So I am going to write today about something that most people do not talk about. You see we all have our periods and we get together and complain about cramps and sometimes how happy we are that we aren’t pregnant. But most of the time we don’t talk about periods and what it’s like as a mother.

I am going to start with this, when I would have my period when I was a teenager I was very unpleasant. How do I know? Because one time my sister, as a joke, which I would have ordinarily laughed at because it was my brand of humor, bought me some “bitch pills” (they were just jelly beans) and gave them to me when I was on my period. I almost ended her life. I almost did my beloved sister in because she gave me a jar of jelly beans labeled “Bitch pills” which typically would have made me laugh. As I got older and popped out a few kids my hormones weren’t quite so murdery thank the Lord Almighty!!!!

However, for a trade-off, I got this amazing ability to bleed profusely through every piece of protection they offered. “Super” my ass, the only thing super about this fucking tampon is how hard they are to hide from my children. Do the words “Tampon Light saber war” mean anything to anybody??? My husband’s poor Meme had been sitting and eating a piece of cake when my children came in with their very own colored (Yes they colored them) super tampons to have a light saber war in my living room.

Then there was the time that my children stuck my maxi pads all over the bathroom walls, themselves and then cried because I took their stickers away. But this is only part of the joy of periods as a mother. You see these are just the mishaps with the paraphernalia. The period mishaps are way worse.

When children are small and you have to take them out with you and you have to use the bathroom, what is the proper “Anti-theft” protocol for your children, you take them in the stall with you. I was a heavy bleeder and I should be allowed to stay at home until the coast was clear. I was not capable to stay home and cry because I had my period, because this particular time I had to go to some such thing that was more important than my heavy flow. So wherever I was and whatever I was doing I had to take a potty break due to the fact that my “Super bitch of a tampon” decided to give out on me. She’s weak I tell ya! So I walk into the bathroom with my child and I put my child in the stall with me. I am now sitting on the toilet (and to quote the president of the united states) “I had blood coming out of my wherever!” Like a lot of blood, out of my tiny wherever. My child is standing in the stall with me and trying to ask me questions.

“Mommy, Why do I have to be in here? I don’t have to go to the bathroom.” cute little child voice with angelic face to match.

“I wouldn’t want you to not be safe!” I respond. (all the while trying to figure out how I am going to do some fancy magician slight of hand to remove the tampon from my wherever and put it in the fancy bag and put it in the beautiful receptacle that they offer in the ladies’ stall. Unless it’s ripped off and there is only the screws and some weird orange spot where it once was.)

“Why wouldn’t it be safe if I was not in here?” child asks

“Because then someone would think you didn’t have a mommy that loves you and then they might want to take you home with them.” I try and the whole time I am discretely trying to reach behind me and do the deed.

“What was that???” child screeches.

“What was that thing that you pulled out of your butt?” child panics

“It’s okay honey. Calm down.” I try to reassure my poor, scarred for life, child that I am okay.

“MOM? WHAT WAS THAT THING YOU PULLED OUT OF YOUR BUTT? WAS IT A BLOODY SNAKE? WHY WAS THAT BLOODY SNAKE IN YOUR BUTT? ARE YOU GOING TO DIE?” Child goes into complete meltdown mode.

I whisper and I can hear the other ladies all laughing, not laughing per say but wheezing and hyperventilating and doing everything in their power not to laugh. I whisper in my most embarrassed whisper ever, “It wasn’t a bloody snake from my butt. It was a tampon and sometimes mommies need tampons because they are not going to have a baby.”

“WHAT??? WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?” panicked child still screaming, eyes rounder than ever.

“I said, sometimes mommies need to use tampons because they are not going to be having a baby. It wasn’t a snake”…I take the new fresh clean tampon out of my purse and hold it up and show the poor child who is probably sitting in therapy right now explaining their very own version of this story. “It’s a tampon. I need this because I am not going to have a baby.”

The child looks at me and is horrified. This fucking “super size me” tampon is not helping with the explanation, nor is it comforting at all. I open the tampon up and show it with its nice cardboard tube and everything. “See, it’s a tampon!”

These other ladies start selling tickets for admission to the period show, because it now sounds like everyone and their mother is in that fucking bathroom. All sniggering and listening and howling once in a while.

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH IT? DO YOU PUT THAT IN YOUR BUTT? MOM DON’T PUT THAT THING IN YOUR BUTT!” begins to cry yell!

“It….ummm! Well, it doesn’t go in my butt, honey! It goes in my….ummm….I put it in my…..Mommies who are not going to have a baby put these in their…ummm.”

“WHERE? WHERE ARE YOU PUTTING THAT THING?” child asks very loudly and very shaken. Quite certain that the kidnapping deal might actually be a better situation for them at this juncture of their life.

“Mommies put them in their vaginas.” I state “And it’s okay because we have to, because of the blood.” I know I’m making it worse. Very much worse!!!!

“JESUS CHRIST MOM, JUST HAVE THE BABY!” child shouts with great emphasis on the last part.

The silence was deafening. The women were silently laughing and gasping for air and slapping their knees and clapping their hands in that, I can’t laugh but noise must signify that this is some funny shit going on right here, way!

I may never leave this stall! Like ever!!!!! I live in this fucking bathroom stall from now on! Because when I leave these ladies are going to know that, not only do I have my period, but I am also failing as a mother. I don’t want them to see my face. All I can say about this moment, is that I am so super glad that there were no cell phones at this time. No one taping it and posting it and auto tuning it. Thank God for that. I would have died from embarrassment. Instead I put the tampon in and got up and flushed the toilet. I opened the stall door and those ladies all gave me a standing ovation. They all smiled and told me that I was doing a fine job. They were there for the entertainment, but also for the camaraderie that we, as ladies in whatever of the various menstrual cycle they may be in, must show one another. They were all really wonderful ladies to have overheard that entire embarrassing display in the bathroom stall.

I wash my hands and wash my child’s hands because public bathrooms are gross. I lift my purse onto my shoulder and I walk out of that bathroom with my head held high. I am a mother and we have to do things that we don’t want to do. First we have to have the damn periods, the cramps and the acne and the cravings that cannot be cured. Then we have to carry an entire trunk filled with equipment all of the time because who fucking knows when the “Bloody Snake” is going to appear. Then we have to explain why we had to leave the grocery store after we sneezed…and also why our jackets are tied around our waist….and without groceries. So if you are a mother, or you know someone who is a mother, pass this story onto them. Then you can all have a good laugh at my expense. I am no longer embarrassed about it. I just think “Wow, I did not have any training for that day. I was ill prepared!”

Moral of my story: Do not leave your house if you have your period and if you do have to leave your house with your period, let it be the only one you bring with you. You don’t want to have to explain to your three-year old why you pulled a bloody snake out of your butt.

So my husband and youngest daughter got me a new cavalier king charles spaniel puppy. He is a tricolored beautiful baby boy. It has been an adjusting period getting all of the other animals to come and meet him without calling me a traitor and an asshole.

The first night when we brought him home all of the other animals were like “Yay, mom’s home and she has a wiggling little snack for us!”

I was like “No you can’t eat it and also it’s your little brother. He lives here now!”

