Meditating in Downward Dog

I've been sitting at my desk for long periods of time lately. Too long. Plus I'm kinda old so I get stiff really quickly. Tonight I thought I would do a nice, stretching yoga session to help get some of that out. I thought it would be relaxing. I forget that I live with two little Boston Terrors. 

I tried to get them in relaxing mode by feeding them and turning on the fireplace. Ruby gravitates to that like a moth to a (literal) flame. Remy is normally the one who tries to distract me. 

Full bellies. Warm fire. Dim the lights. Lay down the mat. Breathe. 

Get interrupted. Immediately. Because of course the little beasts want to go outside. Fine. Stretch while waiting for them to finish. Let them in. They run through the house like crazy. Fine. They'll settle down. I settle into Downward Dog. 

And then. The shit hits the mat. The literal shit hits the mat. 

Because Ruby decides to come tearing across it and leaves a brown spot. Right in front of my face. Get up, get a wet paper towel, wipe the mat. She runs across it again thinking she's cute. She's not. Because something smells bad. She stepped in poo and then ran into the house and across my mat. Right where I will put my face in any sort of pose where I'm facing down. 

I get the mat cleaned off and start again. I get through the poses and start to relax. Even though Remy is pacing around me. Then comes the meditation part. A nice mantra. How lovely. "Treat all outside noises like thoughts and push them away." Jump out of my skin when the damn dogs start barking and go racing to the front door because they apparently heard an imaginary doorbell. Little fuckers. I'd like to push them off a cliff right now. 

Ruby finally curls in front of the fire. Remy finally goes to lay down in another part of the house. It could be the cold floor of the garage for all I care. I finish the last five minutes in peace. Namaste.

And then I turn around and see the poop spots on the carpet and I am conveniently out of carpet cleaner. 

I think there's still some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in the freezer. I'm going to go self-medicate now. 

The Name Change

My first name is nine letters long. My last name is also nine letters long. Add in my middle name and we get a grand total of 23 characters. Plus spaces. That's a lot of typing. With many opportunities for error. Not to mention there are roughly 83 ways to spell my first name. There's a Catholic spelling, a Greek spelling, a lazy spelling, phonetic spelling, on and on.

I thought this morning that shortening my name might be nice. People try to shorten it all the time, against my wishes. That or they come up with something completely unrelated. I mean, if you say your name is Barbara, I'm not going to say, "Oh, it's nice to meet you Francis." But people do that to me on a regular basis. Then again, people are basically stupid. (Forget good or evil, the answer is stupid.)

So I came up with Pie. Because you'd remember someone with a name like Pie, right? And everybody likes pie so they'd like me. If someone randomly said, "I love pie", I could say, "I love you too." And that would make me a nicer person. Nobody hates pie. There are too many kinds to like And even if someone did say "I hate blueberry pie" I couldn't take it personally because I'm not Blueberry Pie. I'm just Pie. But if they said "I love okra pie", even though that sounds gross, I could choose to take that personally and feel good about myself.

I think I'm onto something. If we all had nice names, then we'd all be nicer people. Your neighbor could be Chocolate. A co-worker could be Puppy Breath. Name your baby Pajamas and see what happens.

I'm going to start with Pie.

Socially Awkward Dog Is Not Steve Buscemi

I took the Boston Terrors out for an unprecedented, two-days-in-a-row-in-January! walk. Well, I took Ruby twice, Remy just one of those times. And he's the one that was properly socialized as a puppy, but I don't know if I ever want to be seen in public with him again.

Saturday Ruby and I went for a walk with the wife and her pug Shanaenae Laquifah Kwanza Jackson. AKA Gracie. I so want these two to be best friends, but Ruby doesn't get the concept of friendship. When she's not completely ignoring little Gracie, she's trying to kill her. Stealthily. As in no warning, no alarm, just full-on lunging for her throat.

She does, however, get the concept of shopping. After doing half of the Old Mill loop, we took them around the shops in order to get the full effect of their cuteness. Ruby window shops. It's not all stores, just the ones that catch her eye. She'll stop, peek inside, and then continue her booty-shaking strut. Then we came to Victoria's Secret, where she wanted to go inside. She tried to walk into both the Pink side and the regular side. I don't know if it was the lace or the smell that attracted her.

On Sunday KY and I took both Ruby and Remy so that I could lose a few calories before consuming my much-anticipated movie popcorn. Again, Ruby wanted to go into Vicki's. She even sat down in the doorway when I pulled her back. Maybe she's getting inspiration to lose a few pounds. Like mother, like dog.

Afterward, we took Remy to the dog park. Ruby had to sit outside because the sign clearly said "No aggressive dogs." Remy used to be the good one. He used to know how to play. Yesterday it was like he forgot how to be a normal dog.

First of all, he had to pee on the gate before we even got in. A drop of it splashed on my shoe. Gross. Then he sniffed the butts of the three giant Husky-type dogs who had zero interest in him. He looked retarded. Next, he went around trying to get anything bigger than him to chase him. Nobody took the bait. He looked like a socially retarded kid that all the other kids just turn away from. They know better than to be mean to him and they're more embarrassed for him than anything else anyway.

