For Chewie

About a year and a half ago, a friend of mine recieved the most PRESHUS PUPPY EVAR, as a reconciliation gift from her ex. Given the space limitation of her living arrangements, she had to give him back. Due to his demanding work schedule, the puppy ended up with.... us.

And so it began. My hubby was in LURV with this puppy in a big way, which I thought was funny. This big, tough construction worker cooing and fussing over a little poodle. To me, he was cute, but yet another mouth to feed.

But at some point along the way, he became part of the family, and he also became mine. He and my son housebroke/toilet trained at the same time. They both had "accidents" around the house. Sometimes I could figure out which one was responsible, sometimes I couldn't. Either way, it was more shit to clean up, literally. LOL

He chewed on EVERYTHING. Leave a pencil out, you'd find wood chips in the floor. Barbies became horribly mangled and disfigured. My kids would go nuts to find that certain toys they forgot to put away would end up as chew toys. But Chewie taught them if you care about something, you need to put it up when you're done with it.

He'd bark endlessly for no reason, in the middle of the night.  I called it his game of "Protecting the Lady and the Manor".  I woke up countless mornings by having my fingers nibbled on, because he wanted to go outside.  Sometimes he would be hot on my heels, acting as if he'd want to go outside, and when I'd open the door, he'd just stand there and look at me. As if I were missing something.

When my husband started his new job, having to leave home for long stretches of time, Chewie became my bed buddy. Life became a little less lonely with his quirky, but reliable presence.

Anyone with even the slightest bit of foresight can guess what's coming.

Poor little Chewie was hit by a truck this weekend. It was a pure accident. The driver told us what happened. Chewie was playing with a neighborhood dog, they were running one way, and Chewie changed his mind and ran another way, which happened to be straight in front of his truck. I like to think though that Chewie was doing one of the things he loved best (besides chewing), when he passed on. Getting to play.

It was hard telling the kids. My son is too young to really understand. My daughter, who is beginning to grasp the concept of death, reacted calmly at first, but then retreated to her room and locked the door. She didn't want me in there, and came out about 30 minutes later with a red face. I let them look at Chewie, and later that day, a neighbor helped me dig Chewie's grave.

I feel like I'm over-reacting sometimes, and that people are getting bored with hearing me piss and moan about it. But I really did love this dog. He was part of the family, even if only briefly. It hurts that he's gone.

Just that morning, I was pondering on clipping his fur, and giving him a bath. He was gone before I ever got the chance to. Just that morning, I'd fed him, but hadn't eaten yet, hoping I'd slip him something better into his dog dish. The food was still sitting there, un-eaten, this morning. His bowl still full of water. I picked them up and washed them. Perhaps I'll put them up somewhere later.  To think that the day started out typically enough, and by that evening, he was in a hole in the ground.

I'm still stepping over his dog toys in the living room. I still look beside the bed first thing in the morning, to make sure I won't step on him when I get up. I still expect to be jumped on when I get home. I still expect to hear barking, and the house is too quiet. I still expect him to lay on me, cat-like, in the most obnoxious and uncomfortable way ever, to get attention.

Besides missing him, his death is also a very unpleasant reminder that all things die. I can kid myself all I want, but perhaps the last conversation I had with my husband, could very well be the LAST conversation I'll ever have with my husband. That one friend who has a chronic health condition may last another 20-25 years. The past 10 seems to have flown by quickly enough and I realize that's not much time. That one friend who likes to party may take the wrong thing.  That some depressed school shooter on a rampage may walk from the high school to the elementary school and kill a bunch of kindergartners -- including mine -- in some sadistic shooting spree. That my mother is getting older, and how many Thanksgivings and Christmases do we have left together, anyways?

So many lovely, depressing topics to ponder on. But I digress.

Goodbye, my pretty poodle puppy. I'll miss you.

I've been Memed!

I saw this on a blog I follow, and decided to post my own!