The look of utter betrayal on my naughty nunu’s face was breaking my heart. My daughter held the puppy and that was great because now they can think that she’s the traitor and that I am some unknowing party to all of this. But the jig was up when I slept on the floor right next to his crate. The cats are outside my bedroom door whispering to each other:

“Why is mom sleeping next to that puppy? It belongs to the college kid, right?”

“Is that thing leaving when she goes back to school?”

“Mom loves him she just said so!”

“Quick! Someone go shit in her shoe!”

“Ewe! That’s uncivilized, we are house cats. There will be no shitting in shoes! Maybe just piss on her pillow or favorite sweater!”

“That sends a message!”

“Who wants to do the dirty deed?”

“No one? Well great! How will mom know that we are unhappy if we don’t ruin something?”

“I just knocked her valentines day flowers on the floor? I was going to do that anyway, but now she will think it was because I’m pissed.”

The next morning when I got up at four thirty in the morning, because he came from a dairy farm and that’s probably when he had to milk the cows, I went downstairs and walked past the water and flowers and shards of glass to get him outside to learn how to be a potty trained guy. When I came back in, I walked past the water and flowers and shards of glass to put him back into his crate. I then came down and picked up the mess that the cats left me and thought to myself “Hey, it could be worse, they could have shit in my shoe.”

The second day that we had him, we took him shopping. We also had plans for brunch and I was having serious anxiety about leaving my baby at home in his crate. I didn’t know I was getting a puppy when I made the reservations. So I Did, in fact, consider just sneaking him into the restaurant because he is only four pounds. But then my inner voice, that sounded like my husband and spoke like him with his vernacular said “Becki, you are not going to take that puppy with us. Put him back in his crate. He will be fine.”

“Mom, has the puppy in her coat!” my inner voice that sounds like my daughter says.

“Becki, give me that puppy. He can’t go with us.” my inner voice that sounds like my husband says. Then my inner voice wrenched the puppy from my grip and put him back in his crate.

The older dog looks at me and says “Don’t leave that with me. I’m not babysitting. No one asked me if I wanted a baby brother!” Which is a lie because I did ask her if she wanted a baby brother, but I think the translation isn’t exact from dog to human so our wires may have been crossed. I thought she said yes. She clearly said no. How do I know that? Oh because she sits with her back to him and refuses to look at him. So it is more clear to me now that she didn’t want a baby brother. OOOOPS!!!

Potty training is going well. He sometimes comes when we call him which is way better than some of my cats that don’t come at all when I call them. He sits on command. He now knows that we don’t expect him to get up at four in the morning to milk cows and will sleep until a reasonable seven thirty. So far so good.

The leash thing is a bit of anomaly right now. He lets us put on his harness and leash and then he allows us to drag him where we want to go. So we still need to work on that. He was great at the vets. Our Vet is amazing and she was so happy to see him. So that makes it easier for him. He even started puppy classes. My husband took him because I am still trying to get school work done. Because when I put things on my schedule, I pile it high until I cry and feel like my insides are going to rip out of my anus. But I am getting better….meaning I notice that it is too much for me. I won’t be doing this again. But while my husband has been doing so much with him while I am busy, he is bonding with my husband. Last night he ran off my lap and over to his dad. It broke my heart. So while my oldest dog was sitting on the other couch giving me some serious side eye, I was on the end of my couch giving my husband some serious side eye. “That’s my puppy!”

Actually I am thankful for my husband’s help. He really had a great time with his new puppy. He even spoiled him and bought him more toys than any one puppy could ever play with. But only one puppy can, because if his toy is outside of his bed, he goes and puts it back in it. I could never get my kids to clean up their toys, so I am going to count this as a win, even though I am certain that the puppy is just being selfish.

I hired a puppy sitter who is super excited to come over and work with him, while I do school work because myhusband says that he is not going to stay here and be a puppy sitter all week long. Something about paying bills and having a job. Whatever!!!! But it is going great so far. Aside from my older dog who is in pure denial about having a new baby brother in her life. The cats are coming around. No one has shit in my shoe yet….so that is all good.

Moral of my story: No moral, just I still miss my Princess. She was really special to me. This new baby is not a replacement but he is a new journey. So to Princess I will honor you with all of the cherished memories that I have of you. The car rides and the cuddles and the love you had for chasing bunnies under the fence. I hope you are having a great time in heaven….or dog camp…or whatever they have for animal spirits…maybe a totem spirit guide? I don’t know, but I love you!

I apologize to my readers, I have not written in a while. First I want to let you all know that I had to say goodbye to my dog Princess. She lost her fight with Lymphoma. It was incredibly sad. We did what we could for her but, unfortunately it wasn’t enough. In my sadness I rush between two thoughts:

“She was irreplaceable and I am not sure if I am ready for another dog.”

And: I have been searching for a new puppy half-heartedly and yet I have a name picked out if my husband encourages me to go forward.

Now I know it sounds heartless to think of getting another puppy so soon after her passing, it’s not that I am trying to replace her. I know that the Princess sized hole in my heart will never truly be filled. However, I have another dog and she is visibly grieving and I don’t know how to make that better either. This other dog is a black lab-australian shepherd mix and she is afraid to go outside by herself now. There are moments when she sits where Princess used to sleep and she will whine. She is so incredibly sad and it breaks my heart even more. The funny thing is that they were like sisters….like they would have knock-down drag outs over food and toys and then they would run outside and play together, like it was no big deal.

Princess was a west highland white terrier and she would get body clipped to keep her hair looking neat and tidy. During the winter months she would be cold, so we bought her  a sweater to keep her warm. It was precious and I appreciated a pup that  would allow me to dress her up. One day, the other dog must have got jealous or something because I looked up and she was dragging Princess across the yard by her sweater. (I know that they are dogs and dogs don’t necessarily behave like humans but it reminded me of the one time in high school when some sisters were fighting over a shirt and one of them was trying to remove the beloved shirt off of the other, not so beloved, sister’s body) I yelled out to my dogs and they both got up and appeared to be happy. They ran over to me and everyone was cool.

Later Princess came inside sans sweater and I found it buried in the backyard. I figured that perhaps another approach to keep Princess warm. I bought them both coats…that look like horse blankets. They both wore their coats and were happy. It really was like having fighting teenage girls in the house. The funny thing was I had teenage girls in the house but they didn’t fight over clothes at all. In fact my youngest went and got her driver’s license picture taken with her older sister’s shirt on. My oldest was away at college and when I pointed it out to my youngest, she and I both laughed. My oldest thought it was funny too. My daughters didn’t fight over food and clothes but my dog daughters did.

Now the black pooch is depressed and I think maybe she would like a baby brother. Like they probably wouldn’t fight over clothes at least, right? Or maybe I should let the dust settle and enjoy the fact that no one is fighting right now. It’s not like they always would fight, most of the time they enjoyed each other’s company. They would run outside to bark at birds and squirrels and bunnies. One would run out barking at something and the other one would try to follow but had no idea what they were so angry about.

Princess would be out there barking “You get out of our yard you stupid fucking squirrel!”

and the other one would be all “This leaf. No! This shadow. No! Over here this other leaf is making me so angry I think I’ll pee on it and that will be better.”