When nobody would play with him, he started barking for their attention. I actually heard some guy say to him, "Shut up, Steve Buscemi!" and then he laughed at him.

The darling little husky puppy wanted to play with him but she must have been too close to his size because he just growled at her to leave him alone. After that I decided I'd had enough humiliation and led him back out. Of course he had to pee on the gate again as a final embarrassment.

I think I'll stick to lunching with Ruby and Shanaenae. I am determined to make them best friends.

Remembering Barbie

When I was little, my favorite toys were my Barbies. I had the three-story Barbie townhouse with the elevator and a pink convertible sports car. My best friend Jenny and I would play with them for hours, when we weren't playing in her mom's high heels. She come home from a summer visit with her dad once and brought a new Barbie which I then coveted until I got one of my own for my birthday. It was the Beauty Secrets Barbie and she had the longest, most beautiful hair we'd ever seen. We loved her long pink gown and braided her hair in as many ways we could think of.

What I loved about Barbie was her tiny little shoes and how you could buy them in any color to match her many outfits. I could spend hours in the Barbie aisle at Toys R' Us looking at all of the clothes and accessories and furniture and jewelry that were available for her. I'd dress her and undress her and brush her hair until she looked perfect. Sometimes I'd make furniture for her out of shoe boxes or blankets out of scraps of material.

My stepbrother visited every summer and added a very dangerous and dark element to Barbie's life. His GI Joe was well-known as a Barbie rapist and assaulted her on a regular basis. Mostly it was date rape. But aside from that, Barbie had a pretty nice life in Southern California. However, this is probably the reason that there was never a Ken in my small collection. My Barbie remained single.

D's first Barbie was actually Mulan and was a reward for potty training. She was two and a half. After that she wanted every Barbie known to man - shopping Barbie, Glinda the Good Witch, Belle, Barbie's sister, whatever was on the shelf in every season. She actually horrified me with her poor care of them. Cutting their hair, throwing them in piles in her toy box, leaving them half-naked everywhere. She loved them, but she didn't care for them the way I did.

As an adult I learned how "unhealthy" Barbie is for little girls' self-esteem. How if she were real, she'd be an Amazon and severely deformed. That she is an  unrealistic role model for girls everywhere. But here's the thing. Barbie is a doll. We all knew that. She's a doll and we got to say what she wore and we got to decide what kind of life she had and we decided how she should wear her hair. We used our imaginations to create scenarios for her when we played with her. It was play and it was fun and we sadly outgrew her over the years.

Barbie wasn't real the way "role models" today are. Little girls are now exposed to the Nicki Minaj's and Snookis and Honey Boo Boos of the world. Sexuality is forced on them at too-early ages and the idea of what they "should be" is continuously dumbed down. What must little girls think life is meant to be with all of these images constantly thrust at them? Not to mention the whole phenomenon of Twilight, where a lonely girl changes who she is physically just so she can be with a boy whose family member wants to kill her.

I played quietly with Barbie in my room. She could be a doctor or a mom or as glamorous or plain as I wanted. It was up to me. I made my own choices. It's harder for girls today to make their own choices with all of the surrounding noise and images of women who behave wildly just for the attention.

All of this makes Barbie look as innocent as she is. After all, she was invented as a playmate by a mother for her daughter. As a way for her daughter to act out her own dreams and her own future.

I'd take Barbie over Bella any day.

With This Stapler I Thee Wed

How many of you have a work spouse? You know, a member of the opposite sex that you work with, lunch with, and generally spend most of your day with until you go home to your real spouse? They're someone you like and have common interests with and you become dependent on them. And it can get emotional because sometimes you  need someone to save your bacon when you're on a deadline and you know you can always count on that person.

My friend Sam has one of these. I think his voice sounds like Michael Jackson, but I think she's attracted to the way he talks about his family. And let's face it, ladies, family men who are truly dedicated to their wife and kids are some of the hottest guys around. So I can't blame her. And they do work together a lot. Very closely. As in he purposely presses a knee against her leg sometimes. He knows that she knows that he's doing it on purpose but they both pretend that neither one of them knows and will never admit that they know. Because if they knew for real, out loud, it would all have to stop since it would then be something less than innocent.

And work spouses can cause a bit of damage for those who don't treat it as what it is. It's a working relationship. It's not a replacement for the relationship you have in your "real" life and it can't come before your "real" relationship. It happens between work hours and then it stops.

The closest thing I have to a work husband is JZ and we're more like an old married couple than newlyweds.  In fact we bypassed the whole courting stage and went straight to comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that he complains about the way my coffee smells and has no problem throwing an occasional "bitch" my way. But that's probably because I nag him about picking up cupcakes and force him to be a part of projects he really has no interest in. We came dangerously close to a divorce when we went on the same diet. If we were really married, we would have been sleeping in separate rooms and beginning to divide our assets. As it is, we take separate vacations.