1. Name someone with the same birthday as you.  Michelangelo, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Shaquille O'Neal. I always go overboard.

2. Where was your first kiss? At my eighth grade Sweetheart Dance. My date was in 9th grade and snuck in, and I rewarded him for his effort.

3. Have you ever seriously vandalized someone else's property? No.

4. Have you ever hit someone of the opposite sex? All the time. I grew up with two brothers, and a bunch of guy friends. It was always a slug-fest.

5. Have you ever sung in front of a large number of people?  It would depend on your definition of large. I've done karaoke many times, with possible around 30+ people in the room. Arenas? Stadiums? Ampitheaters? No.

6. What's the first thing you notice about your preferred sex? Whether they've got that twinkle in their eye.

7. What really turns you off? Being patronised, disrespected or disregarded because of my gender.

8. What do you order at Starbucks? I've never been to a Starbucks, actually.

9. What is  your biggest mistake? Incidents where I emotionally hurt someone I love dearly.

10. Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose? Not that I can think of.

11. Say something totally random about yourself.  I love steak.

12. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity? Once someone told me I looked a little like Brooke Shields, but I think it was mainly because we shared the same hairstyle.

13. Do you still watch kiddie movies or TV shows? Yes. Mostly because I have two children, but some I truly do enjoy and would watch regardless.

14. Did you have braces? Yes. Soon as all my permanent teeth came in, the orthodontist slapped braces on them.

15. Are you comfortable with your height? For the most part. I'm tall for a girl, but I'm the shortest person in my family, which makes me wish for just an inch or two more in height.

16. What is the most romantic thing someone of the preferred sex has done for you? My hubby has done so many thoughtful things for me, it would be impossible to list them all. But I'd have to say, his proposal was fantastic.

17.  When do you know it's love?  When you can pee in front of each other.

18. Do you speak any other languages? I speak the dialects of Redneck and Hillbilly fluently, and can say a smattering of phrases in German and Spanish.

19. Have you ever been to a tanning salon? I have tanned before, on a very infrequent basis. I haven't in over 6 years though.

20. What magazines do you read? KODT mag, Psychology Today, Good News, Gothic Beauty, trashy tabloids

21. Have you ever ridden in a limo? No.

22. Has anyone you were really close to passed away? Not in a long time. My dad passed away when I was a kid, and I had some grandparents I really loved pass away close to 10 years ago.

23. Do you watch MTV? On occasion, if I happen to be someplace that has cable or satellite (I have none), and they actually happen to be playing music videos.

24. What's something that really annoys you? Narrow-minded or close-minded people. It bugs me to no end that so many people are unwilling to place themselves in another person's shoes to get a glimpse of their perspective.

25.  What's something you really like? Singing. I'm not great at it, but if I were unable to sing, it would leave a gaping hole in my life.

26. Do you like Micheal Jackson? I liked him when he was a good-looking black fella, but when he became a creepy, white woman, child molester, I checked out.

27.  Can you dance? I can do the Carlton, some bellydancing, some club dancing.

28. What's the latest you've ever stayed up? When a younger friend of mine keep me out till 6 a.m. I just don't have her stamina. At 2 a.m., I have to find a bed.

29. Have you ever been rushed by an ambulance to the emergency room? No.

30. Do you actually read these when other people fill them out? Yes.

A little bit of random fun.

After the last few heavy posts, I need to lighten the mood. So I'll share with you a random ... phobia? .... of mine.  Not exactly a true phobia, per se, but just an odd quirk about myself.

Every time I have to pee -- and I'm talking about EVERY TIME here people -- I worry that I'm somehow deluding myself on the fact I'm sitting on the toilet.

I am a big daydreamer, and I worry that I'm actually doing something else, like typing a blog post for example.  And that I'm so caught up in the urge to pee that I've convinced myself I'm actually in the bathroom using the toilet. Except, I've really just pissed myself at the computer desk.

