quotes from the pew

With school about to start, the preacher was talking to Jaron about it at church over the weekend. He asked him what his favorite thing about school was, BESIDES lunch and recess.  Jaron did not hesitate to answer, "P.E." He tried to pull a subject out of him, like math, reading, history...and Jaron said, "I really don't like to think that much." His only thoughts thus far about this school year are a) third grade is probably going to be a lot of work and b) he will get to play with his friends thanks to recess and P.E. His favorite subjects.

She was a good dog.

The day I took Poochie to be put to sleep was beautiful. It was one of those rare occasions, in Missouri, at least, in which the temperature was perfect. The clouds dotting the blue sky were like cotton balls. From the moment I woke up, I began preparing myself for the task ahead of me.  I filled my thoughts with the necessity of it all.  The lesser of all evils. The best thing from a list of the worst options.  I knew all of the logical things about the situation.  I knew we would be saying goodbye to her one day, and thirteen and a half years was a long and happy life for a dog.  I knew putting her to sleep would end her suffering.  I knew her cancer was not ever getting better. I knew she had started dropping weight and spending most of her time on her cushion in her pet taxi. I saw her have a seizure a couple of weeks ago, and I wondered how many she may have had when I was not around.  I had reached the point where I knew I could not watch her get any worse, and I did not want the kids to watch it either.

Knowing the right thing to do and having the courage to do it are two completely different ball games. I had called the vet a few weeks ago to set up this appointment, and when they called me back I did not answer my phone. This time I made the appointment.  I chose a vet we had never been to before, because Poochie hated going to the vet where she was fixed and got her shots. She would not go into the building willingly, and when we got to the door, she would plant her feet so that I would either have to carry her or drag her in by her leash! The kids and I talked it out, and we all decided they would not go.  I told Madison that Poochie's last day was not nearly as important as her first thirteen and a half years, and she had spent ten of those years with her.  Kevin has been working six days a week for most of the summer, and this weekend was no exception.  My mother-in-law offered to take her, but I decided it should be me.

The night before, I had given her a bath and fixed her an egg.  She loved eggs.  I thought I was approaching the whole thing with love, logic, and sound judgment. I was handling everything well, for the most part, but the closer I got to the vet's office, the further I felt my resolve slipping away from me. I began grasping for alternatives, chastising myself for not having her leg amputated at the first onset, and trying to come up with an excuse I could toss at the vet for missing the appointment.

I pulled into the parking lot and tried hard to convince myself that I was an adult.  I remember thinking as a kid that being a grown up would be awesome because I could do whatever I wanted all the time. Too often it means doing what has to be done instead. I composed myself.  I decided it would be best to go in and pay the vet for his service beforehand, and he caught me a little off guard when he needed to ask me a few questions.  He was as nice as he could be, but because she had not been there before, he had to get "a little bit of her history." He needed to know things like her age, weight, breed, whether or not she was a house dog, and if I would be taking her home. As I answered his questions, I felt my composure start to melt away once again.

I remember thinking, "Buddy, it will take more time than you have if you want to know Poochie's history." We are talking about two houses and three babies and all of the events in between.  We are talking about a look of disdain she directed at any other dog because she did not know she was one.  We are talking about her favorite plaid, burgundy, bone-shaped pillow and a Christmas stocking.  She held a mystery grudge against the Amish, causing her to bark frantically at the sight of a horse and buggy. She loved being under the covers, and sported a football hoodie, a t-shirt that said, "You couldn't afford me," and a red, velvet Christmas dress as the occasion deemed necessary.  When I got up in the night to change a sick child's bedding, Poochie's footsteps followed me down the hallway. She waited patiently until all was well again. She had a habit of working her nose into my palm if I was sitting still, because if I had nothing to do, I might as well be petting her. If I told her to, she would jump up so I could catch her, and plant her backside on my hip so I could carry her. When the weather was nasty, she ould come in the house and lay down on the rug with her paws in the air so I could wipe her feet with a towel.  She got up with me every time I needed to soothe a new baby in the wee hours of the morning, and when my babies cried in the next room during the day, she came to find me. She tolerated my toddlers as they hugged her neck with too much enthusiasm, and she curled up with them as they watched TV, all the way from Dora and Diego to iCarly, Spiderman, and Victorious.

That's the thing about Poochie's history.  It is my family's history.  She was calm, or maybe tired, as I carried her into the little room. I was glad I chose the unfamiliar vet. I got to hold her as she received the injection. I stroked her head in her favorite way, until she rested it on my arm, and she was gone.

The vet said the amputation would not have prolonged things. He said he thought I had made the right decision, and she was very worn out because "she went so easy." I was grateful to him for that.  The next day, it rained, and the sky looked like ashes all day. I was glad because all the people I know really need rain, and I was glad because all I really felt like doing was mourning the loss of a dear, dear friend. She was a good dog.

