Top reason every Mom needs a camera? To freeze the fleeting moments of pure adoration so they can be thawed out later, when she can do no right in the eyes of her child.
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Lucky shot
6
March Madness
It’s that time of year…time when the rivalries get a little intense, loved ones pick sides, and a lot of time is spent negotiating who wins what when.
But who am I kidding? That’s every season around here. As a mother of three, I’m constantly juggling the barrage of questions and demands thrown at me from the little people in my life. Always at the same time, and usually requiring vastly different parts of my mental energy or physical self.
It can be maddening, I tell ya. But thanks to my new play-off system, I am able to let each child’s issue battle it out with a worthy competitor. And if the demand is deserving of my time, then it just might win the highly coveted spot as Champion of Mom’s Attention.
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Hello Monday
You are killing me with your endless possibility and relentless tedium.
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Listen Up! Anyone? Anyone?
My kids don’t know what they’re missing because I have EXCITING news to share!
After reading and hearing a ton of wonderful stories about motherhood, Wendi and I have selected the 2012 cast of Listen to Your Mother: Austin. Hooray!
Please join me in congratulating this talented group of writers!
Forget me not
So, Hubs has been traveling a lot with work, which is really super fantastic because it gives me all kinds of fodder for blog posts but little time to actually put it in writing.
But who am I to complain? After all, it’s not total fun and games for Hubs either. He’s working nonstop, sleeping in a quiet kid-free room alone, and missing the warmth and chaos comfort of home.
Yet somehow, we persevere…and I think it has something to do with a family tradition that, though started quite accidentally, keeps us connected while apart. It all began years ago, back when we were a family of four, not five. One early morning Hubs was trying to navigate his way out the door, shuffling through kids and dogs with his briefcase, tiny suitcase and even tinier shampoo bottles when Rascal bolted after him. Pushing a vintage Star Wars guy into his palm, he implored, “Take Droid with you and think of me!”
Naturally, this sent Doodlebug into complete hysterics because obviously “Daddy is not going to think of me! Quick, what can I give him??” Deaf to words like rush-hour traffic and freaking ridiculous security lines, she raced through the house in search of something, anything. She returned with a small plastic Hippo. Phew! Now he would, as the kids carefully repeated, remember to remember us.
And who would have guessed, but it actually worked! And we are still getting the postcards to prove it….
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Resilience
The best words ever: “I’m o-tay!”
After the goodbyes
With the heaviest of hearts, we said goodbye to our Zoe this week.
Our family is swimming through the grief as best we can, trying to support each other without pulling anyone underwater.
When we told the kids the news, 9-year-old Doodlebug burst into tears, sought refuge in my lap, then went to her room to draw an elaborate picture of Zoe and Winston soaring through the stars as Angel Dogs.
7-year-old Rascal leaned over and tucked his head into my neck, saying nothing. Several minutes later he got up, went outside, rigged up a punching bag and attacked it with two oversized toy swords. Again and again and again.
Smiley, our 3-year-old, kept repeating, “But Mama, we have a dog. Our family has a dog.” It was as if this impossible piece of bad news just did not fit the drawings that hang from our kitchen magnet board. Our family has a dog.
Hubs put dinner in the oven, offered wine and chocolate, and held me as I shook. He promised me, over and over that Zoe felt loved every day of her life.
Me, I just cried. And when nobody was around, I wailed. Five days later I still don’t have a grip on the pain or the tears.
My everyday routines are brutalizing me. I wake at my usual 5am, before everyone else, and gingerly step out of bed so I don’t land on the sleeping dog beside me. But she’s not there, of course. So I start my run, which is typically my source of sanctuary and relief, already gasping for air.
As I pack up the kids before school, I realize we are actually early because we are no longer juggling the dog chores with everything else. Have you fed her? Did you get all her meds? Has she gone outside yet? Is she back in? Somebody lock the back door. Kids! Don’t let her bolt out the front! Instead, we leave for school with time and tears to spare.
In the afternoon, as I work from my home office, I glance up every hour to see if she needs to go out. She is an old dog with a tempermental bladder…She always needs to go out. Not now, not today.
And later, during the chaos that is our evening dinnertime, I carry a steaming pot of pasta from stove to sink, and instinctively glance down to make sure Zoe is not underfoot. She is constantly underfoot, waiting for a crumb to drop. But of course it’s not her, just grief that I’m tripping over now.
And then, the house falls quiet. Before I go to bed, I peek in on each sleeping child and turn to let the dog out once more before setting the alarm. I wince, then tiptoe right across the spot beside my bed where my Zoe has slept for more than 13 years.
And as I lie there, praying for sleep, I realize that I’m ending my day exactly like I started it: aching and tearful and feeling every inch of the tremendous hole in my heart.