OR -- OR --

Perhaps what if I'm really in my 70s, and I have Alzheimers.  What if I'm really sitting in my living room, and pissing my Depends, while I just THINK I'm 30-odd years old and using the bathroom at the house I used to live in?

Or what if I'm asleep and really need to pee, and am dreaming that I'm using the potty?  I think that's where it all stems from really -- when I was in my early teens, I was asleep, and really had to go. I dreamt that I walked down the hall from my room to the bathroom, and used the toilet. This dream was so lucid that I could feel the carpet under my feet and the seat under my rear.

And the capper to this post? My daughter just came in my room, threw up on my bed, the carpet and the bathroom floor. Goodnight, all.

Suiting up

I've been mentally reviewing yesterday, and can't come to any decent conclusion about it.

I do need to revisit my raw emotional side sometimes. I can see that this experience is turning me into my mother. I'm quickly seeing why she is the way she is. After my father died and she was left with three young children, she had to be this way.

I spent most of yesterday in a very low funk. It's an honest emotion that comes when I face my realities. I miss my husband. We are living on such a low income I'm consistently surprised with my own resourcefulness at holding us all together. We live on the brink of foreclosure. I work part-time on the weekends, and have absolutely NO free time. Even if I did have free time, I'd have no social life because I can't afford it. I can barely scrape $5 together for gas. I overtax my babysitters as it is, who watch my kids for free while I work.

I even have to face the fact, each and every time my husband leaves for work after his brief home visits, that it may be the last time I see him. Accidents aren't uncommon in his new occupation, and when it does happen, that employee usually ends up going home in a box.

So pretty much, I looked at my realities, and I cried all day. And when my children fought, I would end up rushing out of my room with a tear-streaked face and hauling the offender roughly to their room. Not even sure if they WERE the offending party, but they were disturbing the quiet, and therefore, disturbing ME.

When I attempted to share my feelings with my hubby, he told me it made him worried. When I shared with another friend of mine about how I really feel, I was met with a barrage of jokes, and amusing antics -- the only tactic they know for dealing with unpleasant emotions. To jolly me out of my funk. I appreciated the gesture, but it just left me feeling even more pissy.

There are things that WOULD make me feel better. Surprise visits, someone bringing over a video game and playing it with me, phone calls, offers to babysit, a surprise gift of $20 "just because -- go take yourself out". Just little things, would do a wealth of good to my over-isolated self. But people won't or can't, and I can't deny there are very good reasons why.

So yeah. I eventually had to pull my armor back on, and say, "Butch up, bitch. Your kids need a better mommy than this." I had to pull my armor back on and that's the painful part. Denying my feelings because my children are better off when I'm feeling stable. Denying my feelings because I don't want strangers and acquaintances seeing those cracks in my armor, my red face and teary eyes and asking, "Are you ok?"

I know that wallowing in my emotions does nothing to change my realities. The only thing that can change your realities is taking action. Making a plan and following through on it. I've been setting some plans into motion and I'm hoping that events will end up fortuitous.

I can see why, if I were to share things with my mother, she'd just say, "That's life." Because it IS. Whining about my life won't change things, no matter how much others care about me.

Whining and crying IS cathartic though (and it feels damn good too -- even if it makes you miserable. heh). It helps me to remember that there ARE still emotions under that armor. It reminds me that I'm wearing armor. And it helps me to remember that I'll be able to take it off someday.

Ogres Are Like Onions

Recently, I've been talking a lot with a good friend of mine, who's favorite hobby is making me crack. I've still yet to figure if that's a good thing, or a bad thing.

I liken it to this old wooden cupboard that was passed down through several children in my family. It once belonged to my mother when she was little, was passed through some cousins, and eventually worked it's way down to myself, when I was a child.

Each family had repainted it, and by the time it got to me, it was white, and some places were flaking here and there. It wasn't long before I found myself peeling the chipping, flaking paint off, discovering the older layers of paint underneath. It was fascinating and satisfying to pull off strips of paint. To see the original color.