Dogs, Dads, Deer, and Baseball

This year for Jaron's birthday we rented a public pool and invited many friends and family members. He quickly reported it was his best party ever. He bravely jumped off of the high dive countless times, and mostly swam out in the deep water (with his dad close by).  I think there will be more pool parties in our future! I don't really need to write a detailed post about the things Jaron is into this year as he turns eight.  The truth is, his cake says it all.  I asked him to choose the picture he would like to put on his birthday cake, and he asked me if he could choose more than one.  He settled on these:

He told me he would like the most recent picture of his dog, Dixie, his big buck deer (making sure it was the one that also had Dad and his big buck deer), and his baseball team.  I said, "How about that picture of you and I in our baseball shirts?" He cocked his head to the side as he considered that idea, and slowly shook his head as he replied, "Nah. And I don't really want my sisters on it either."  I know deep down he loves us, but I also realize Moms are really not that cool when you are eight.  Not as cool as dogs, dads, deer, and baseball buddies. Not unless you are hurt, hungry, or something is lost.  It's okay. I can be here when he needs me, and be grateful he has friends, a pet he loves, and a dad to teach him how to become a man. Those are the things that matter most to Jaron these days, and that means those things matter to me!  I really do love watching him come out of his shell and jump into his favorite things with both feet, just like he jumps into the pool. Deep down, though, I am hoping next year I make it on the cake!

Big Plans

I am the kind of girl who has big plans, and I tend to veer off in the direction of go big or go home. Sometimes I get an idea and I run with it. I run so far that occasionally I have to grab myself by the back of the shirt and make an effort to reign it in, you know? For instance, once I decided I was going to learn to crochet. I went to the store and bought a kit that came with a "How to Crochet" instructional book and several crochet hooks. And then, in this very same trip to the store, I bought enough yarn to make an afghan. Not enough to make a pot holder, or the top of those dishtowels you see...but an afghan. It never really came to pass. I did not have the passion for crocheting that would provide me with the patience it would take to learn to do a good job. I do things like that sometimes, and I know this, but I can't seem to help myself.

In my most recent life-changing epiphany, I realized that after Megan was born, I was not doing the best job of being involved in the activities of my older kids. When Megan was a baby, I was nursing her, and as she became a toddler, I was chasing her, and generally trying to keep her safe. It occured to me that I seemed to be looking around for a concerned and devoted parent to get involved...and maybe instead of looking for one, I should be one. I should contribute more to the activities of my big kids. And, truth be known, I should contribute more to my community...and society in general. See where I go with things? I decided that while I love motherhood, like Jo I could be a great many things, and maybe I should be.

I thought I was starting small. One thing at a time. Instead of wishing for Madison to have the opportunity to play on a Show-Me basketball team, I could create one. I could recruit players, collect money, register the team, order uniforms, book hotel rooms, and schedule practices. I found some enthusiastic little girls and willing parents, and we became the Bullets (Bulldogs + Hornets). Our jerseys are fuchsia and lime green, and every Saturday morning we practice and work on FUNdamentals. While I am working to spend more time with Madison, she started taking an interest in pitching. I decided to set her up with a pitching rubber (including a hot pink "power stripe") so she can pitch to me in the evenings.

I decided I should get involved in our school's booster club. Why haven't I been to one of those meetings yet? I have ideas, and I love athletics. I could contribute to our school. When our rural fire department decided to put together a fundraising cookbook, they needed someone to type the recipes online. I decided I could do that. Even if there were one hundred and seventy-six recipes, including one for gumbo containing thirty-seven ingredients. I had found a way to contribute to my community.

When Jaron's Pee Wee baseball team was low on coaching volunteers, I decided it was an opportunity to help. I could help them throw, catch, and hit. I could teach them how to run the bases, and try their best, and keep it fun. I know a thing or two about which strengths are best for which positions, and creating a batting order. It is fun...the coaching part. I soon learned that the coaches are in charge of our annual Pee Wee Tournament that kicks off the season. Not as much fun, maybe, but I could do that, too. Contributing and all. The tournament has been rained out for the past several years. This year it was not. All I had to do was contact the other teams, organize the cook shack workers, create a tournament bracket. Order some medals...and wouldn't it be nice to put together a little program with team rosters inside, and a bracket on the back? I am pretty sure I spent the first few games on the verge of having a stroke. The boys are excited, and they are all in. They try hard. The last thing I wanted to be was the coach who made them get out...how devastating! I realized coaching was more difficult than I had anticipated. A good lesson to learn. I think the tournament was a hit...and it raised some significant funds for the baseball association. Perfect.

I find myself in an afghan type of situation when I probably should have started with a pot holder. I finally upgraded to unlimited texting, and I send regular messages to the group lists in my phone for Family, Show-Me Girls, Pee Wee Boys, and Pee Wee Coaches. I have contributed to the activities of my children. I have enjoyed it, mostly. I have contributed to my community. There are tangible results of my labors, and that feels really good. I have tried hard to teach all of the kids that I am coaching that the most important thing in sports is to try your best. Anyone, regardless of skill level, can try their best...and that is what determines if we have a good game or not...not the score board. Although I have to say winning is fun! It is also true that I have NOT read a book, written a blog post, or slept a good, solid eight hours in quite some time. My house is in pretty bad shape right now. There are several weeds in my garden. People have complained about or discouraged some of my efforts. A few of the opposing coaches have displayed some distinctly unsportsmanlike behavior throughout the season that I may have needed to tactfully make them aware of:). Despite my best efforts, all of my irons seemed to wind up in the same fire, but we are down to our last few baseball and softball games, and the Show-Me Games are in July, so things are starting to calm down.

