A Lucky Find

A few weeks ago a neighbor walked his dog past our house. Scout and he had a ball roughhousing on our lawn while The Swede chatted with his new friend.

A day later, The Swede emailed me with a black Lab puppy up for adoption. I knew I wanted a second dog, I was just thinking it would be a few years away.

I was enjoying the calm in our lives and wasn't sure I was ready for a puppy. Still, with some trepidation, I filled out the form.

A puppy? A black puppy? Now nothing we wear will be safe. White fur for dark clothes, black fur for light clothes.

As the days went by, I grew more excited about getting another puppy but started scrambling to find a white one.

While looking online, I found a golden puppy at a local shelter and planned to take a look. Our younger son was home sick - but not sick enough I couldn't drag him along to the shelter with me. Time was of the essence! We could be approved for adoption any day and I needed to rule out all other options. (Being an anal-retentive, obsessive, catholic I comparison shop everything I purchase.)

We made our way past the cats, through to the jumping, yelping, clawing, barking dogs. As we passed one row of kennels, we were blocked by a man and his son crouching down looking at their dog of choice. We stood to the side next to another kennel. Sitting there on the cement floor, looking up at us from between the chain-link enclosure was a quiet, sweet black Lab. We commented how nice she was and went on our way, still searching for the puppy.

As we walked past again on our way out, I stuck my fingers through the chain and gave her a quick pet, wishing someone would come soon to adopt her. She seemed out of place like she hadn't been there long enough to participate in the kennel chaos.

That night, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

The next day I loaded the kids in the car and went back to get her.

I am so pleased that we just happened upon her. She is a great addition to our family.


Our new dog, Attie

A good friend

When I was in high school, I did a really rotten thing. I dumped an old friend to be part of the cool group. She eventually became part of the group but didn't have the insecurity of needing to belong like me so she was always a 'fringe' member.

Little did I know at the time that, although these new friends were the popular girls, they were actually really nice. They have remained my lifelong friends and we still get together all the time. When we're not seeing each other, we all communicate through emails (but they're all resistant to facebook for some reason.)

This group of friends is so meaningful to my life, I am continually reminding myself how blessed I am to have them. Over the years, we have all grown closer. Each one of us recognizes the unique bond we have.

When The Swede was sick, I leaned on them for emotional support. In particular, one friend, N, helped me the most.

N had been married to someone with a mental illness and she understood what I was going through. She checked in with me regularly. She gave advice and prayers. We had literally hundreds of lengthy emails back and forth on the subject. She listened to me pour my heart out and always seemed to say just the right thing to give me the boost I often needed.

Six years ago, she found out she had breast cancer. She had a double mastectomy and chemo. She divorced her bi-polar husband. She and her three children moved in with her mother and she struggled to support her them while going through this battle.

She eventually recovered and, last year, was able to buy a small house. In February, she found a job she loved and paid her enough to support her children independently. It was finally all coming together for her.

Then, in March, the cancer came back. This time, it's in her bones and lung. She will most likely not survive this battle. She will be the first of us to go.

I am so sad.

She shows grace and strength everyday.

I can't stop crying.

I want to take it away and let her enjoy her life.

I can't imagine what it would be like to live your life thinking that every holiday may be your last. Or going along with the day-to-day routine, not wanting to make this sickness the center of your children's lives but still wanting to spend every possible minute with them.

I can't imagine it.

I can't stop thinking about it.

Her daughter graduates high school in June. She is hosting a big celebration and wants her house spruced up for the event. She asked for my help. I am honored and thankful that she gave me something to do that will make her a little happier. And since I can't heal her, it's what I can do.

So, that's where I've been, working on a house for my good friend.

And crying.

Outsmarted again

I have a constant internal struggle.

My 'virtual life' on the computer creates guilt that nags at me for not living my real life. This explains my very sporadic blogging. It is also a common theme to my rants around the house.

When I see The Swede and our two boys with their heads down, engrossed in their own virtual worlds, it makes me CRA-ZY. I feel I should live by example so I'm trying to limit my computer time.

I've been stressing to our older son that he needs more physical activity. (He is the bookworm type, not the athletic type.)

I came up with a plan. Time on the computer can be earned with physical activity.

He is now walking to and from school each day to earn time. He shoots hoops in our driveway to earn time. He walks one dog before his homework and the other after. My plan is working. [insert evil maniacal laughter]

Our younger son is always in motion and isn't as enthralled with the computer. (Then again, he isn't a pubescent IMing with would-be girlfriends.) Still, I have a standard rule that the computer is to be used for homework only from Monday through Friday morning. He now sees his opportunity to play his online games mid-week with my new "Equal Computer/Physical Time" system. [insert his evil maniacal laughter reply]

Here is the result:

Calling All Decorators!