If you don't have a work spouse, I highly recommend getting one. At the very least they're entertaining.  You always have someone to sit next to in meetings, they can buy you coffee or lunch, and they can write complicated SQL statements when you need them. If you're lucky they can provide you some innocent flirting. And if you're really lucky, and also not already married or otherwise committed for real, then you don't have to follow any rules at all.

Cat As Metaphor

My co-worker, JZ, has the seat by the window and alerts me to the interesting things that either enter into or pass by the building. The family of deer, transgenders, dogs for me to molest. Today he remarked that there is a cat that walks by on a regular basis. He is dark gray and kind of stocky and rough-looking.

Me: Oh, that's a street cat.
JZ: He could be a house kitty. At my house.
Me: No, he's definitely a street cat. He's just out there roaming the neighborhood, being a ladies' man.
JZ: Some street kitties can turn into house kitties. They just need a nice warm place to stay.
Me: Are you projecting onto that cat?
JZ: Maybe. Maybe he just wants a warm place to sleep. And food. He can have a kitty door so he can come and go as he pleases.
Me: And that's why you're still single.

Where My Mind Goes

I left work early yesterday to take D to a couple of appointments and then met up with some work peeps for a drink after. I was having a conversation with JZ, who sits next to me in the office, when the conversation took a turn for the stupid.

JZ: So who left the panties on my desk?
Me: um...... (blushing and stammering and thinking to myself, WTF?!?!?) Who left WHAT?
JZ: Who left the pennies? There was a stack of pennies when I came back from lunch.
Me: OH! I thought you said PANTIES!
JZ: ha ha ha ha.... Of course you did.
Me: Well, of course it's funny that I heard it that way, but I thought it was really pretentious of you to think that I would be the one to leave panties on your desk. I mean. Really.
JZ: ha ha ha ha ha ha......

To my credit, it was very loud in there.

It's Not Every Day You Have Lunch with Someone You Haven't Seen in 30 Years

We shared a boyfriend in fourth grade. We roller skated by his house in an early form of stalking. We tricked our fourth grade teacher into letting us watch Days of Our Lives at lunch by telling him it was a new colorized version of The Twilight Zone. We prank-called boys and strangers while teetering around in her mom's high heels. We swam in my pool, at the lake, and at the ocean. She wrote down the wrong lyrics to songs her brother listened to and we giggled long into the night.

The last time I saw her I was 12. It's been 30 years and we are having lunch today.

I was able to find her because I established my stalking skills early. It's been years, off and on, that I've tried to find her. We wrote once in college and lost touch after that. But I found her. Finally.

We've lived parallel lives. After college, we both altered our paths, took a few turns, did different things. We each have a daughter. And for the last 13 years, without knowing it, we have lived in the same town. We've shopped in the same stores, eaten in the same restaurants. She has unknowingly watched D dance in The Nutcracker. I substituted at her daughter's elementary school a lifetime ago.

How is it possible that I've never seen her while running into the same five or six people over and over and over? It seems like we would have at least one friend in common. One. Somewhere.

Today will change all of that. I will see her face-to-face. I will give her a huge hug and we will begin the process of catching up. Of re-establishing a friendship that started at the age of six. We will talk about our families - our parents, our siblings and, now, our children.

Her daughter is nine. The same age we were when we shared that boyfriend and wore bell-bottoms and passed notes in class. We now get to know each other as adults. As women. As moms.

I can't even begin to explain how full my heart is right now.

How Much Is That Doggy in the Window?

If you don't know how much I love dogs, then we have never met. Everyone I know points dogs out to me wherever I am. I almost stole a puppy from a co-worker, which may be the reason he keeps him in the car now. The only reason I don't have more than two is because I don't have the money or the space for them. Otherwise I would have a whole bunch of them of all kinds. But mostly the smooshy-faced, because they're my favorites.

I grew up with bulldogs. My parents got our first, Astarte, when I was four. She was actually a gift to my mom when she was dating my dad. There was a small grassy hill next to our apartment and Astarte and I would roll down that hill over and over together.

Next came George. His brother was the bulldog in the Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry movies. I was mostly mean to him and would push him out of his favorite little hidey hole under the palm trees next to the pool.

George and Astarte produced Aphrodite, who gave birth to Venus and Cassiopeia from different litters. Cassie Gave birth to Taurus. There was also Maggie, who was supposed to be mine, but she drowned in the pool as a puppy.

After they all eventually died of cancer, my parents tried once more with a pair of older dogs from a breeder friend and then switched to a chihuahua and miniature Schnauzer. As of now, I think their pack includes the mini Schnauzer, a boxer, a golden retriever, and a mini dachsund. Whew.

I've loved dogs all my life. I've played with them, been drooled on by them, held them as teeny little puppies, making sure they were clean and well-fed, and slept in beds with them. What I missed most during my college years was having a dog around and I vowed to have another as soon as I could.