My poor dog now has very little reason to go outside and she refuses to go outside after dark. She is lonely. I even saw her licking one of the cats….so clearly, she’s desperate. That’s why I am thinking of getting a new dog.

The downside to all of this is I miss Princess and she will never be replaced. She was a good dog to have around when you were sad…or afraid to go outside at night in the dark. Yes, I too have this fear. When my youngest had dance class and I had to go pick her up, I would bring Princess with me. She would leave her little nose prints on the window in my car. She knew the rules to riding in the car and we knew to lock the power windows because she had learned to roll them down herself.

She was fearless and feisty. She was precious and beautiful. She was a companion that I would have with me when I would pick up the kids at school. She was excellent to take for walks. She once was even a part of my youngest daughter’s costume for Halloween. My youngest was Dorothy and Princess was Toto. No, Princess can never be replaced, she meant a lot to us all. Everyone in my home is in mourning for this little girl. We just have to get through it. We just have to remember her and love her and when it is time we will simply let the pain go and only have cherished memories.

But don’t be surprised if the next installment of my blog is named: Life with a new puppy!

Moral of my story: Princess can never be replaced and I am thankful for the time I got to have with her. She was really a precious companion and I miss her dearly. I still have her nose prints on my window and every time I go out to wash them off I can’t do it. I haven’t been able to muster the courage to completely say goodbye yet.

As some of you may know my children rode horses when they were young. My oldest still rides horses every chance she gets. The oldest started riding horses when she was seven years old, my son started when he was five and started with his older sister. My youngest started lessons when she was two years old.

My children would also show horses in english hunt seat horse shows. One of which we would be excited for every year, they had handmade fudge for sale and hats made of leather, pony rides of course and games to play and win prizes. The games were a great draw for my son and his best friend.

We would arrive at the show grounds by six in the morning to get the numbers for the children, the ponies in the show ring to school them and everyone ready for the show to promptly start around seven-thirty nine or so because they were never really prompt. (The show was supposed to start at seven o’clock) My husband used to get frustrated and say things like “Why don’t horse people not know how to tell time?”

My kids would be all jacked up on donuts, hot cocoa and horse show excitement. My son and youngest daughter would show in the mornings and my oldest daughter would show later in the afternoon. It was always a long day or weekend, depending. After my two little ones were finished they would collect their cash, from me, for the games, fudge and what other trouble they could find.

My youngest went off with her friend and her friend’s older sister. My son went off with his friend and his friend’s mom. The show grounds weren’t that big and you could see where they went at all times. My son was at the games and my youngest was over putting her pony on the trailer. I would relax because my husband was there too and he would be the go between with each child, but sometimes he would come back eating fudge and unsure where the children were.

My friend comes over and says “Do you know that our two little girls just put their ponies away and then spent all of their money on pony rides?” we both laugh at the irony, because these two girls could literally ride their ponies all around the entire show grounds for free and instead rode ponies that were attached to one another and went in a circle.

Next my son comes over with a huge smile on his face carrying several bags filled with something. As he approaches I can see that they are filled with water and swimming in the water were goldfish. Its summer and going to be in the nineties and they are handing out fish in a bag to children who are going to be here all day. Seriously all day, we will pack up ponies onto the trailer when it gets dark. Are you kidding me? Fucking fish? Who is going to be stuck carrying these damn things? Not me that’s for sure.

I look at my husband and he shrugs. I shrug too because we both know that this isn’t going to end well.

It starts with my son showing his friends the fish and one wants to open the bag up to get a closer look.

“I want to touch it!” the child says.

“Okay!” my son says and he opens the bag. All of the kids take turns petting the fish. They pet the fish so much that it dies because it’s not that kind of pet. My son comes over sad and crying because “Marvin is dead!”

“Who is Marvin?” I ask

“My pet fish!” He explains.

“I’m sorry bud. What happened?” I ask

“We were just petting him and he died, just like that.”

“Oh Bud, fish need to be in water at all times! You can’t take them out of the water because that’s how they breathe.” I explain.

He looks shameful. I hug him.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.” I tousled his hair and asked “Where did you put him?” He takes the fish out of his pocket and shows it to me.

‘oh gross!’ I think, because it is.

“Maybe we can have a funeral for it.” my oldest daughter suggests. She gets off of her pony and hands me the reigns.

The funeral happens over by the big oak tree. All of the children from the barn are there burying this poor dead fish. My son is sad and they all clap him on his back because they understood that the fish, that he had in his possession for a total of twenty minutes, meant so much to him.

Later that day, my youngest daughter comes over to me and says “Do we have any more water bottles?” I look at her and squint my eyes because we had two cases of water in our car.

“In the car.” I announce

“Do we have others?” she asks.

I narrow my eyes and I ask “Did you kids drink all of that water already?” because that water was to last all weekend.

“We needed water for the fish.” she tells me.

‘oh for fucks sake!’ I think and maybe mutter under my breath because it’s that kind of day. I look over at the huddle of children  by the oak tree and see that they are all frantically pouring water bottles in their hands. “Oh no!” I exclaim and off we go, me holding my youngest in my arms so that we can move faster, but not too fast to spook the ponies.

“What are you guys doing?” I ask because I need them to explain what I am seeing, because I know what I am seeing, but I can’t believe what I am seeing.

“We are petting the fish with the water in our hands.” one of the kids announces. This child must be the brain power behind this genius move because they are beaming with pride. All around them are two cases of empty water bottles that I bought for drinking.

*side note if you don’t want to spend your entire life’s earnings at a horse show bring your own food and water. Their prices for frozen soggy luke-warm chicken nuggets is extortion. I have three small children who get one order to share and a bottled water each and they come back with thirty less dollars. Ouch!

I don’t want to yell at the children and spook horses, so I whisper yell which is somewhat harder on my vocal chords. My throat hurts as I am trying to explain that the fish need to stay in the bags and fish don’t like to be pet, and that the bottles of water were for drinking and that there was a spigot for buckets of water for the horses and ponies that they definitely all knew about because we made them fill up buckets when we first got there and also stop dumping the water bottles into your hands to keep petting those dead fish!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My son looks at me and then turns to his friends and says “You can always tell when my mom is mad because her eyeballs shake!”

I stand there and look at this motley crew of kids all holding dead fish, all soaking wet and all kind of amused by my anger. I need to walk away. I need to just walk away from this scene. I need to get some composure before I really lose my shit. I go and purchase a four dollar dixie-cup full of luke-warm stale coffee and try to relax before I approach this situation. A friend of mine comes up chuckling about it and I honestly didn’t see how hilarious it all was before this point. We both laugh and I am thankful that I have friends there to help me get through this.

We then look over and the kids are having another fish funeral. Its sad and they are all bowing their heads. My son gets a hug from all of the girls there and I wonder if that is why he keeps killing his fish. I mean I know he isn’t doing it on purpose but the hugs from cute girls probably doesn’t hurt.

I walk over to the ring because my oldest is getting ready to go into the jump course. My friend and I both standing by the gate to encourage her. We watch my daughter do a clean jump course and we clap gently when she is finished. She comes out and we give her congratulations and then my youngest comes over with a dripping wet bottle of water for my oldest daughter. As my oldest daughter is gulping down water, my youngest announces that they are filling all of the bottles of water back up.

