That's some wake up call

I was in a green, all kinds of green, forest.   Pine trees all around; it was foggy and I couldn't see very well.   Looking for something, and feeling like I was being watched.

Yet I wasn't afraid. 

(distant ringing)

Where is he?  I know he's here...

(stops)
Hmmmm.  I roll over and sigh....

(distant ringing brings me to semi-wakefulness, where my mind starts ranting, and I start reaching for my bedside phone...this had better be good)

Unfortunately, the answering machine goes off too, and now I have to get out of bed and go get the other phone so that I can hear whoever it is that is calling.

I look at the clock, blinking, trying to focus.  7:00 am.  Who the hell is calling at 7:00 am, when I don't have to be up....

Oh, my god!  7:00 am!  The kids have school today!  Nolan's ride is coming at 7:30! 

Guess no one is showering this morning. 

I call back the # that is on my phone, as it is Nolan's ride.  His friend asks to speak with him, and I am slapping at covers and shaking my boy as I hand him the phone.  Ha, he wants to be treated like a bigger kid, welcome to the world of instant-wake-up-and-be-coherent.  "Hmmphf,"  he manages to grunt at me, as I hand him the phone.  "It's for you."

I did get quite a bit of pleasure out of that.  Too much.  Heehee.

Somehow, I managed to scramble everybody out of bed, into clothes, throw something down for breakfast, out the door.

Audrey and I went for the morning snuggle.  That turned into, "Mommy!  No sleeping!"

"Hmmphf."  I twist my head into the pillow some more.

"Mommy!"  she pokes at me, playfully.  

I was up late the night before finishing a book, so I decided to get up.  It's not her fault I was plowing through pages at 1:00 am.  

No rest for the wicked....

Hopefully, no survelliance camera

I recently had to take Shadow to the vet.  Max had already had his checkup, but I decided to bring him along.  He'd only been there for unpleasantness, and I thought (and was told) that taking him there just for a regular "hi, how are ya?" to the receptionists would help keep him happy to go there.  He's 90-some-odd lbs, so naturally I'd like him to always cooperate when it comes to a vet visit.   It beats claw marks in the asphalt.

Besides, he's a big baby and cries if I take Shadow but not him.  The boys were all in school, Mr W was at work, so I didn't much relish the idea of Max being alone, howling and disturbing neighbors.   And Shadow is a little skittish; I figured having Max along would reassure her. 

I got them leashed up, and off we went.  Audrey thought it was fantastic to have both of them along.  

I'm thinking, as I made the five minute drive, 'this is not so bad.'  I forgot Rule of Life, #248, section B:  Pets, like children, are unpredictable.  Equalizers.  Stealers of dignity.

Because, believe me, there is no way to look dignified as you run after two dogs, a leash flapping, four year old on your heels, shouting like a maniac.

As soon as I shut the door to the van, Shadow did this minor head shake that got her out of her collar.  She took off, after all the amazing animal smells in the parking lot.

Max, being very puppy still, started to chase her.

Me, being an idiot, dropped Max's leash.

I probably would've spun in circles, in a classic 'what do I do, what do I do' Lucy-mode, had not my four year old given chase too.

I'm calling out to the dogs, and it's like they've forgotten their names.  I'm a little freaked out, as a major roadway is at the end of the drive, and really don't want to explain "splat goes the puppy" to Audrey. 

Luckily, a horse at the horse-vet next door neighed, whinnied, made some noise.  Shadow stopped for a second and I stepped on Max's leash just as Audrey slammed into me from behind.

I crouched, and held out my arms to the sides, and called Shadow.  Surprisingly, I was able to pull it off, using a voice that belied the fact that I wanted to save her from traffic so I could throttle her myself.  She wasn't fooled, and was getting ready to go again, when I heard another voice.

One of the receptionists had viewed my little parking-lot-tableau through the window and had come out to lend me a hand.

I wanted to hug her, but I was in a position I've not been in since my naked Twister days, and getting up quickly, gracefully, was not an option.

She got Max's leash and I managed to get my hands around Shadow's neck.  It was a briefly satisfying moment before I put her collar back on and we went straight inside.  (I adjusted her collar once we were in a room waiting on the doc.)

Why does this come to mind today?

I'm taking Max to PetsMart this afternoon to be groomed.   

Leash?  Check.

Four year old?  Check.

Sanity?  Questionable.

Making some space

Mr W not-so-delicately hinted that I need to conduct a thinning of the herd.  Not children, but closet space.

I hate it when he's right.  And although I really wanted only to sit on my bed and lounge with the kids, watching movies, I forced myself to at least deal with the more pressing mess in Audrey and Ryan's room.

You know how they say, "be careful what you wish for"?  I always wanted a house full of kids, and books.  A dog or two, and lots of love for everyone.  Boy, did I get it.   :)

I have all the kids books, bulging at the seams in their rooms, and as I considered Mr W's request, I forced myself to realize that the itty bitty-themed books probably should go.

I steeled myself for the mission, heart of stone, I told myself...I'd talked to Jane about taking some to the preschool with her, and was wondering what to do with some of the others when I thought of a coworker with a toddler who also loves books.

I want them to go to a good home, you know?

So I had two piles going, along with a trash one; I was really making progress and then I saw Bean.

I used to read the books about a little black cat named Bean to the boys all the time.  They're little board books, and the cat is adorable.  I paused.  Okay.  Bean stays, if only to be put away in my baby keepsake box later. 

Audrey was looking over my shoulder, conducting a mental inventory to hold me accountable to later, and making it harder for me as she pronounced each one her "favorite" and "give it to me."  Isn't that what always happens?