Dogs are wonderful. They love us unconditionally and forgive us our flaws. They often forgive far more than any creature should have to. They only live to be loved and to make us happy. Mine have curled up next to me while I cried, kept me warm at night, and are infinitely patient with all of my moods and weirdness.

With all that they give me, I want to give back. And it feels like giving back to just two small Bostons isn't enough. I want to give something to their brothers and sisters and cousins and distant, twice-removed cousins. I want to give by making sure that all waggy-tailed, saggy-skinned, stretched-out, drooling, little kissing machines have homes and families and know what it is to be loved.

I don't make resolutions at the start of the year. They don't stick. For a while I tried calling them goals, but that didn't make them stick either. And I'm not making a resolution this year either. But I am making a commitment. I'm making a commitment to do whatever I can to help animals in need. And I'm asking  you to do the same.

How much is that doggy in the window? Too much. The cost that dogs pay when bred from puppy mills is too much. They pay with their lives. Most people today, hopefully, are aware of the tragedies caused by puppy mills. If  you're not, I'm not going to go into it, just understand that it is devastating. You can look up the horrors for yourself. Just don't buy a dog from a pet store. End of story.

If you're thinking of getting a dog, think seriously about adopting. I adopted my Dalmatian, but not my Bostons. I will adopt next time. Even if you want a specific breed, there are rescue groups. And they often have puppies. Adopting saves lives.

Shelters are overrun with animals. It is a crime against nature that so many of them are put down daily. That their last days are spent in a cement cell. Do what you can. Adopt, foster, volunteer, donate.

The biggest way to keep animals out of shelters in the first place is to be responsible. There are enough dogs (and cats) in the world already who desperately need homes. Don't breed yours. Unless breeding is your life because you show them or are specifically committed to the integrity of the breed, don't do it. You want to make some extra money? Your dog is not a part-time job. Your dog is not a puppy factory. And you don't know that those puppies are going to loving, forever homes when you put them on Craigslist.

I realize that there are plenty of causes out there. People are homeless. Cancer is still an asshole. Children need protection. I support anyone who feels passionately about any cause and if you already have one, I wish you the best and thank you for what you are doing. My passion just happens to be dogs and if you aren't already doing something for someone, I urge you to join me.

I no longer want to see pictures of starving dogs or abused dogs or hear about dogs being made to fight or dogs being put down unfairly because they exhibit behaviors that have been bred into them by us. We, as people, took dogs into our homes, we taught them to be pets. We taught them to be dependent on us and to need us. Let's not let them down.

“Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made. ” 
― Roger Caras

This Is Why I Love Her Sense of Humor

So yesterday I came home to find D alone in the house with a boy. Apparently their ice skating date had been canceled, but he still came over to see her. Huh.

She only smiled when I asked if he's a good kisser and then denied it all, which means something definitely happened. It must mean something if she's not telling me.

Anyway, I commented that I hope she waits to have sex with someone she really cares about. She said of course she's going to and then we had the following conversation.

Me: "I'm not saying I think you'll do it tomorrow, I just don't want you throwing away what could be a nice experience."

D: "Duh, Mom. I know that. Besides, there are plenty of other things to do besides just sex."

Me: "Ugh, I don't want to hear that!"

D: "I was talking about ice skating and bowling!"

Oh, help me......

Where Does She Get It?

The other day I picked D up from school and we went Christmas shopping. Her friend Little N came along and the two of them talked about every detail of their day, which mostly had to do with boys.

When we stopped at a light, I saw a man begging with a sign and locked my doors. D thought that was exceptionally rude, but I assured her that he didn't hear me do it.

The car in front of us rolled their window down and it looked like they gave him money. The girls started going through their backpacks to see what they had and came up with a candy cane, a gold chocolate coin, and a strawberry candy.

I rolled my window down and motioned for the man to come to the car, telling him that the girls wanted him to have their candy. He got the biggest smile, said "That's awesome!" and then asked if I had a light, which I didn't. No matter, he seemed genuinely excited to be given candy and waved us off saying, "God bless you! Merry Christmas!"

It was actually really nice and felt good. I told the girls, "You just made that guy's day."

And D replied, "Even if we didn't, he might at least have better breath now."

Pigs In Blankets

I have a king-sized bed. I also have two Boston Terriers. Because they are small dogs, one would think that a king-sized bed would easily accommodate the three of us. This would be an incorrect assumption.

Even if it's only me, I sleep on one side of the bed. Reaching over to the nightstand to turn off the light, put my book down, set the alarm, or get a sip of water is just too much exercise to be done in a bed. This habit of mine leaves plenty of room for the dogs. They can stretch out. They can each have their own, separate spaces on the bed.

This doesn't happen.

My Puppy Loves like to sleep right next to me. As in right up against me. Which is kind of nice when I'm really cold, but not so great when I wake up and find myself on the very edge of the bed. With one dog at my torso and one at my legs.

My favorite thing is when they manage to pull the covers over to themselves while laying on top of them so that I'm left with only half covers and I'm cold and can't get their enormous weight to budge.

