Big Dog Gone

On Wednesday, Beloved Husband (BH) and I took our dog to the vet, we consulted, and then held him while he drew his last breath.

LOUIS DOG

RIP  – 1999-2010

If there is a good place, he is surely in it.

We are a different sort of family now. Smaller, and bereft, but managing. It is just the myriad of tiny reminders that take me aback. I had made my peace with the whole idea of losing him, and thought I’d prepared for the obvious, but the little things are problematic:

 I brace myself getting out of the car when I arrive home because I know he is not there to greet me, but then I get floored by the question: “what am I supposed to do with half a bag of dog food?”

 When I think I hear a knock at the door, I look around to see what his ears are doing, and remember again.

 The kitchen floor needs sweeping more, I expected that – without a dog to pick up after me,  a preschooler and a toddler-  but I was at a loss for a moment over what do to do with the remnants of the kids’ yogurt.

 I find myself listening in the night, still, to check how he’s breathing, and can hear only the sounds of the house and us humans.

When I told the girls that the dog wouldn’t be here when they got home Wednesday,  A said: “I don’t want Louis Dog to die”. J said: “I want a cat.” Everyone has their own way. The girls don’t really seem to mind, they are so young.

Things are just different. Right now, I feel adrift, missing my former status. I am no longer a dog owner. It’ll take time to get to know this new me.

Elusive vs. Illusive

So I have officially learned something from this blogging experience. (I mean, writing a blog, that is; I’ve learned lots from reading them!) Sure, it is a good outlet and all, but now I’ve actually added to my vocabulary by writing here. Apparently, ELUSIVE and ILLUSIVE are different words. Who knew. And in my previous post,  I really meant “Happiness – elusive or illusory?”. I apologize to the English majors, professors, editors and fanatics amongst you. But I’m keeping it as is, because “illusive” makes a kind of sense in context, too.

Most of all I am terrifically pleased because I caught the error myself. My self-editing capacity being so miniscule, this is quite an accomplishment.

I’m also stretching myself a little by telling a few people about this blog.  I just can’t bring myself to share with my mom, in case I need a safe place to vent sometime. So, cautiously, I am venturing out into unknown water. Yay me.

We’ll have to see what else this whole blogging thing teaches me.  You know, like humility.

Happiness – illusive or illusory?

I’ve discovered, through Motherhood is Not for Wimps,  Penelope Trunk Brazen Careerist. I just read a post that had me at the first paragraph:

I think I’m over the happiness thing. I think I am thinking that the pursuit of happiness is, well, vacuous. I don’t think people are happy or unhappy. Because I think knowing if we are happy would require knowing the meaning of life, or the ultimate goal, or the key to the world, or something that, which really, we are not going to find outside of blind religious fanaticism.

She could have stopped right there and I would be forever in her debt for perfectly phrasing a point I have often considered, but never been able to articulate.

But go read the rest of the post, because it actually gets bettter. In it, she struggles with the idea that some people are fulfilled by information, and maybe don’t need other people for their happiness. I am by no means one of these, so I probably shouldn’t comment. But I know people who seem to be, so I think it might be true.

She also makes some excellent points about folks who want to maximize their stimuli, versus those who don’t. The later group seem to always be defending their choice – something that makes me go hmmmm…, do we protest a bit too much?   I wouldn’t be happy in NYC, I’m sure. The choices would overwhelm me. Even in my (backwater) city, the fact that there are so many venues for entertainment (that I never even investigate) somewhat alarms me. So the post made me reflect on who I am and the choices I make.

 I’ve read some of the literature about the psychology of happiness that precipitated Ms. Trunk’s discussion. I feel that though I am perhaps not always exactly happy, I  certainly I have elements of it.  And one of them is gratitude, for the situation I find myself in, and in particular, that I am able to live in a not-so-big centre, where I can decompress occasionally.

But I do think that she confuses people who are “content” with those who are “complacent”. I think that I can be content,  without being complacent, and often not even exactly happy.   Despite  a tendency to worry about the future, I am very pleased with my present and am very grateful indeed to have what I do.

But I suspect that I’ve just proved Ms. Trunk’s point about some people feeling compelled to rationalize their choice, particularly those who chose not to live in a choice-maximizing circumstance.

So put me down as relatively content, and just a bit sensitive about it.

