Ode to Bob

Tomorrow we put one of our beloved cats down.  His name is Bob, and he has a massive tumor on one side that has all but defeated him at this point.  I am so relieved that we have the option to take him to the vet's office and put him down in peace.  We know his time is near, and my husband and I want to be with him during his last moments.

A couple years ago, we had another gray cat who had grown thin and who had multiple health problems.  We had taken her to the vet several times recently, but didn't know that she had such a short time left.  We came home one night after being out to dinner with friends and found her little body, cold and stiff, stretched out under our bed.  It was past ten o'clock, so we quietly found our shovels and dug a hole in our backyard using our headlamps for light.  Many times, I have thought back to what her final moments may have been like; how our other cats and dog may have reacted, what she may have been feeling, and her little heart maybe racing towards the end.  That's probably not how it happened, but her dramatic pose has made me wonder if her last moments may have been frantic, confused, or painful.

Do not attempt to remove toy!

And our little Bob.  He used to be such a sleek, strong boy.  He used to be big.  My husband told me after one of his checkups years ago that the vet put his hands around the lower part of Bob's ribcage and explained that he was getting to be a bit "pear-shaped" and was in need of a diet.  Although Bob was typically so docile in the exam room, his ears went back and he shot the veterinarian one of his looks.  Ah, yes.  To know Bob, is to know that he can look you in the eyes for a split second and he will let you know that he is considering clawing your eyes out while you sleep.  (Or while awake... ask my husband with the once-scratched cornea about that one.)  I spent the early years of my relationship with my husband in fear of Bob and his violent glances.  Attempts to win him over by scratching his chin or massaging that area behind his ears (the cat, not the husband) were met with "Don't touch him there!" or "Never put your hand in front of his face!"  I will never forget this particular evening a few months into our relationship.  We were sitting next to each other on the couch, watching a movie.  Bob jumped onto the couch, walked over to one side, then walked back to me and plopped onto my lap.  Shocked, I asked my then-boyfriend what I should do.

"Don't. Do. Anything."

And we've been fine ever since.  My worries of the relationship not surviving because the cat didn't approve-- quashed.  It still took years before I really learned how to pet Bob, and I never got to a point where I could just pick him up and hug him, but we came to an understanding that evening.  Don't F with me, and I won't claw your eyes out while you sleep... or something like that.  Mostly I came to an understanding, and that gray kitty has allowed me to enjoy life under the same roof with him ever since.

Bob, it may be we're overdue to take you in.  Anyone who beholds the site of your cancerous mass seem to think that you should not still be alive (like the neighbors who thought your entrails were hanging out of your left haunch).  It's been hard though.  Thanks for finally letting me pet you whenever, however I want to.  You have had some sweet, docile moments in your life before, but the last month has been all sweet and docile.  I am so sorry it's ending like this.  Since we got the diagnosis, your progression with this tumor has been rapid and slow all at once.  Now that the time is here, it seems too soon.  I am a little afraid for tomorrow but I know that it's the right thing to do.  I don't believe in heaven, but if it existed, I'm sure our animals would be there with us.  I can't imagine a place that doesn't have the joy and fullness that our pets bring to us being any sort of reward for good behavior here on earth.  And I'm pretty sure a cat like you could make it in.

Are You There PMS? It's Me, Margaret

Okay, so that's a lie. My name is not Margaret.  And I don't know if I really have PMS (thus the question). I'm just *hoping* I have PMS.  Yeah... because I need some good excuse for this bad funk I'm in.  I don't feel like being a wife, mother, employee, or friend right now. I feel as though being "good" for anyone who is depending on me is too much effort.  I won't rant about what's irking me because it's petty and inconsequential. I hope it's just PMS for a few reasons:

1. Temporary nature of PMS
2. Hormones are to blame for me being a jack@$$, not me!
3. No need to see a doctor or medicate (aside from a big bowl of ice cream)

Reasons I hope it's not PMS:

1. PERIODS.

My baby is nine months old, which means about a year and a half has passed since I've worn the scarlet letter (can I say that??). I am happy without, but I suppose I must face this at some point. I can't breastfeed forever, nor would I want to (discussion of that in a future post).