I reached for the next book, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

I picked it up, this $1.00 board book about Halloween.   With tears in my eyes, I gently stroked the spine, the white fray on it, little dents around it...the perfect half-moon of a little teething mouth apparent and well-preserved.  It doesn't matter who the teething mouth belonged too (I suspect Ryan) I still needed a moment to recompose myself.

Oh.  I don't have a heart of stone.

When Mr W came home, I showed him the book.  "You insensitive ...."  I teased him, pointing to the spine.  "Do you know what this is?"  He thought for a minute, and said, "Teethmarks?  Who did that?"  he looked accusingly over at Nolan.

"Dude, look at the teethmarks.  We don't have a child with a bite radius like this anymore.  It's an oldie."  "It made her cry,"  Nolan piped up as I shot him a look.

"It's probably Ryan's,"  I added.  Mr W, ever careful with my crazed maternal emotions, said, "You have his teethmarks on the window ledges in the dining room" (true) "and front windows, if you really need to see them..."  (spackle just couldn't conceal the spots completely)

I smacked him on the shoulder and stalked off, book in hand.  I'll put it with Bean, for now.

In the great green room.....

Have glue gun, will travel

Audrey is loving her new ponytail-wearing style.  I am getting better at making the part, or just letting it be what it is.   Hey, we're all a little asymmetrical, right?

My new dilemma centered around her bows.  She likes them, but like with most girlie things, there are strings attached.  They can be expensive--$8 bucks for two at the local kiddie hair place (One online site sells them for 10 bucks a pair!  Without shipping!)--and they are illogically sold.   In the regular department stores, you might find a deal, where there are two bows, but chances are, they are not matching colors.   Who wants the perfect pink and fluorescent lime green?

Bows get lost, up there with socks in their ability to be missing from the pair the morning you need them--only to turn up that afternoon in the bottom of her (or your) purse.   They fall apart from everyday use and the loving touch of little hands.

I realized I was bordering on having a bow-sickness when I bought her a really pretty blue set of bows, with the intent of getting her an ensemble that matched around them.  Who amongst the ladies hasn't done the same thing with a pair of shoes?  

After some encouragement/brainstorming with a coworker who insisted "These things CAN'T be that  hard to make,"  I bit the bullet, bought some ribbon and a new glue gun and went to work.   Besides, I thought to myself, if that chick on Project Runway can make those little fabric rosettes, surely I can manage a bow.

That first night as I measured, clipped, and sewed, I was overjoyed.  It's not that hard!  I did sacrifice my fingers to the needle and glue gun a couple of times, but I managed.

It's crazy how a simple thing like that is probably going to become an obsession for me, and one more idiosyncracy added to my list of things-I-do-that-make-my-husband-wonder. 

The possibilities are endless.  Skull-and-crossbones grosgrain, anyone?

I have to get this off my chest

Last week, one of our other local police departments lost an officer.  He was on his way home from work, on his motorcycle, he hit some construction supplies on the freeway and was killed.

He shared a kinship with our department in that he was one of the first officers on the scene when Rob was hit in April, and stayed with him, holding his hand, while waiting for emergency personnel to arrive.  It was a strange coincidence that his accident happened in the vicinity of Rob's. 

I felt quite sad to hear about such a tragic event.  I've struggled with the irony of the situation; and my heart smarts at a wound that threatens to reopen. 

But that is not the thing that is truly bugging me.  No, the thing that is truly bugging me is the fact that people have a hard time vocalizing their thoughts about tragic things; sad, unpleasant things like death, and the stuff that fills in and is meant to be comforting...can irritate, for want of a better word.

People want to know if you knew the deceased, and as you answer how closely you did or didn't know them, you can see them measuring the weight of their consequent response.

Then it's the "married?  kids?"  question.  And here is where I have to take a deep, deep breath.  People mean well.  They just short-circuit in the face of grief.

There is an audible sigh of relief when you say "not married."  And a half-shrug, half-grimace, "well, at least he didn't have any kids left behind."

Honestly, I wonder about how anyone can say that.

If someone is taken unexpectedly, horrificly, quickly, from this earth, whether or not they are married or have children is important, I'll admit, but I think that putting the entire value of one's life on that detail isn't fair.

I caught myself nearly snapping my answer last week, responding to someone with the "no kids" comment, "Well, that doesn't make it any easier for his parents."

You cannot tell  me that a parent would half-shrug, half-grimace, and write it off as an "ah, well, these things happen, at least there isn't a wife and kids" should they be told of their child's untimely death.

And if there was a wife, but no kids, you will never convince me that she feels any sense of relief at all for her situation.  Because I know a widow who misses her husband every second of every day.

I did not know the officer who was killed recently, but from all accounts, be they in the media or from people who knew him, he was an exceptional young man.  A friend of mine who did know him said "He was the nicest guy you would ever want to meet.  My brother used to get in a lot of trouble when he was younger;  this guy was the only person who stuck by him during that time."  (As for our Rob, exceptional is only one of many superlatives we could use to describe him.)

Exceptional people touch more lives than those of their immediate family and loved ones.  They tend to touch the lives of everyone they come into contact with; in both positive and negative ways. 

It might be a minor interaction, or it might be a years-long friendship.  But their mark, it's indelible.  It's an imprint on your heart that you always carry with you. 

And when they are gone, taken from you unexpectedly, it's gonna hurt.   Which is why a statement like "well, at least there was no wife or kids left behind" bothers me.

There's a lot of people left behind, who will carry the memory of this person with them forever. 

I'm so sorry for their loss.