One last winter

My dog is old, old for a dog his size, which is very large.
And he’s dying. He is has some pain, and it is likely the beginning of the end.
Fortunately, we had excellent advice and have been able to reduce his discomfort, but I’ll be surprised if he lives out this season.

He has been an invaluable friend to me, to all our family really. His biggest contribution has probably been his presence. He is a stoic, reliable listener who loves anyone who’ll scratch him “just so”.

But that kind of “just being there” that he excels in wasn’t what I meant by his presence.

The fact that he was a part of my life, and I didn’t want to give him up, probably saved my marriage a couple of times – simply because I couldn’t afford a home suitable for him on my own. That, of course, was before children. Now I can’t afford a home for my girls and him on my own. And I wouldn’t want to.
Things change.

He has been suffering from a kind of attention deficit disorder since the girls came along – he just doesn’t get enough of mine. At first, he claimed his special time with me by nudging the bathroom door open and demanding affection while I was on the john, pretty much the only time other than nursing when I sat down. But since the advent of potty training (still ongoing with A) he avoids that room like the plague. After all, there’s a good chance of getting splashed. And he hates getting wet.

So now he does a lot of sleeping, and tries not to intersect too much with our bossy girls. They learned to crawl by climbing all over him, and practically learned to walk holding on to a part of his leash, but now if he comes near one of them,she  is apt to yell that “[the] dog is bugging me!” So he finds a corner and goes back to sleep.

We still have our chats after the kids go to bed. He hangs out in their room for the last goodnights, so I don’t forget him. Then I take him with me when the lights go out and, once he’s fed and the kitchen is cleaned up, we retire to the living room together.

He is the calm place where the whirling chaos of my mind slows down, the reason I need to get outside, and a good reason to come home.  Soon, I won’t have his company, and I miss him already.

Because it isn’t all cheery

My friend June died this December.  I met her through her son about 20 years ago now, but I was proud to call her my friend (and not just  my friend’s mom.)

She was a kind of inspiration to me and somehow I thought she’d always be around. I was wrong on that last point.

I had just got in touch with her son’s wife again after a few years of lost connections. I’d sent a picture of the kids, she said “Aw” and the next message – before I could even ask after June – was that June had suddenly died that day, in her sleep. She was in her early 70′s.

I didn’t go to see her when I could have, when I was back home last. I regret that.

Since there was no prospect of  me attending, I asked the funeral director to read the following at the service if the family thought it appropriate. Nobody has talked to me since, so I don’t know if it was read. But as a tribute to my friend, I’d like to share it with you.

June was a blustery old coot from way back. And damn proud of it, she’d be the first to agree.  Underneath that crusty exterior, she was a truly sweet, generous soul.
I wish I could be with you all, to say my good-byes.

I thought you might want to hear one of my favourite stories about June. No doubt many of you remember this one, too, but in case you haven’t heard it:

June, many years ago, as you probably already know, had a nasty broken leg that required a screw inserted to help the bones knit together. Unfortunately, though the leg took its time healing, the screw itself started to work its way out, and, as you can imagine, that hurt a lot.

June had to be talked into seeing her doctor about it, as she wasn’t one to complain (cough) I mean to doctors. After all, it wasn’t as if anyone was going to listen, she’d say.  Plus, I think she figured, given her medical background, that there wasn’t much he could do, anyways. She didn’t hold out much hope for doctors, given her experience.

Then she had to be talked into seeing the doctor again when he didn’t propose to do anything about it. And, I think, a third time.

Finally, the truth came out. She was using perfectly correct descriptive terms from her training as a nurse in Scotland: she told the doctor (repeatedly) that she was “experiencing some discomfort”.

In Canada, from any other patient, the doctor would expect what she was feeling to be described as “excruciatingly painful”, and was responding as if she had been any of those other patients. His mistake.

She was one of a kind.

June made some difficult times in my life far more bearable. She listened well, she cared deeply and I m a better person for having known her. I will always remember her with great fondness.

 I will miss her.

It’s WHAT time of year?

I have developed an incapacity for planning unrivalled by any I know. (And this is saying something. I have some serious family competition here. I used to get presents twice a year from my brother. Christmas was usually celebrated around Easter and my September birthday celebrations were subject to a similar delay. Despite that record, my family was timely in comparison to some of the friends I grew up with!)