I hesitantly look over and see that these clever little shits aren’t using the spigot but a bucket….a horse bucket….that the horses and ponies have been slurping out of all day long, to fill up the empty bottles of water. Also when I run over there to tell them to stop I see a fucking fish swimming in another  bucket of water.

Oh HOLY HELL, WHAT THE FUCK ARE THESE LITTLE KIDS THINKING!!!!!

I feel my eyes begin to shake. My youngest comes over and she can tell that I’m upset and she puts her arms around me and says this little gem “Fish in a bag is not a great prize, I think!”

I laugh so loud that I almost spook a horse near me. I laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh because she is right. These kids won fish and had to hang out with them all day. What the hell did they expect to happen? It’s hot, the kids are alland when the fish petting no longer entertained them, they then had the fish funerals to preoccupy their time.

We have been back to that horse show and my children would be asked “What are the rules when we get there?”

Rules: “No winning fish. You can play the games but you may not collect the prize.”

“No paying for pony rides, you have your own ponies to ride.”

“No filling up water bottles with the water in the buckets.”

and my personal favorite “Don’t get mom mad!” this was my youngest and she was very pleased with herself for that little addition.

Moral of my story: I’m sorry for the fish that died during this adventure and my children regret it deeply as well. They didn’t want to be fish murderers, they are very compassionate kids. Also one of the fish did make it home and it died the very next day. We aren’t great fish owners!

Until next time 🙂

I was at a low point in my life. My heart ached and I couldn’t see through the darkness. I felt like a disposable human. I tried to hang on to my sanity and yet it was slipping through my fingers. How could I be here and hang on? My children were the reason to hang on. I saw their faces and that was the little bit of light that could evade this blackness around me. I had to go forward even though, I didn’t know how.

I have a savior, I just didn’t bother to get to know him. Perhaps it was time to go to church. My friend sat there and looked at me and she felt helpless as she could see the desperation in my eyes. She asked me again “How can I help?”

I don’t know what made my mouth open, or even where the courage came from, but I asked “Can you bring me to your church? Please?”

I saw the flood of relief wash over her face. Of course, Jesus saves! She hugged me and she said “That’s perfect actually!”

Sunday morning came and I was excited, I haven’t been to church in so long. I missed it! I longed for it! My empty soul needed it so much that it leapt at the chance to go. My daughter, dressed in her finest, was ready. She would do anything to see me smile again. I had been crying for months. I had lost close to thirty pounds. I smiled at her and reassured her that I was going to be just fine.

We met my friend and we drove to church. I walked through the doors and each person there looked me in my worthless eyes and smiled and greeted me. Like I was something special. I knew the truth. My daughter held my hand and rubbed it with all the love that she had for me. I looked at her and she was smiling too, through her worried lips.

“They have coffee!” she pointed out. They did, an entire coffee bar there ready to welcome us. We filled up our cups and found a place to sit. My daughter seated on my right side and my friend on the other. The both of them so concerned for me. How could I not see the worth I had in their eyes alone, I will never know. There were two eyes that I used for my measuring stick and they have been closed to my value for a very long time, I suppose.

The pastor stood up after the band played some song I didn’t know, He was a very joyful person. He had something that I was hoping to find. I didn’t know what it was, but I was hoping that it was in this place. I was hoping that it was for me!

I walked away with this message, “God loves you Where you are right now! You don’t have to earn it. He gives it willingly! That’s how love works.”

I didn’t know that love was like that. I worked desperately to get people to love me and still after I had given my best, I still hadn’t earned their love.

Next week. The message again was “God Loves You Where You Are Today! He loves all of your broken pieces and he thinks you are beautiful!”

I looked at my daughter and she put her arms around me as I sobbed in the church.

The next week. The message again “You don’t have to do anything for God’s love, he loves you! He just does!”

I wondered how many times this message was going to be repeated. In my head I heard an old familiar voice that said “Until you believe it. I will say it again and again and again until you know it in your soul!”

Every time I heard this message the darkness began to fade. The emptiness began to fill and I began to believe it.

I believe in this love! I hope that I always believe in this love. I go to church faithfully and I fill up every Sunday. I try to show this kind of love to those that I meet because I know how it feels to be empty and blind.

If this message is reaching you today, please share it with others. It is meant to be shared. It is meant to be a light in the dark depths that cannot be reached with anything else but God’s love for you. Let it be a beacon through the world so that we all may see clearly.

God loves you where you are today! He is reaching his arms wide for you to run into them. He will wait there until you are ready. He is good like that.

Until next time 🙂

When I was very young and growing up in the seventies, we had olympic heroes. Those heroes ended up on the Wheaties Box and everything. As a child I felt that I was destined to be a famous person. I wanted to be on the Wheaties box. What would my talent be? Well if it was during the Olympics I was going to be a Gold medalist in *something fun like Gymnastics or figure skating. I would even skate with a boy (gasp) if I could win a medal. Honestly I didn’t really want the medal I just wanted people to know who I was. I felt like a rather invisible human and I wanted that to change.

If I just held my horses and waited for Cheers to come on I would know that you could be a bar fly and “Everyone would know your name”!!! Unfortunately for me this was a lackluster dream as well. I am not really great at holding my liquor down. But Starbucks knows me. Jittery and full of caffeine probably shocks non of you as the complete reality of who I am.

Okay all dreams, as my childhood played out, in my house came alive on this circular rug that had a very made by hand feel. It had  bands of color (brown being the dominant color and three rings of that, then there was a blue center and a blue ring and then If my memory serves me correctly there was a mustard yellow ring too. Sounds fetching doesn’t it?) Well as I watched these ice queens dancing into the hearts of everyone watching, all the while balancing on those skates…(I wore double runners and I looked like I was simply out on the ice because I dropped something. I kept my head down and shimmied forward with zero control over where I would end up.) But as Dorothy Hamill did her triple axles so did I, on my carpet and never missing a landing. Unless I fell, in which case that didn’t count because “no one saw that”.

If my family was watching with me I would hear “Becki, sit down! We are all trying to watch!”

I couldn’t hear them. I was in the zone.

If I was on my way to the Olympics with my fine abilities as a gymnast this had to either happen in my bedroom where my giant twin sized “mat” could break my fall. Or, when shit was about to get REAL, on my balance beam made of concrete blocks and a two by four, outside in my backyard away from prying eyes of neighbors who called my mom to tell on me. I practiced for hours.

As a self-taught gymnast, I was amazing!!!

As a balance beam engineer, I was a failure.

One day when I was outside ready to do my act and win and get my face on the Wheaties box. I was impatient putting my beam together. I must have been strong when I was crazy because I carried those heavy cement blocks everywhere. But had a hard time picking up normal everyday heavy things like the vacuum. Perhaps if I thought I could win some sort of fame for vacuuming I would’ve been all over that equipment.