My next big plan is going to center around balance. I am not sure if I will ever figure that out.

Double Digits

Madison has been talking about turning double digits for awhile now.  There is something about being ten that feels very grown up to her. The day I became a mother, ten years ago, was one of the most frightening days of my life.  There was the whole first time being in labor thing, followed by a surgery that we did not think I would survive.  Horrific. Surgical. Experience. I should know, now that I have had three of them.  Even so, we all know about the blessed outcome. I forgot the scary parts of that day so quickly, I was willing to do it again a short two years later.  I think some of the best things in life come with the most struggle and fear.  That is how we know what matters.  I remember the gut-clenching terror the moment I realized my dad had let go of the back of my shiny, new bike, which was instantly replaced by exhiliration as my hair was flying behind me in the breeze, and my house and yard flew past me in a blur. I remember that feeling way more than the times I lost control of my bike.  That is what it felt like when Madison was born.  Terror followed by the sweetest slice of joy and contentment that I had ever known. 

I am so proud of the person Madison is becoming.  If I were the kind of mom that brags, I would say that I am proud of all of her advanced scores on her testing.  I would tell you about all of the times she catches me off guard with the random facts that she remembers.  I would probably talk about how beautifully she plays the piano, and how much I admire her bravery as she performs for a gym full of family, friends, and strangers.  I would probably mention how she reads at a high school level, but still takes time to read Dr. Seuss to her sister.  I would admit that sometimes she sets an example for me with her devotion to Jesus although I know it should be the other way around. I would also talk about how much I enjoy her enthusiasm for sports, and how bewildered I am at the ribbons on her artwork when I can't draw a stick man.  But since I am not that mom, I will tell you that I have been thankful for my Madison Rose every single day for the last decade.  I love her big heart, determination, and her beautiful blue eyes.  She is a wondrous mixture of barbies and iPods. Softball cleats and sparkly dress shoes.  Camoflauge and fingernail polish. Dirt on her face and flowers in her hair.  She loves reading, basketball and softball, church, family and friends, baking, playing the piano, and being a big sister (most of the time).

We made a day of her birthday celebration this year.  She was baptized in our little church that day, and she played the invitational hymn, I Have Decided to Follow Jesus, on the piano.  It was a proud day for her dad and I, and we were all surrounded by friends and family. Happy Birthday, Madison Rose!  May every decade of your life bring you all the joy, love, and contentment that you have brought to mine!

Brothers & Sisters

When I was younger, I wanted to have four kids.  While I was ordering them up like pizza, I wanted to have two boys and two girls.  I grew up with a brother and a sister, and I always felt like my brother kind of missed out...having only sisters and all.  A sister can hunt, play sports, climb trees, and ride bikes, but there are also times when she wants to curl her hair, paint her nails, and talk on the phone. I thought maybe if he had a brother, he could have spent a little more time with someone who appreciated that he took things apart to see how they worked, even if he did not always get them put back together in a way that was functional.  Maybe there would have been someone to roll their eyes a little less often at him, or laugh at every joke about gas...because we all know those never get old.  My brother and his brother probably could have wrestled on a daily basis without anyone getting their feelings hurt. I think some of the same things about Jaron.  But my only brother and my only son share the fate of growing up outnumbered in their family.  It was not meant to be for Blaine or for Jaron, and they got sisters.   

Sisters can get a little extra emotional sometimes.  Oftentimes, in my case, a sister will not come back down out of the climbed tree until her brother comes to help her.  We tend to harass our brothers about the things that we think he needs to do. Maybe it use to be staying out of our rooms, or refraining from mooning a bus full of our peers, and now it has become going to that checkup at the doctor.  Sometimes sisters don't let a guy get a word in edgewise...I am not going to lie about it.  Good, bad, or indifferent.  We have lots of things to say. Boys may not say all the mushy things, but I don't think that matters as much as being there when we need them.  My brother gave me many rides to school, practices, games, open gyms, and social events (as long as I was not dressed inappropriately). He played a lot of basketball with me. I'm pretty sure I schooled him a few times.  There have been times when he tried to get me in trouble with our parents. And vice versa.  But there have also been times when he needed somebody, and he called me.  And vice versa. It always helps a girl's confidence to know she has guys in her corner.  Not that we need to be taken care of or anything, but you know, just in case.  So while my brother may not be the mushy type, he tolerates me hugging on him and taking his picture on a pretty regular basis with minimal complaints. Everyone knows he always picks out the coolest John Deere gifts for any occasion.  I am still a little sorry he missed out on having a brother, because I can tell you, it's pretty great.  Happy Birthday to my favorite brother!     

Quotes from the Backseat

I probably don't always get involved in the kids squabbles as quickly as I should.  Recently, I sort of overheard Jaron trying to convince Megan to leave something of his alone, but it really did not register until I heard a smack.  I am pretty sure it was his hand smacking hers.  Megan yelled, "Jaron!!  Why do you hurt myself??!!"