rut and make them think a little bit outside the video game.  I doubt I'll be taking them in the woods to practice survival techniques, but I have got to challenge them to go to places they really don't ever go anymore---their imaginations.  If it's not an app, they don't want to do it.  If it's not electric or involve loud music or shooting, the interest is minimal.  This breaks my heart really.  I know they're not dumb.  I know they're not incompetent and unable to think outside the box.  I just don't think we allow the box to be given to them anymore.

Coming soon to a SD school near you will be Common Core Standards.  I've seen some questions that the kids will be answering, totally on computer by the way, when 2015 arrives.  Whoa.  They are hard.  And guess what?  I LOVE IT. Please, please, please allow me to bring the rigor back to my classroom where the kids worked hard, learned lots and  worksheets/homework/practice wasn't the swear word it appears to be nowadays with administration (not my principals, but the powers that lie in a different level than mine).  Rigor doesn't mean drill and skill and lots of worksheets, but it does allow me to go back to things, like true English skills, instead of fluffy stuff that requires very little firing of dendrites to complete.

I suppose if I was alone in the woods, I can list the things I'd need to take to survive, but honestly, I probably wouldn't last a whole lot longer than that kid's cell phone charger hooked to solar panels in the woods.

I sooooo love my job.  Who else has this much fun at work?

Perspective at its finest

I am sitting in silence. This is after a day filled with Thing 2's meltdowns, yes plural, and her insistence on sabotaging my "day of rest" so to speak. It's also after a day of puppy play, which usually results in lots of barking, lots of tug of war between the two dogs, and inevitably screaming from Thing 2 because she hasn't yet learned how to deal with sharp puppy teeth properly, thus she screams at a decibel so high it hurts area dogs' ears, and I usually have to deal with said puppy, who by the way, knows exactly what she is doing by targeting Thing 2. This silence is so rare I almost didn't recognize it.  It is something I crave which could be because of my introvertedness (or would it be introvertism)...either way, I recharge when I can think...in silence....alone.  So, I'm thinking right now, albeit out loud through my fingers but I'm thinking and recharging while all four little girls in this house, furry and non-furry, breath deep breathes of sleep.

The photo may seem strange to you. The leaves may have caught your eye first, which in all honestly is why I decided to pull into my second favorite cemetery.  It's a place I've gone regularly since I found it years ago, probably after a funeral for a friend or student.  There's no question the fall colors are breathtaking there right now and pretty much ONLY THERE right now as the rest of the trees have lost most of their colors or have just turned a dingy brown.  So, yes, the leaves lured me in, but I didn't resist whatsoever because my heart needed to go there. 

I love the perspective that cemeteries give me. Maybe it's weird.  Maybe it's depressing or dark.  I don't care. I have yet to go to a cemetery filled with angst of some sort and leave still feeling the angst I entered with.  I have yet to go and feel nothing.  I don't believe I've ever felt a more reverent and strangely holy place.  Sometimes I sit at the graveside of former students, looking at the photos on their stone or touching the things left there by their friends as mementos.  Seventeen years old.  Eighteen years old.  Nineteen years old. Sixteen years old.  Two died from choices they made to end their lives.  One died after battling cancer relentlessly.  One died in a car accident.  And these were only four that are buried in the same area. Yes, there are more students I've had buried there.  

Sometimes I go to the baby section of the cemetery.  To even say that word, "baby" gives me a stomach ache. Yet, I've been to a funeral there.  Forever etched in my mind will be the tiniest casket I've ever seen.  On my visit this time, I saw a couple carrying a small pumpkin to place near a headstone. Suddenly, perspective. 

When I drove in to the cemetery,  I was pretty much running on empty.  It's been a surprisingly hard month in so many ways.  I hate whining so I won't do that here.  But suffice to say, I'm struggling. Maybe one has to be in order to find solace in a cemetery.  Maybe not.  Yet, as I drove through (Thing 2 was with me so there was no stopping to sit today) this sought after peace I was looking for mustered its way into my moment.  It could have been that moment when I drove by a headstone that said Cummins on it.  Sobering.  It could have been the couple I mentioned above.  It could have been the amazing beauty of God's creation screaming at me to "look up, just keep looking up because I AM always here even when these leaves fall."  More than likely though, it was the women I saw, probably a bit younger than I am, weeping gently as she leaned against a headstone.  Her arms were draped around it.  Her head lay so her cheek was against the smooth side of the stone.  From the distance I was, I could see the tears as her eyes were closed. I didn't want to invade her moment, so as quietly as I drove up, I backed up and took another route. Suddenly, perspective.