Well peeps, short and sweet is what you get when my computer's down (again!) and I am forced to type on my phone, which for some reason does not auto-correct in blogger. Yup, labor of love right there. And don't worry about me.  I'll be fine. I've been trying to run/work out the steam, and I'm sure going to bed at a reasonable hour wouldn't hurt either.

Next time, I promise a post that is not a complaint, rant, or other form of negativity. But damned if it doesn't feel good to get it out of my system :)

Regretful Moments in Parenting

Aah, back in the early days of this adventure

I promise this post won't be one big fat downer.  But if I had written anything in the heat of the moment, or within a couple hours of the moment-- or incident, I should say-- this post would be a HUGE downer.

Here's the history on this morning's incident, or actually, set of 3 incidents:

Potty training.  We started out with high hopes of a quick, intense, weekend-long session when the little guy was barely 2 years old.  My mom lent me the book that she had used, Potty Training in One Day (or some equally BS title), and assured me she had used this method with all 6 of the kids in our family.  She bragged that she potty-trained my younger brother the latest, at 26 months of age, and he caught on the quickest; about a day and a half.  I read through the book, made a sticker chart, filled a Tupperware container with M&Ms, and looked forward to Saturday.

Epic fail.  We gave up by Saturday afternoon and decided we'd try again in a few months.  Well, about a month later, my mom informed me that she was working on it with him again.  Being the potty training guru, she was so sure that he was really ready this time.  Fast forward about a year and a half: we have been on a roller coaster of "I think he really has it this time!" and "What?!?  He pooped his pants again?!?" over and over.  We have let him run around pants-less, we have tried rewards, we have lectured him, pleaded with him, tried to make it no big deal either way... and here we are today.

Many days, he has maybe one wet accident.  And many of those are minor accidents.  Occasionally, he will go a week or two with no accidents at all.  But lately, it's been the regular one or two wet accidents per day.  This morning, he had done a number two in his pull-up that he wears overnight.  I calmly took him to the bathroom, let him know that I was disappointed and that I know he'll do better next time, and helped him get cleaned up.  He was insistent that he didn't need to go anymore and refused to sit on the potty.  A couple hours later, I walked into his bedroom after putting the baby down for a nap in his crib... and there he is, putting his poopy unders in the laundry basket!  I was a little more firm this time, a little more, "this makes me angry that you did this.  You are a big boy and you know what you need to do when you need to go."  What to do?

Historically (as in, the past year and a half), it is times like these that I question my parenting, that I wonder what I am doing that is so wrong, (or conversely, what I am not doing) that is causing my child to do this.  I know it's probably some sort of a control issue or a power struggle for my independent little guy.  But I can't help to think, what the hell is wrong with me?  Should I just not have had kids?  Obviously, I can't get the basics down, after 1.5 years of trying.  All his little friends, many of whom are a few months younger, have been loooooong potty trained.  No.  I did not want to go down this road today.  It has been quite a while since he's had a number two accident, and I feel much better not freaking out about these things.  But again... what to do?  I have to somehow use this experience to let him know that it is not okay, and I DON'T want him to do it again.  I don't want to employ my usual method-- "that's too bad.  Better get into the bathroom and get cleaned up, then find a clean pair of underpants."  The no-big-deal method.  Because pooping in your pants is a big deal.  I want the lesson to stick this time.

I didn't mean to be punitive, but I didn't want to have another mess to clean up at the indoor playground where we were planning to meet a friend soon.  I decided to make him sit on the potty until he went or until he could tell me why he went in his pants.  This also gave me time to tidy up the house and to go downstairs and talk myself out of getting angry at him or myself.  Ultimately, he couldn't go and he couldn't tell me why he did it, so we wiped up and got ready for our playdate.  I am typically such a grudge-holder, but I can't allow myself to hold onto these things with my sons.  I don't want them to find themselves in therapy someday, wondering why their mom was such a cold, hard, bitch.