They also like to sleep under the covers. Especially Remy. If he's not under some type of cover he thinks the world is coming to an end. So several nights a week I am woken by a paw tapping my shoulder, waiting for me to lift the covers so he can find his favorite spot down by my feet.

Oh, wait. My very favorite thing is when Ruby is all snuggled up and I turn over to cuddle with her only to find that it's her butt in my face, not her face. And then she farts.

My sheets are not pretty. They are covered in hair and I know there have been dog butts on my pillows plenty of times. I find eye boogers and other, less-pleasing evidence of dogs if I dare to look closely enough.

You would think that it's time to kick them out. That I would sleep better with them in their own beds. That I would prefer clean sheets to hair and snoring and snorting and farting. You would be wrong, my friend.

Somehow it feels selfish to banish them to crates when I have such a large bed. It's also lonely without them. It's reassuring waking up to their warm bodies, knowing they find as much comfort from my half-covered, frozen, frustrated body. I love their smells and their sighs and their little frito feet. I love opening my eyes to find Ruby's little face next to mine, her look of pure contentment and trust.

Yeah, I pretty much sleep in a giant dog bed.
I wonder if I could teach them how to do laundry.....

He's Here!!

I have news! The baby is here!! Baby Boy has arrived!

I was stuck in a meeting and writing my to-do list after the meeting got completely derailed onto another, even less-interesting subject. Some things were work things, some were not. One of them was to check in with Mom and see if the baby was here because she told me last week that she would be induced on Tuesday of this week.

Got back to my desk to find a voice mail that Baby Boy arrived last night and is perfectly healthy. I am still working on the armoire for Princess so I will be able to see him and report back on how adorably snuggly he is.

In other completely unrelated news, I have discovered the cutest, smallest animal in the world and now I must have one. I want a bumblebee bat. I think he could hang nicely from the top bars in Jellybean's cage and we could let him fly around at night to catch any gross bugs that are in the house. He'd be especially helpful in the summer with mosquitoes.

Hear that, Fat Man? He'd also fit nicely in my stocking.

How to Grow Your Heart Two Sizes

I watched the president's speech in Newtown last night and cried. My heart goes out to everyone in that community. This morning I arrived at work only to find that the first email was from a co-worker whose father is very ill. It's the happiest time of the year and there is far too much sadness. So, so much of it everywhere.

It's very easy for me to get bogged down in that. I think it's hard for a lot of people this time of year, and depression makes it worse because it already tells me that life sucks. "Give up. Go back to bed. Why bother?"

But I decided that this year is going to be different. I've been so tired the last several years that I've made very little holiday effort. I've gone through the motions but my heart hasn't been in it. Most years I've only done it because of D; otherwise I wouldn't have bothered. Then this year I decided to be spirited and to enjoy the holiday. I still haven't baked enough (or at all) or watched enough Christmas movies but I'm in it more than I have been in recent years.

I loved helping our adopted family. It felt so good to be able to help people that really needed it. But then I keep hearing about more people in similar situations and it feels like I haven't done enough. That helping just one family almost isn't worth it when there are SO MANY people that need help. And I would love to help everyone, but I don't have the resources for that. My bank account only stretches so far.

So yesterday I decided to just give thanks to someone else who is doing something on a regular basis. To give them some encouragement to keep going, to know that their efforts are appreciated. They're both "friends" on Facebook.

One happens to be a little Boston Terrier who visits elderly people and sick children and many other people in need in his community. Of course there is a man with a giant heart behind this little dog who deserves most of the credit. I mean, the dog is adorable and obviously helps people, but he can't answer the phone when he's wanted for an appearance or drive himself there. Even though he does have his own motorcycle.

The other is actually a friend of a friend whom I have never met. She got tired of hearing about all of the shelter dogs who never find homes and decided to do something about it. She adopted two dogs herself from high-kill shelters and then floods my newsfeed daily with photos of other dogs whose lives are on the line. I don't mind. I'm glad someone is doing it. When she posted about how she feels like she isn't doing enough and gets discouraged knowing that so many,  many dogs are still put down daily, I had to respond.

I posted messages to both thanking them for what they do. I chose people with dogs because that is my passion. And it took all of maybe 10 minutes. Probably less. They both responded so I knew that they had heard me, but it wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't heard back. The point was to put a little more niceness out in the world. A little encouragement, a little bit of gratitude.

There isn't enough kindness right now. It's easy to get frustrated at long lines in stores and say something snarky about it. But you know what? It's just as easy to be nice to that cashier when it's your turn. Because she's probably dealt with a hundred crabby people and really needs someone to have some patience with her. It's easy to send out a message to someone you know or even don't know and thank them for what they do. Shovel a neighbor's driveway, let someone in line in front of you, leave a bigger tip than normal.

Someone might be on the verge of giving up. Giving up their cause, their plans, even their life. One kind word or act from you could change that. Even if you never know, you'll at least know you've done your best.

Let's do our best today.