I’m outside and I am rushing to get my balance beam together before my bothers get home and pick on me. My sister was usually my partner in crime, but for some reason she isn’t there. My memory has no real reason for her lack of participation, let’s say she was off doing something amazing with her friends, because she was very well liked. I was weird and found it hard to relate to real people, who weren’t princesses or celebrities or heroic (like in my books), so I was alone in my Olympics. Because my sensible sister wasn’t there to tell me “NO!!!!”,  I could now practice what I called “My no handed cart-wheel”. (I didn’t know the names of things, because I honestly didn’t listen to what they called these moves. I was simply entranced by the power wielding gymnasts)

I get myself to a flat spot in the yard and build my balance beam in haste. I try it to see that it is steady. (It wasn’t!!!)

It is. So I jump up and I walk across and wait for my imaginary announcer to call my name. I nod and then I begin my performance. I do a few things and I get off. (Ugh that was shit) luckily it was just practice.

I jump up and wait for the announcer. I begin my routine and nope I’m unhappy with it. That’s practice too. But the next time will be the REAL OLYMPICS! (In my head)

I jump up, because this is the real Olympics (in my head) the announcers thank their sponsors this time because this is legit and I have to tell myself that this one is for real. I nod and I start my performance and hey what do you know, I’m amazing. I get the courage up to do my “no handed cart-wheel”.

The announcer whispers into the mic “Now this is where we will see for the first time ever, the no handed cart-wheel.”

“She’s amazing!” the other, never heard from before, announcer whispers.

“She really is! Did you know that she learned gymnastics by practicing in her back yard?”

“I did not know that!”

“Okay the no handed cart-wheel is coming soon!”

“Yes we must be quiet!”

I get my nerve up and I start darting across the rickety old two by four and when I bounced on the end of it to give me some height the fucking thing fell apart but I was upside down in the air. The board swings behind me and knocks me straight out of the air. If this was baseball I would have gotten a home run. But this was not baseball and so all I got was a concussion. I lay on the grass and I see stars actual stars, birds tweeting the whole nine. I am laying on the ground trying to catch my breath. The board hit me so hard that it knocked the wind out of me. I reach up to the part of my head that hurts the most and it was lumpy and bleeding.

“Oh shit!” I think. I had better clean this up before anyone gets home. I go to get up and I’m dizzy. I sit back down. I am laying in the grass and trying to will myself to get up and clean this mess before people start arriving home. I roll onto my side and I take a deep breath. I hoist myself up to a sitting position. I breathe through the aching in my head and wait until the wave of nausea passes, then I get to my knees. The Olympics are over. The announcers are gone and it is just me hurt in my backyard with a concussion inflicted by my own stupidity. I look at the carnage behind me.

The two cement blocks sitting in the middle of my backyard with no real symmetry at all and the board was close to me but not anywhere near the cement blocks. Now if there was a video of this it would end up on some YouTube channel somewhere titled “Jackass knocks herself out by trying to do an aerial off of a make shift balance beam”.

I feel so sick to my stomach and my head is throbbing. I clean up the mess and I can hear the blood pumping through my veins. In fact I think I can even hear the earth spinning. I go inside and I have to do my chores before my mom gets home. I first need to get myself cleaned up. I look at myself in the mirror and my face is pale and dirty. My shirt that says “Tiny But Tough” has grass stains all over it, my jeans are ripped and also have grass stains. I’m going to need to do laundry first.

I get myself into some clean clothes and I get my clothes in the wash. I do a complete load so it isn’t suspicious that I did laundry. I get upstairs and I have to do dishes and vacuum as my chores. I get all of that done and when my mother gets home no one is the wiser. I then do my best trick and practice being invisible until my head heals.

I was the “Agony of defeat” person at the beginning of the Olympics. I was an Olympics failure. My face was not going on the Wheaties box. I will never eat Wheaties again!!!!

I never told anyone about this cool little stunt of mine. So any of my family reading this….I lived, its fine. I learned my lesson. I didn’t try this again until the next month probably. I do remember the day that I stuck the landing on this cool little trick. But that’s not the point. I’m sure that plucky perseverance shouldn’t be the moral here. Right???

Moral of my story: Don’t try this at home kids, it was completely stupid. I am no hero and I didn’t get famous! All I got was a concussion that I had to hide from my family, which was also a stupid move. Don’t be like me!!!! Also don’t eat Tide pods!!!

Until next time 🙂

“So If you have not read in my previous blog, my West Highland White Terrier Princess has Lymphoma. We know now that it is stage 4a and that it is B-cell, which is jargon that you can look up on your own time. These lymph nodes in my dog’s neck were gagging her and making her drool. They are now less swollen so I guess the chemo is working. Yay!!!

So what does all of this mean for me? Well I am super glad that my little Princess is feeling better, but the concoction of medications are now the part I have to live with.

First I want to point out that I am the laziest form of germaphobe. So if there is a problem I am going to be scrubbing everything down with bleach, but until said problem happens, its doesn’t need to be scrubbed down. My house is clean, it just isn’t spotless enough for my germaphobic narrative.

Okay so now you know the situation and my neurosis. Let me introduce you to the fucking problem. The first dose of chemo they said, “Now if she has accidents you will need to wear gloves and you are going to want to wash it with a mixture of bleach and water at *^&%& ratio” I am going to be honest I didn’t get the ratio because I was panicking….is it too late to just put the dog down? *kidding! I’m kidding!!!! (Becki translation “this fucking shit is toxic you will need complete hazmat suit and lighter fluid mixed with bleach to have any luck at all of cleaning it.”) Also they gave her prednisone that is helping her get some relief….but also making her drink lots of water and therefore what goes in must come out. Okay week one goes well. One small pee accident and I cleaned it up like the grown person that I am…

Week 2: Here we are and our second week we go in and they can’t give her the original chemo meds because she has some diarrhea and That type of chemo can cause diarrhea. “So now we are going to send you home with these chemo pills to give to your dog, but you have to wear gloves when handling this medicine.” Wait! What? I’m not sure you should trust me with this stuff if you need gloves and all. Is this like a little nuclear bomb in a capsule? Why do I have to give it to her? I’m not sure I’m qualified. Seriously hazmat suits should be on my grocery list. Or wherever they sell those, Target maybe?

“The side effects include pissing or trouble pissing.” they didn’t say that I just paraphrased for you. She is on the prednisone which may be the culprit for the diarrhea and the need to urinate and now this pissing chemo….oh and the pee is toxic and you need to be careful because you should wear gloves and wash it with bleach.

***19***$#@****&7****^%$ { this is curse words that haven’t been invented yet but my mind is thinking them because I am smart and inventive and freaking the fuck out}

So needless to say I am a neurotic mess that walks her dog a little too much and then when I was just in the shower like five minutes ago….. she pissed a fucking lake of toxic urine on my hallway floor. I see my poor kitty on the wrong end of the lake and I am suddenly concerned for his safety. Also I have never seen the “Swamp Monster” movie or was it “Swamp Thing”? Or was there two? But needless to say I fear that my kitty is going to end up being the “Toxic Urine Lake Monster” and what happens now? I don’t have the proper training for “Toxic Kitty” I didn’t see those movies. If you saw them, how do I reverse the toxins? Am I going to wake up and have a twenty-foot kitty with three eyes and the ability to read my thoughts? (because cats can do that you know)

I think fast and I grab a roll of paper towels and gloves (they seem so impotent for what I am dealing with now, seriously does Amazon sell hazmat suits? Where can I get one of these fucking things?) and I rush to pick up the hazardous waste off my hallway floor before it claims my sweet kitty that I call “Boo Boo kitty and also Nunu, because he is both the love of my life and naughty.” What can I say I like the bad boys!?!? I put paper towels on the mess so that my precious kitten can cross the “Toxic Urine Lake” and I put on my futile gloves and I clean up the mess. Then I douse the area with my bleach concoction and wash thoroughly. I take the hazardous waste and get rid of it and wash my hands.