Calendars challenge me in ways I can barely explain these days. The dates and times of appointments seem to jumble themselves on it in a way that somewhat resembles reality, that is sufficient to make me believe I’ve read the damn thing right, but is completely inaccurate.  I find myself attending  appointments at the wrong time, on the wrong date and in the wrong place – sometimes all at once.

Then, if I do become aware of an upcoming (accurate) date, such as Christmas or a birthday, I am somehow unable to count just how few days there are between then and now, so that the date sneaks up as a complete surprise. And once again, presents are not sent, cards not mailed and connections not made.

I apologize to those of you who don’t hear from me from month to month or year to year because of this. I applaud, and wonder at the sanity of, those of you who love me anyway.

And I strive, as I do every year, to do better.

What I’ve learned

Work in general: If you lug home 4 files over the weekend, you need a fifth to do the work.

Physical fitness: Any woman can have the body of a 21-year-old. She just has to buy him enough drinks first. (It was pointed out to me that the above is a direct corollary of the fact that everyone gets cuter in proportion to how close it is to closing time. However,  I prefer to think of it, instead, as a fresh, charming thought – and perhaps hope for the future!)

Conspiracy theory: There is clearly a diuretic in hand cream. Otherwise why do you need to use the toilet (and thus wash your hands again) as soon as you put it on?

It’s all about timing:

• My phone is programmed somehow not to ring unless and until I am in the shower or otherwise unable to answer it – particularly if I’m waiting for a call.
•  The children know that the best time for crises is when mom is in a rush. 
• Computers like to get your attention in a similar way. Crashes are in direct proportion to how badly you really need the material right away. 
• Any communication confusion between my husband and me is pretty much guaranteed to occur when my patience is at its thinnest. (gee, I wonder why?)

[There are correlaries to this last: 1) Ergo, I attempt to remain silent, though deadly, when feeling frayed.  Which often leads to a point  where really, all that is left is 2) quiet hallway sex: passing one another in the hall, muttering “fuck you”.]

AND – perhaps most important of all:

Growing older is inevitable.
Staying immature is an art form.

Words to live by.

If Blessed are the Peacemakers, I’ll have company in hell

The girls are awesome, and handfuls. J is now 3 going on 13. Honestly, can any one child have more mood swings in one day? She’s smart and bossy to boot.  I caught her not just picking arguments yesterday, but orchestrating them. The conversation at the tablebetween her and her sister, A, while I was out of the room went like this:

J: Say Yummy

A: Yummy

J: Now I’ll say Yucky – Yucky. You say Yummy again.
A: Yummy

J: And I say Yucky. Yucky. – and you say…

A: Yummy

J: Right. Yucky. Now, try it the other way. You say Yucky. Say Yucky.
A: Yucky.

J: Yummy.

A: Yummy.

J: No, you say Yucky now, I say Yummy.  I say Yummy so you say Yucky. Got it?
A: Yucky.

J: OK! Yummy.
A: Yucky!
J: Good girl, that’s right. Now I say Yummy. Yummy. Now we’re ready for Momma.*

And, yes, J really does speak that way. She is annoyingly didactic. Don’t know where she gets that from (says Mrs. Bossypants herself , willfully blind to her own quirks).

On the other hand, A, at almost 2 and a half, raises her own sort of devilment. She takes advantage of the fact that J believes that rules can only be broken by her, and some are sacrosanct.

For instance, J totally took to heart the warning that we do not say “Shut up” in our house.
So A bounces up and down in her crib, and just to get a rise out of her sister,  yells: “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” 

This makes J positively wail. “A__ is saying ‘shut up’ to me” she manages, between sobs. 

A just grins when I come in, then switches to “Get up! Get up! Get up!” and grins some more. Sigh. Eventually, they will get calmed down and asleep, by which time I am only good for going to bed.

And so it goes. That was in November. They’ve been a little quiet lately. They may be plotting the overthrow of the Western world, practicing yet a more diabolical way to befuddle mama, or just saving their strength for another onslaught.

Who knows?

*I’ve tried everything to get this section to have regular spacing, but to no avail. I tried using Word and removing all formatting, then pasting it in, typing it in anew, and I’m out of ideas. Anyone have any ideas on this? I refuse to mess with it any more.