Time for Change

Friday's school shooting is still in the headlines and still resonating with parents and will continue to do so. It is unfathomable what that community is going through. It is beyond understanding for me as a parent. I hate that I have to talk to my daughter about it when I have no answers. I hate hearing that her teachers are making escape plans and discussing them with her. I hate that she is now also afraid to go to school. School should be a safe place. A place where kids learn, not just about academics, but about friendship, how the world works, and what it is to grow up. This isn't how the world is supposed to work.

The knee-jerk reaction to this tragedy is gun control. Guns are bad. Guns kill people. I am certainly not advocating for guns. They frighten me and I don't understand the attraction to going out and shooting things up. I didn't grow up with hunters. But I do understand that thousands and thousands of people in this country own guns and those people could never conceive of using them in a way that the alleged killer did. There are people who respect guns and teach everyone around them how to use them properly. So I don't think that guns are the issue. Because happy, well-adjusted people don't take guns into school and take innocent lives just because these weapons are available.

It is time to look at the kinds of individuals that commit these horrendous crimes. What leads them to believe that taking lives, including their own, is the solution? These people are not well. They are also suffering.

I live with depression. For myself and my daughter. I can tell you that it looks very frightening at times. It feels frightening. And while seeing someone have a panic attack can be scary, it's even worse for the person having it. To be unable to leave the body and the mind that feels so uncomfortable leaves one feeling hopeless and trapped.

My daughter seems to struggle more. Whether it's her age or her particular illness, she is having a really hard time. Because she's a girl, she turns her fear and anger and confusion onto herself. As the mother who snuggled her for hours as a baby and relished in her experiences and watching her grow, this breaks my heart. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that I can't change it and make it all magically go away. It confuses me. It feels like my fault. Because I'm her mom, so it has to be, right?

I am going to share something I'd rather not, but in the hope that it helps someone else. I didn't want to believe that she was feeling so bad. I blamed it on hormones and being lazy and spoiled and anything else that could make it her fault, make it a behavior that I could change. I minimize her feelings. I yelled at her. I took away privileges. I pretended it wasn't that bad. She was making it up. I couldn't be the kind of parent whose child has serious issues. I was raised better than that.

Denial is so dangerous.

Because it is that bad. I simply can't ignore it. Not when her therapist tells me it's bad. And her school counselor. Not when she suddenly does something that is so frightening to me I am afraid of really hurting her. I have to admit that there is something wrong. Ignoring it makes it worse. I'm not a perfect parent. And while I've always joked about that, I've never taken it to heart like I have recently. I had to set my ego aside so that I can be there for her. So I can really listen and be able to offer her the love and support she really needs. So I can do everything possible to help her out of the dark places that she gets lost in.

Girls, on average, turn in on themselves. While I worry for her, and hate the things she says and feels about herself, I only have to worry about her, and about my feelings and how to help her. Boys, on the other hand, typically turn all of their anger and confusion and rage outward. And, if D were a boy with the feelings she is having, I would be worried about the people around her. Because these are the kind of people that commit unspeakable acts of violence.

I am not taking away anything from anyone who has been through this experience, but there are other victims in these crimes. How much does a person have to hurt that destroying the lives of others is the only way out they can think of? How many times and in how many ways do they ask for help before this is their last resort?

Because D asked me for help. More than once. I am fortunate enough that I listened before it was too late and there was nothing to listen to.

We, as parents, have to listen to our kids when they ask for help. We have to put aside our own agendas and fears and feelings of failure because our children need us.

Nobody asks for mental illness. Nobody gets it and thinks, "Hey, this is pretty great." And for children, they don't even know what it is. They just know that something is wrong, they don't feel good. That scares them and confuses them. Babies don't understand what hunger is, they just need something and so they cry. Children can't articulate what they're feeling in much the same way.

We, as a society, need to be more empathetic to the disabilities of others. We need to look at a child or a family and recognize that they might need a little more help, rather than turning our backs in irritation or disgust. It is time that we start advocating for mental health. There are no easy answers, but there is a starting point.

Enough is enough. There has been enough loss. Enough sadness. Enough blame. It's time to look for real answers, have some understanding, compassion, and act from kindness. Kindness towards those who are struggling, whether it's an individual with a mental illness or the family members who care about them.

We have a responsibility to each other as basic human beings. Let's humanize this issue so that it doesn't happen to another child or family or community.

My Heart is Breaking

I woke up happy this morning. And then I saw the news. My heart just hurts thinking about those scared little children and the parents who must feel absolutely powerless right now. It's beyond tragic or horrific. There aren't words to describe that amount of anguish and sadness. It just hurts. A lot.

But I was so excited to tell you guys about our family so I'm going to mix in some joy with the sadness as a reminder that there are still enormous amounts of good in the world, that even though we hurt, we ease the pain a bit for others.

A small group of us delivered the tree and gifts to the family last night. When we arrived, Princess was standing and looking out the window. Mom said she had been there for the last hour anxiously awaiting the arrival of the tree.

Oh, the tree. That thing is enormous in their small apartment! It's so big the top is bent against the ceiling and it barely fit into the tree stand. But little Princess loved it and vowed to water it every day.