Now I am just hoping that I caught the mess before it has any effect on Boo boo kitty. He’s being naughty but that’s normal. If I feel a Hundred Pound Cat jump at my feet while I’m sleeping tonight, I will know the sorrowful truth.

…..But otherwise things are going good! How about you?” I respond to the terrified clerk at the grocery store as she refuses to touch the twenty-dollar bill that I am trying to hand over to her.

Moral of my story: I am completely incapable of handling this like a mature adult.

Until next time 🙂

This story comes to you from the depths of my memory when my two oldest children were very young and small and the littlest shits you have ever met. (They were incredibly cute with humongous blue eyes, so inevitably they got away with a lot!)

My oldest had just had a birthday party in January, we had just got my son a beagle puppy for Christmas. Just to set the stage as to my frame of mind and also the lack of the threat of Santa Clause so I have to find another way to parent. My daughter, as a gift, got a bubblegum machine that was also a piggybank. My oldest daughter was just turning five and she was quite clever, so instead of waiting to collect more coins, she just kept taking out the same quarter to drain the bubblegum from the globe where it lived. I didn’t care that she did this because I probably only had the one quarter anyway, money was tight in those days. It was all good with me…..

Until I see the beagle coming around the corner chewing a wad of bubblegum. I race over to the puppy and wrestle the gum out of her mouth.

~I just want to stop here and state that if you have ever wanted to know the worst job in the world to do….wrestling bubblegum from a growling puppy is probably up there. First the puppy is quite uncooperative, but so is the fucking gum. By the time I was done there was sticky wads of gum everywhere. The beagle is looking at me like I’m some kind of asshole and now I have to go and yell at my kids. Worst job ever, that doesn’t involve puke.~

“Kids, stop giving the dog gum!!!!” I yell out to the vacant ears in the house while I go in search of the two little culprits. I have learned in my years as a mother that yelling out to them before finding them, hinders the search. Those little buggers sure can hide. I finally found them in my daughters reading corner, under the stuffed animals, hiding ET style.

“Did you hear me? Stop giving your dog gum!!!” I look at them as I uncover them from the thousands of stuffed animals my daughter housed in her room. It looked like a Gawd damned refuge for wayward stuffed animals. Half of them also covered in gum, eyes missing, one got an unfortunate haircut, another with sad tattoos drawn on by some amateur artist.

“Why?” my daughter asks and then follows it up with her argument (super surprised she didn’t become a lawyer honestly) “She likes it.”

“It’s not good for her!” I stated

“Why not?” she asks

“Because it’s not!” I try, but she’s no ordinary child, so this doesn’t fly.

“How do you know it’s not good for her?”

I look at my daughter and I am always stumped by her questions. I don’t know the actual science behind this and I can’t bullshit to save my life, I always take it too far and lose interest and then try to circle back. I look at those big blue eyes and I want to give her an answer but I’ve got nothing.

“Because if I have to wrestle gum out of her mouth one more time, I am going to lose my mind. So stop giving her gum!!!!!”

(No I didn’t think to take the bubblegum machine away. I thought of doing research as to why it isn’t good for dogs to have gum! Yes, I do see where I went wrong! But now I was curious as to why gum wasn’t good for dogs.)

We didn’t have internet yet, because it didn’t exist, so looking into ‘why gum wasn’t good for dogs’ took a lot of effort and I had to be super committed to it. I read every dog book that I had lying around the house, which was a surprising number because my daughter was an avid dog lover as well as an avid book reader. However these books were not helpful in my quest. I was going to have to go to the library.

I bundle up my two year old and then ask my five year old to get dressed for the library. She was looking at me with this odd look on her face.

“What’s up buttercup?” I ask her.

“The puppy told me that she likes bubblegum.” she tells me.

“Dog’s can’t talk.” I tell her.

“How do you know? Just because they don’t talk to you doesn’t mean they don’t talk. They probably don’t talk to you because you don’t let them have gum or chocolate or anything fun.”

“Where’s the puppy?” I ask because I was going to put her in her crate so she didn’t destroy things.

“She probably ran away.” my daughter tells me.

“Did she run away?” I ask

“I don’t know. Probably!” my five year old tells me and then saunters off like no big deal.

I look at my two year old and he is not like other two year olds in the fact that he always says “Yes!” to everything I ask. (He’s going to make a great husband one day.)

“Do you know where the puppy is?” I ask him.

“Yes!” he nods with his big blue eyes beaming.

“Where is she?” I ask

“I no know!” He puts his hands up exasperated.

“Did she go outside?” I ask

“Yes!” he says and nods his little head.

“Did you put her outside?” I ask

“Yup!” He smiles and he is done with this conversation and wants juice.

I am looking out the door to see if I see this tiny little black and white beagle puppy. I do not.

“Can you even open the door?” I ask my two year old.

“Ye-es!” he says and he walks over and opens the back door. (Fuck for millions of reasons but most importantly because of the missing dog.)

“Can you please go look for your dog all over the house and I will search for her outside?” I tell my kids. My children start calling the puppy’s name and I run outside in the freezing cold to find my poor little puppy. My neighbor comes out and asks if I need help.

“I can’t find our new little puppy.” I say with tears in my eyes.

“I just saw a couple in your yard and they had a dog. I’ll go see if she followed them.” He takes off after the couple and I keep searching the yard and everywhere by my house. The thing that worried me is that she is so small. First how far could she go? and second how fast could she get there? and third how long has she even been outside?

I go back inside and my two children were wandering the house calling the puppy’s name.

“You didn’t find her?” I ask them. My daughter looks at me and shakes her head no.

I am so super upset about my poor little lost beagle puppy and there are my two children completely dry eyed. Weird, Right? I still didn’t catch on.

My neighbor knocks on my door and tells me that the couple didn’t see her.

“Do you think they’re lying? Do you think they stole your puppy? The lady looked like she was smuggling something in her coat!” So he was a little overzealous about things and now I have “this guy” helping me. He’s ready to drive down there again and ask them more questions.

“UMMMMM? I don’t think so!” I say.

“I’m going to go through the woods and see if they have her. Don’t worry if those bastards stole your dog there will be hell to pay!” He takes off running down through the woods.

Now I have a new thing to worry about. I probably should stop him but now I’m thinking some fucking creeps just took my dog.

“Mom are we still going to the liberry?” my five year old asks.

“Not until we find the puppy. I’m very worried about her.” I state.

“She probably just went somewhere where they let her have gum. She told me that it’s her favorite.” My daughter then walks away all smug.

I look at my son and I ask “Do you know where your puppy is?”

“Ye-ees!” he answers.

“Where is she?”

“She likes gum.” and he walks away with his big sister.