I have been stoic. Steel. Unfliching. Uncommunicative. It's been deeply satisfying to feel her pick at the blemishes of my armor, like strips of sunburned skin. To feel them pulled off and seeing the raw. To get down to the original.

But what do you see when you get there? Misery. In 1970s avocado green.

There's not much that can be done to improve my condition, for the nonce. (That means, "for now". LOL). So I'm not sure if there's a lot of point to share my feelings with anyone. I can feel miserable, but wrapped up in so many layers of armor and distraction I barely notice it, or I can peel open the layers and poke and prod at it and feel how exquisitely miserable I am.

Which is the better option? I don't really know. All I know is I just can't wait till my hubby completes his year long contract, finds a job closer to home, and I get a break. I do apologize for all my blogs being whiny and complaining, but this is the only place I let myself do it. Thanks for sticking around -- I promise you it will pick up!

This post has reminded me of a poem I once wrote though. I think this is the first time I've actually shared it with anyone because I've never considered it publish-worthy. But I digress. Here you go:

Sunburn

Sunburn
is an exquisite pain
causing a sharp throb
with every movement.
So unlike the cold,
who numbs you to sleep.

1998

Just whining

I just needed a safe place to vent, outside of my normal blogging venues.

My big lesson this year, it seems, has been keeping my own counsel. I have to refrain from a lot of social activities, due to a tight budget. I have been having problems with some friends, and betrayals of trust with others, and I'm not able to ask for advice without causing troubles amongst other friends. I have had to keep some of my activities to myself, or risk the judgment of others whose opinions I value dearly.

Due to my husband working away, I have learned from experience I have to watch who I talk to and where I go, for appearances sake. I have to be careful about whom I invite over to visit for the same reason.

All of this is unnatural to me. I'm used to living freely and openly and not giving a damn about what others think or say about me.

I'm not used to living this way. I hate it. I am lonely and frustrated and have no one to turn to, other than the person in the mirror. And she looks unhappy and old and doesn't want to hear me whine anymore.

I've had the cushion of close friends for so long, it's made me comfortable and confident with the idea. Perhaps I should have learned my lesson many years ago and remained the Cat Who Walked Alone.

Places, please.

My goodness, I'm sorry people. It's been forever. I've just been involved in life.

Sort of like how, you think about someone you miss, and realize that because you've been so busy with your own stuff, it's been six months since you've spoken with them. Yeah.

My daughter is adjusting to kindergarten. It has it's ups and downs. Some days she'll talk about best friends. Other days she'll say no one plays with her. She doesn't like the P.E. coach's whistle. She doesn't like school. The bus ride is too long. All these little things, that I want to rush and fix for her. Because I don't know what to tell her.

How can I explain that the reason the kids she knew in preschool, who are in different kindergarten classes that she is, won't play with her? I think it has to do with feeling an inner pressure to only hang out with their own class, and not a kid outside of their class. But she doesn't "get" it.

I want to fix school for her. She has many years of school ahead of her -- too many to start disliking it at such a young age! But, she's never thrown a fit to get out of school. So, I don't know.

********************************

Other new stuff. I auditioned to be the lead singer of a band. I was excited about the opportunity, and it gave me a kick in the butt to make some changes and preparations I needed to make. I didn't get the gig, but it was exciting to step out of my rut for a while. I was glad for the experience and have no regrets about it.

One of the preparations was scheduling a preschool evaluation for my 3 year old son. I need to get a job, and I'd rather have him in preschool than daycare. I wonder how it will go. Part of me wants him to have some sort of unrecognized need, so he can get in and I won't have to pursue day care. There ARE things about him that are a little quirky, and are hard to explain to others. On the other hand, he is such a bright, intelligent boy, that I'm sure they'll say there's no need for it.

So, we'll see. I'll update you all after the evaluation. Ciao ciao.