And she was oh-so-excited seeing all of the presents come in. She counted how many each one of them had and exclaimed, "There's so MANY of them!!" She was priceless.

But my favorite moment came when we brought her little pink bicycle in. Mom's hands flew to cover her face and she had tears sparkling in her eyes. I felt the lump in my throat and the sting in my own eyes seeing how completely surprised and happy she was for her daughter. She said that her daughter had wanted one so badly and yet they hadn't asked us for one. She must have thought it was just a bit too much. It was okay to ask for a toaster, but not a bike.

I had the fullest heart when we left after receiving hugs all around. This was one of the best experiences I've ever had and I am so grateful to have been a part of it. It has truly been invaluable and I am thankful to everyone who was a part of it. A part of giving happiness to a family that I know appreciates it wholeheartedly and with humility.

So, yes, let's take a moment to honor and remember those who are hurting and who have lost unimaginable amounts. They deserve our caring and prayers, hugs and help. But let's also remember that there is good and kindness and love in the world and choose to be a part of that. No matter the damage and harm that can be done by less-than individuals, it can't erase the kindnesses that have been given and the love that has been shared. If anything, we should be more determined to give the love we have, to show which force is stronger and work to overcome those actions that cause harm to our children, our friends, and all of those with love in their hearts.

Family Update and Helping Ideas

After posting both here and on HackBend about my company's adopted family, I have received offers from the community to help out. Granted, it's not the ginormous outpouring I had fantasized about, but it's still very touching and more than this family had hoped for themselves. And so I have an update.

Baby Boy will most likely arrive this week. I saw Mom last week and she was looking really ready to be done with this pregnancy. While there I was so happy to see that they had received a crib and some other furnishings. She's getting lots of clothes for Baby Boy and even Princess had a tv in her room. Mom says that  she's feeling like they really have a home. Isn't that the best gift ever??

Mom and Princess still need clothes. And girls always need shoes. Gift cards to fill in the miscellaneous items or for groceries would be really great. I happened to see the price of diapers at Costco last week and almost fell on the floor. And groceries are an ongoing need. Giving this family a good start in their new life is so rewarding.

Now, I know that there are many other families in the area and across the country that need help. I've just been lucky enough to be involved with one of them. (And one that provides an opportunity for new baby snuggle time!) And I've asked for help with them because I'm so involved and if you want to help them too, that is wonderful! But if you want to help other families that you know of, that is just as wonderful.

Do you not know who to help or how to help? There are so many ways. I've heard that the shelters and soup kitchens are pretty full this time of year so it's hard to get in there. But you know when they need help? All year. So put a day on your calendar in May or August to go help out and donate your time. People are hungry and homeless all year, not just during the holidays.

There are giving trees around town. Summit High School has one for teens in need. Toys for Tots boxes are collecting. Some grocery stores have pre-packed grocery bags you can buy for around $10 to provide a holiday meal. You'll spend more than that on your own holiday ham or turkey.

Here's something I started doing a few years ago that takes very little time and even less money. You know when you go to McDonald's and they ask if you want to donate $1 for their Ronald McDonald houses? Say yes. During December I say yes every time I'm asked at a register for a dollar donation. It might add up to only $20 for me for the month, but if we all did that? How much more could that be? Of course, if it's a charity you're really against, don't do it. But do it far more often than you don't. Because Ronald McDonald houses help families with sick children at a time they most need it. Animal rescues are my biggest passion. I gave a dollar to St.Jude's yesterday. A dollar. When do you not have an extra dollar? I couldn't give a lot last year when I was unemployed, but I still stuck to my December donations. Even then I had an extra dollar that someone else needed more than me.

Help my adopted family, help your neighbor, help a stranger. Just help someone.
Happy Holidays!

Enemy Mine

I have created an enemy. Because I have declared war.

D sort of fell apart in school last year. First we thought it was the mono, and then found out it was depression. At the time her health seemed more important and, unfortunately, her grades took a back seat. Way back. Like back of the bus.

This year we were determined not to let that happen. She even declared that this was going to be her year. Her year of success. And it went well at first. She came home talking about school, describing in excited detail the pig organs that they were dissecting. She was getting an A. In science, of all things!

The Fiddler play was rough. It was a lot of work and she was often tired. I let her sleep in. I even let her skip a class here and there. But I let her because her grades weren't suffering. It seemed like this really could be her year.

And then, all of a sudden, once Fiddler was over, so was she. The exhaustion caught up to her and she just quit. Literally. As in quit going to class. I talked to her. I talked to her teachers. Everyone is willing to help her. Everyone has given her second and third chances. It's up to her now. And she's smart, I know she can do it. I think she has just enjoyed the extra attention a little too much.

She's now in the throes of the Christmas choir season. The special jazz choir she's in is performing gigs all over town. Chamber of Commerce. Old Mill. High Desert Museum. Private parties. It's a lot of work but she's enjoying it. But it's a lot of work and it's all she cares about. And it's a lot of work so she's understandably exhausted. She's tired.