I feel horrible. My dog is missing. My neighbor is probably perpetrating some criminal act on my behalf. I stand at the doorway wondering what my next move should be. I had my head against the metal door when I hear the faint whimpering of a puppy. I prick my head up and follow the sound.

The sound leads me all the way into my son’s room and into his closet. There in his closet his hamper is rocking back and forth. I open the hamper and take all of the clothes out. There was the beagle at the bottom of the hamper covered in bubblegum. Those little bastards.

I holler out to them, “You two get up here now.”

My son runs to me and he sees his puppy and smiles. “You found her! My turn to hide.”

My daughter doesn’t come up right away.

I call her again.

Still she does not come.

I walk down and there she is pretending to be asleep on the couch.

“I found the puppy.” I say. She pretends to wake up complete with stretch and yawn.

“That’s good!” she then smiles and I know that she is going to play me.

“Did you hide the dog in your brother’s hamper because you gave her gum?”

“Which one do you think I did?” she asks.

At this point I hope that my daughter at least ends up on the right side of the law because maybe she would make a great lawyer but also a smooth criminal.

“I think you gave the dog gum and then she got it all over her and then you hid her in your brother’s hamper.” I said.

“Ding ding ding! You win!” she says “Good job, Mommy!” she kisses my forehead and heads upstairs. This is when there is violent knocking on my door.

My neighbor is standing there holding a dog and saying “If the cops show up tell them you don’t know me.” He hands me this Chihuahua and closes the door and hightails it out of there.

I look at the dog and I am ready for bed at one-thirty pm. This day couldn’t get anymore weird. But it has to because who’s fucking dog is this?

Moral of the story: Don’t be like Becki. I gave the chihuahua back to her owners, the woman tucked the dog back up in her coat to keep the poor thing warm. Also this is the same beagle puppy that got the crisco bath. If you don’t know that story look on my blog for “Are you giving your dog a bath?”

Until next time 🙂

What a rollercoaster of emotions you go through when your pet is sick. People say that their pet is like their children and I don’t go that far, because if my child had lymphoma I would not say, “Maybe it would be best to put them down!”

I’m sorry to say that! I love my pets dearly and when they whine to go to the bathroom I put them outside, not on the toilet. When I leave to run to the store I leave my pets behind and hope for the best. When my dogs were really young, I would put them into a crate. I would not do that to my children. So no, my pets are not like my children, but they are like family. So when you find out that your thirteen year old dog has Lymphoma what do you do?

That was the decision on my plate recently since December 29. This dog is a little westie and boy has she been a little terrier. If you have never owned a terrier, well let me tell you that they may be tiny but they sure have big personalities. When we found out that this little girl was sick I talked with my adult children about this. We all showed our scars from her, terrific bite marks complete with stories of heroism and vigor from all of us. My son and daughters all said that when we do lose her, she has left her mark on each of us. This dog isn’t bad she is just unpredictable. She has an invisible switch that gets flipped and she has reacted poorly toward other dogs (my nice way of saying she’s an incredible asshole). Our scars are from trying to break up dog fights with our other, much larger, dogs and our little terror.

However, that is such a small part of her life. She is mostly a good little doggie that we got when my youngest was a little girl. When my youngest was five she told us all that she really wanted a small white dog. I did my research on small white dogs. I already had three dogs in our home and that was going well, so why fuck with it. Our oldest dog was a black lab that was with us since my oldest was a baby, and this dog was getting up there in years. Our second dog was a beagle that was my son’s faithful sidekick. Our third dog was a huge golden retriever, that was MY Dog. I really didn’t want to bring in another dog that was going to need to be protected from these other dogs. These other dogs were friendly and we really didn’t have a problem with the dynamics in the house. I was concerned that if we brought in a little delicate breed of a dog these big dogs would dominate the little one. In doing my research I found the West Highland White Terriers (Westies) they are adorable and they have big personalities. I thought ‘well if there was ever a dog to hold it’s own its a westie.’ I looked around at the shelters and then breeders for one. I did not make the decision to bring a new dog into the home easily. We also had cats and owned ponies. It was a big decision and I was on the fence.

My youngest made all of those promises that children, who want their own dog, make. She was going to feed the dog and walk it and bath it and love it and be the best pet owner ever. I knew the truth and I was like, I am going to get stuck doing all of these things but its cute how she thinks she will. My oldest dog got sick suddenly and we had to put her down. It was devastating! Maybe it WAS time to get a new puppy. I found a Westie puppy close by and we went to pick out ours.

“I don’t think we should take her to pick out her own puppy!” my husband says. “What if she choses a sick one?”

“It’s her dog. I think we should bring her.” I state.

“And if she picks the sick one?” He looks at me. “She has a big heart like her mom and she will chose the needy one because she will feel bad for it. Then that is going to cost us even more money, Becki!”

“Then we will love it and bring it into our home and hope for the best.” I smile because now I wanted the sick one too. Who else to love a sick dog than me and my big hearted daughter.

My little girl, who was small for her age, picked the runt. My husband looked at me and I smile. It’s small, not sick. Then she named her “Princess”! Strike two! The day came for us to go and pick up this little “Princess” and all the way to pick her up my other two tried to convince their sister to change the name.

“Princess is a stupid name.” my son announced.

“I like it!” stubborn little five year old states.

“What if you choose a Princess to name her after?” oldest daughter tries.

“I like ALL of the Princesses and so I just want to name her Princess!” this kid has been convinced to do many things by the older dynamic duo so she is onto their tricks. This is her dog and she was naming the dog Princess.

“You’re so dumb!” my son tells her.

“I’m not dumb, you are!” youngest gets me involved, “Tell him that I’m not dumb!”

“Guys leave her alone. She wants to name her dog Princess. Let’s just leave it alone!” I am driving using google maps directions because that’s what we did back then. I finally find the old farm that we bought the dog at. We walk in and they have Princess waiting for us. They even had a collar on her and a name tag that said “Princess”. The kids loved on the puppy while I signed paperwork and was told how to get her official papers in the mail. She was registered as “Puppy 4” I needed to give them her official name. Because my children rode horses they knew about “barn names” vs “show names” and so now the other two picked out the dogs “registered name”. Her Registered name was “Princess of the valley”. Everyone is happy and that is the best parenting going on there!

The first night home and this little pup was in fact an ankle biter. She would nip at your heels as you walked. It was summer and my kids were mostly barefoot. So needless to say this was our first task to work on.

Lesson one: Hey dog, quit being an asshole.

Next she couldn’t be in a crate because she would shit in it and that was terrible.

Lesson two: Hey people, stop putting me in this cage.

My kids taught her to jump over jumps fashioned out of lawn furniture and broom handles. This dog was a natural. She was family. She was our Princess.

Now thirteen years later we are faced with do we give her treatment for lymphoma? Do we put her down? Do we make her as comfortable as possible? What do we do? What is best for the dog?

I have the best veterinarian, who is so much more than that, she is friendly and warm. She helped my daughter get into vet school. She has been in contact with me every step of the way. This has been easier with her support. Thank you for that!