I absolutely LOVE the exterior of our house but it needs a little help.




I plan on doing the following:
• New exterior lights
• Panel shutters (vs. louver shutters)
• Grids in the windows
• New front door (this is currently the worst part of the exterior which I cover up with various wreaths)
• New landscaping
• Replace the roof with a darker color (when the time comes)

This is a 'before' beside what I envision to be the 'after'. [Although I'm still uncertain as to the color change from black shutters/white trim to dark grey-brown shutters/off white trim.]



Here is my problem. I can't decide what the house 'wants to be'. Is it traditional or old world? Of course, the clinker brick looks old world, but the style of the house is traditional. I have been on the fence about this since moving in two years ago.


[This wreath is really ugly and has since been given away.]

I need your help, you house-loving commenters.

I am looking for new exterior wall lights and I can't decide on the appropriate style.

Help! Send suggestions!! (If you send a link to a suggestion, even better!)

Aftermath

I've been feeling a bit blue for a couple of months. Nothing concerning, just a general lack of energy and inspiration. I long for some nice weather. Each year I am reenergized by the arrival of Spring.

I'm done with this long, miserable winter that just doesn't seem to want to end.

While The Swede was ill, I knew that when things began to return to normal, I would crash. As his health started to improve last November, his mom passed away. Also in November, my dad had a serious, life-threatening health problem from which he is still recovering. It's been a long, slow process and, although he continues with therapy, he will probably never regain all of his strength.

Then Zoe died.

It's been almost two full years since our lives have been normal. But they're getting there...back to normal. I guess this is the crash I knew would come.

I can't wait for Spring.

Holding Tight

First our older son went off to bed, then The Swede a short time later. Our younger son and I were left lounging on the couch, too tired to get up but not quite ready to end our day.

We spent the day at a local science museum which we had never been to before. I wasn't really sure about it, but the location and entrance fee were a lot more manageable than the museums in downtown Chicago. When we walked in, my heart sank a bit. It was a small place and not quite what I had hoped it would be. I waited for the complaining to start but instead they ran enthusiastically from one exhibit to the next. They kept this up the entire time we were there. They both loved it and our younger son even told me it was the best museum he'd ever been to. Every once in a great while, all things seem to fit together nicely and we have a really great day. I dream of every day being like today.

When we were finally ready to walk upstairs to bed, I said, "I'm going to carry you upstairs." (This boy loves to be cuddled, especially at night.)

We got in our positions and on the count of three he jumped and I lifted. It's the only way I can get him into a carrying position nowadays. I stepped onto the first stair and felt his weight pull me off balance. I took the next step and felt my leg weaken. With difficulty, I focused on getting my legs under him and made it up the rest of the stairs. I walked him into his bedroom, his legs still wrapped around me, and held on tight for my goodnight hug.

"I'm going to carry you as long as I'm able to." I spoke softly in his ear, feeling the tightening in my throat.

"When I'm bigger, I can carry you mama." he replied.

"I hope you never have to carry me." I answered back.

I held on longer realizing that at some point our nightly ritual, which has steadily been happening less and less, will end. There will someday be a time when I will never again carry my child in my arms.

"Okay. Let me down" he said.

"I'm not ready yet" I whispered.

A Job Well Done

A little over 3 years ago, I read the book Marley & Me. As was the case with the movie version, I was very interested in the 'Marley' parts and not so much in the 'Me' parts.

Aside from the obvious sadness of the ending, what I was left with after finishing the book was a deep desire for another puppy. There were two reasons for this; one, Zoe was getting older and didn't do much anymore, and two, I realized how hard losing Zoe would be and thought that having a second, 'transition' dog would make it a little easier on us when that time came.

I was right.

Because I'm a self-diagnosed obsessive-compulsive, I began researching available puppies in November 2005 and didn't finish until we found Scout in September 2006.


I felt a little bad for Zoe, bringing in another dog when she was in her 'twilight years' and, while the rest of the family took an instant liking to Scout, I held back. Silly as it sounds, I did this out of loyalty to Zoe.


Scout was destructive and naughty and it crossed my mind that getting her may have been a mistake. She was also really, really sweet. She is a very affectionate dog and you can't help but like her.

Still, my loyalty remained.


Two weeks ago, Scout's original purpose of helping ease me into a life without Zoe needed to be served. I have always been a dog lover, but I am surprising myself with this need of a dog's companionship in my life. As soon as Zoe was gone, I opened my heart fully to Scout. Scout has been wonderfully calm, she follows me around the house quietly standing next to me wherever I go. I touch her and hug her and pet her throughout the day and pat the couch next to me at night. I need her head in my lap and her soft, warm ears in my hand amid The Swede's protests that I am stealing his dog from him.

She has done her job well.