And I didn't want to have one of those regretful moments in parenting.  You know what I'm talking about.  You spank your kid even though you're totally against it, or you yell at him, or call him a name.  You overreact to something, and your child cries at your meanness.  Then he asks you to lay next to him after the bedtime song, and you think... how could I ever be so horrible to this little person?

Anyway, this post is getting really long, but I did say there were three incidents.  After playing with our friend, we were on our way to get pizza for lunch.  He told me he needed to pee, so I pulled into the closest neighborhood and found a large shrub we could hide next to for a quick pee.  His unders were already soaked, and when I asked him if he just wet them, he told me that he did it at the playground.  I turned the car around, no pizza, and took him home for lunch and nap ASAP.  Minimal lecturing or yelling and only a little bit of questioning my parenting skills.  Then I found that my dog had been through the kitchen garbage and I really started yelling.  I even yelled at the baby, "Oh, look at you!  You're sweet now, but you'll be just like your big brother in a couple years!  What the hell was I ever thinking?!!"

Oops... well... I'm sure he's too young to commit that to memory.  He was smiling at me the whole time I was yelling.

First Post: Let's clarify a few things...

In my job, I have spent plenty (too much) time on various committees and in meetings.  Some of these committees have been restructured over time and more meetings were suddenly necessary to redefine the purpose of the committee.  Excess?  I think so.  However, it is possibly all that time spent crafting charters and retooling mission statements that is inspiring this first post-- DESPITE the fact that I feel I have more interesting things to shake out of my system and onto the keyboard.

Why am I suddenly blogging?  Important question.  Does every blogger have to answer to this?  Can I even call myself a blogger yet?  I will answer each question in the opposite order that it was asked.  3. Maybe, since this is technically a Blogger post and the account is set up with a brand-spanking-new blog address.  2. I think so, although it is certainly a matter of opinion, and whether it is made public or not is up to the writer/blogger.  1.  I don't quite know.  This just stirs up more questions I want to ask to myself.  (Future post: an interview with myself!  Narcissistic?  Yes!  But oh so self-reflective and, I know, definitely been done before.)  I have always enjoyed writing, whether in a personal journal or even assigned papers/reports for various classes throughout my student career.  I have thought of writing as a career, but never felt I truly had the talent or drive.  It seems that many of the writers I admire have said that they felt they had to get the words out, that they had something to say and something that others needed to hear.

I never felt that... so I never pursued or considered writing a vocation for myself.

In fact, I don't know if I feel that now (argh, so much inner turmoil and confusing feelings, I know), which is why I am saying that NO, I am not planning to pursue a career in writing or make some money off of this.  However...

I have some things I need to share.  Baggage?  Maybe.  I am a mom.  Two boys, 3 years and 5.5 months, and a husband of indeterminate age (sometimes 10, sometimes 18, rarely 37 years old).  Plus a dog, two cats, and a turtle.  I currently work full-time (spoiler alert!  subject to change!), and I cannot keep the goddamned house clean.  I regret to inform you, if there's any "you" out there besides me... I do tend to write when I am frustrated or kinda depressed.  But I also have other things I want to talk about, and I am determined to not let this be my place to record only the doom and gloom in my life.

There are also several blogs that I follow (will post links soon, when it's not 11 pm and I need to pump).  I have read and enjoyed these quite a bit over the past year; more than ever before.  Maybe I want to join the community, or maybe it's just time I get these thoughts out.  Did I actually explain myself and my reason for starting this blog?   Eh, kinda.  I tend to ramble and over-explain (hence the million parenthesized thoughts), so for that I apologize.  And with that, I bid you adieu, and promise to not spend any more time justifying my decision to blog.

-e