I was sitting with my husband at the oncologist office with Princess wandering around the cold sterile room and truly trying to figure this out. If left alone we would probably only have a month or two with her. These lymph nodes in her throat are enormous and have grown so big in only a few weeks that it was hard for her to breath or eat. I was not prepared to just let her go. We started treatment, chemotherapy, yesterday. I have decided to take it one step at a time. I want to save this little asshole because she is my little asshole and I love her. I love how little she is for her breed (I am too). I love how scrappy she is (I am too). I love how affectionate she is always licking faces until you tell her “That’s enough!” (I am too). Princess is my spirit animal and I am not ready to let her go.

I hope that I am not prolonging her suffering! I hope that she responds well to the treatment. I hope a lot of things. It sucks to have a sick pet. It is a huge responsibility and it is difficult to make decisions for them. I will do my best for her and that is what I promised when my husband truly believed that my big hearted daughter was going to come home with the one eyed, three legged puppy. I will do my best to love her and treat her and when it is time I will tell her “Thank you for being our little Princess.” and I will let her go knowing that it is time.

Moral of my story: First if you find a lump on your dog please don’t over react, but definitely do have it checked out. This lump was discovered a few days before going to the vet and a week later it is as if she is wearing a lump collar that’s how fast it grew. Second, it is so hard to know what to do. Do what you can and hope for the best decision but don’t be too hard on yourself. This is a difficult time and you can only do what you think is best.

Until next time 🙂

I hope you all had a Happy Holiday, Merry Christmas and a festive gift giving season. I hope none of you had fist-a-cuffs at your holiday celebration. However, if you did, I am not judging you and I hope you don’t judge me by the next story I am about to tell.

My children were young and it was our second year living in our new house in Pennsylvania. The children had caught on that around the holidays the mail is not like regular mail, it’s more enticing and should be regarded as “The Mail”! Now my two oldest children a girl and a boy would take turns to get the mail. It was privilege to get the ordinary mail, but it was an honor to get “The Mail” and they need to take this shit super fucking serious. Like Dead serious. One particular day they were waiting for the mail lady to come by with the mail and they sat anxiously awaiting her arrival in the sitting room peeking out the window. We live in a cul-de-sac and so it is a slight torture to await the mail because she has to drive around the circle to get to our house. She then has to stop at each mailbox before getting to our mailbox. All the while my two oldest children are perched like hawks ready to pounce. I am getting my youngest to sleep for her nap.

I am not really certain what happened in the time that I left my children, who were anxiously anticipating “The Mail”, so I will now go on my imagination because I’m awesome that way.

The young girl with her long dirty blond hair and the the young boy with short jet black hair sat in the window for hours awaiting the packages of the day. They are agents of the Royal Majesty and the packages are of the utmost importance. These were no ordinary children, no, these were secret royal mail carrying spies that must make sure that the packages get delivered to the Queen with great speed and without being thwarted. This mail is The Most Important Mission to date. No other Mail will ever be as important as this mail today. The two secret agents sit in wait at the window in the sitting room scarcely breathing for fear of fogging up the window. Both with their steady blue eyes checking every direction for the mail truck but also enemies of the palace. The enemies are vast and they are surely out there just resting on their haunches in preparation to pounce on the Royal Packages.

The boy sees the truck and he points it out to his partner. She sees it too and they must now each take turns watching the truck as the other gets their gear on. First the boy puts his technologically advanced boots, his specially designed parka and of course the most important mittens and hat made from the wool of a steel sheep grown in the Royal lab underground for specific agents with great missions as this one. Next the girl gets her boots on when something happens while she is gearing up with her spyware, the boy takes off running. The girl haphazardly throws her gear on while running for the door. She must act quickly for she is the head agent and if her brother spy is out before her and gets injured it is on her record and conscience for life. She takes off with great speed. As she is running out to cover her brother agent she takes in the scene and a peculiar tingling sensation runs through her. There are no enemies in sight, no one is there. But why is the brother agent running so quickly? As she assesses the situation she has quickly determined that the brother agent is not working for the Royal Queen at all, he is a DOUBLE AGENT. (insert dum dum dum dah music here)

The older sister agent who has been on “The Mail” job much longer knows that the quickest way to the mail box is not down the curved sloped driveway but straight through the grass and the Royal Wishing Well Garden, which typically must never be walked in. She also knows her brother agents weakness as she has trained him. She taught him everything that he knows but not everything that she knows. She is in hot pursuit of “The Mail” when her brother agent shows that he has been learning from another agency and he pulls out some moves she isn’t prepared for. They both reach the mail box at the same time and they know that it is a fight that is going to secure the packages for the Queen. They start hand to hand combat and the battle begins. The ground is covered in snow and ice and each blow is cut with the sharp cold air. It feels like millions of shards of glass cutting through their flesh. She finally secures most of the packages but some of the secret files were caught by a breeze that blew them from her hands. Brother agent isn’t concerned with the files, his mission was to retrieve the box from Nana and that is all. He is on the ground in a snowbank trying to use his secretly altered boots to kick the package out of the sister agent’s hands. But what he doesn’t know is that the sister agent has some moves he isn’t prepared for. She too has specially designed boots for such an occasion. 

This is when I look out the window and there are my two children kicking the shit out of each other over a fucking package meanwhile the other regular mail, ie bills, advertisements and Christmas cards are blowing through the yard and street. My Son is being pushed into the snow bank as his sister is kicking him senseless. He then jumps up and charges her for the box. She is knocked off of her feet. I race down the stairs and to complete the neighbors vision of this display of white trashism I holler out to them “Y’all better round up that mail and get your God Damned Fighting asses into this house right now or you are really going to regret your display of family tragedy down at the mail box. Don’t make me count!”

My two children look up at me : The Royal Queen announces that this was a test and they have both failed. They must now collect the files and the package and present them to her at once. She will go through the protocols and show them the footage. The training proved to be quite informative and they will be all the wiser from this test. It taught them to work as a team. They mistrusted each other too quickly and the Queen sensed this. She wanted them to go into the bunker to train in trust.

“Do You HEAR Me? I want both of you to sit in my room and with on another until I can think of an appropriate punishment. I want you to sit quietly and wait until I have my patience back so that I can be fair to you both. But I will say this, Don’t you EVER beat the living hell out of one another again. Family is forever, you got that! You will need to lean on one another and have each other’s backs. You should never turn on one another.”

They both sat in my room and one thing they didn’t know was that I knew that if they were in deep shit together they have a common enemy and a common goal. They would begin to get along and they would work together to get themselves a lesser punishment. They apologized to one another and came up with their own sentence. They created a “Mail Chart” and who was going to collect the mail from now on. By the time I had “enough patience” the problem and solution was all worked out.

I then told them that they needed to go and apologize to all of the neighbors for having to watch them fight out at the mailbox. My children hung their heads but they did it and still remember having to do it and still talk about ‘that one time mom made them knock on all of the neighbors and apologize for fighting.’

Moral of my story: I don’t know, kids beat the hell out of each other over bills and shit. Just do your best to teach them that they shouldn’t and if they do give them a common enemy and common goal. Also I thought teaching them to take responsibility for their own actions by apologizing to those who have witnessed such a display would make my children honorable and strong. They are honorable and strong so maybe that worked, maybe it just humiliated them, that’s the thing with parenting you never know what worked and what didn’t, it’s a crap shoot. You just hope for the best and carry on as best you can.

Until next time 🙂