But you know what? So am I. I'm tired of keeping track of everywhere she has to go. I'm tired of getting up early to take her to school because she's too much of a diva to ride the bus. I'm tired of emailing her teachers to make sure she's on track and where she's supposed to be. I'm tired of the excuses. I'm tired of spending money on all of her activities. I'm tired of working, going to school myself, being depressed, and still taking care of her. I'm tired of making dinners she doesn't eat and following up on homework when I have my own to do.

So this morning I turned into That Mom. I did something I never imagined myself doing. I'm still a bit in shock over the whole ordeal.

She wouldn't get up this morning. She was tired, she needed to "rest." What she "needed" to do was play her I'm-a-star-and-deserve-special-treatment role. She wanted to miss her science class yet again. I tried to explain to her that she made the choice to be in this choir and that because she made that choice, things will be harder for her. But there is no reasoning at 6:30 in the morning. And I hadn't had a sip of coffee. So I snapped. I gave her a five-count warning, to be fair. But then I did it. I poured cold water on her bed and on her pillow. Yes. I. Did. That happened.

I wish I had a picture of her face when it happened. Or even mine, because I probably looked totally crazed. She yelled, "That's going to be wet all day now!!!!" I answered back, "Well, it's a good thing we have a dryer in the house."

But she got up. And I bet she gets up again tomorrow.

Yeah, her diva days are over. The excuses are old and used up. There's a new mom in the house and she might not like it. In fact, she'll probably hate me. But maybe she'll thank me when she's 30 and not working at McDonald's.

Maybe.

The Hormone-Induced Junk Food Fest

Ladies, you know how there are certain times that you don't care what you eat even though you know you should? Like you really want to lose weight, but a pan of brownies is just way more appealing? And because you spent the previous three days crying because kittens might get sad? So you're a little vulnerable and that block of cheese looks really sympathetic to your plight?

Yeah, last night was one of those. I went to the store, roamed the aisles for 20 minutes and came home with the following:

garlic-bread pizza
Ruffles potato chips
ranch dip to go with said Ruffles
tortilla chips
Velveeta cheese dip to go with said tortilla chips
chocolate chip cookies filled with gooey caramel (yeah, they're as good as they sound!)
double chocolate ice cream with chocolate stuff added

Was I having a party? Yeah, in my belly! And did that party ever grow!

The wife came over and accused me of making her fat. Hey, join the club.

The boyfriend stopped by briefly as I was putting the dip away. Which is when the guilt crept in.
He: What are you doing?
Me: Oh, nothing.
He: Were you in the kitchen?
Me: Um. Maybe.
He: What were you doing in there?
Me: Uh..... Nothing.
He: What are you hiding?
Me: I'm not. I'm not hiding.... anything.....

I'm hiding my shame, okay? Because I complain about my weight on an hourly basis and then I still get Bad Food. And I don't want to hear that I'm not ready to do anything about it because some days I just can't. Not when it feels like I'm giving birth to a razor-blade baby or crying because one of my socks lost its matching friend or wanting to kill anyone and everyone who uses incorrect grammar on the wrong day.

There are three weeks out of the month that I can try to be good and eat less and eat better and do something that is considered exercise. But that other week? All bets are off. The hormones take over and chocolate chip cookies filled with gooey caramel are little miracle-workers. They complete me. I'm already bloated, so what difference does a bag of salt make? Who cares if I eat enough to feed a small army of pigs?

Yeah, men don't get that. Crazy, robotic-workout-warrior women don't get it (probably because their bodies aren't really female anymore as they have turned their ovaries into muscles). And those super-slim super models? They aren't human either.

But the rest of you? My sisters in suffering? You get it. Now, grab an extra spoon and help me eat this ice cream so I can hide the evidence.

It's Whineter. I Mean, Winter.

I had one of those clothing dilemmas this morning. If you are female, you know what I'm talking about. It's when your bedroom is organized and everything is picked up and then you can't decide what to wear so your room looks like you were robbed during your shower.

I was set on wearing my new boots. So I put on the sweater dress that's warm. But then the tights I wanted to wear didn't match so I tore through all of them but didn't find the color I wanted. So I had to choose something else to go with the tights I do have. Which ends up being less warm than the sweater dress. Which led to this conversation in the bathroom at work:

Co-Worker: How are you?
Me: I'm good! Just cold.
CW: Well, you're wearing a dress.
Me: But I'm also wearing tights and boots and a scarf.
CW: But you're hardly covered from here to here.
Me: I don't care! I am inside!! It should be warm inside buildings! I shouldn't be subjected to freezing temperatures while I'm working! Besides, winter doesn't mean that you have to dress frumpy!! It doesn't mean that you have to look homeless in layers and layers of things that don't match!!! I had to wear these boots and this was all I could find after destroying both closets in my room!!!!

Okay. I didn't really scream that. I didn't even whisper it. I just sort of shrugged my shoulders shamefully and walked out. I could have said it though. It's all perfectly reasonable.

Winter is not my friend.