Mourning

Please, before you even start reading this, realize that this is not a frivolous post. Some may feel that way but I think that most people will relate and sympathize.

My dog, Penny, was hit by a car and killed three nights ago. She was an 8 year old sheltie/German shepherd cross. She was sweet tempered, smart, pretty, and her birthday was the same day as mine. I have three boys--she was my "girl".
I don't know what induced her to leave the back yard and run down the driveway as she rarely spent any more time than was necessary to do her "doodies" and get back inside to her family.
She was hit right at the end of our drive. At least it was quick and painless. Her neck was broken and she was gone by the time I got out to the road after hearing her bark. My oldest son (12) was still up and we cried together. We didn't tell the two younger boys until morning. The middle boy's first words to me that morning were "Where's Penny?" Then there were more tears all around.

We planned a funeral for after school but that meant spending a goodly amount of time digging a big enough hole in hard, clay-rich soil in the back yard. Between the boys and me, we managed to get it dug in a couple hours. Each boy had to pet her again and take a snip of her bright fur before "interment". The body was wrapped and covered with flowers, berries and fragrant spearmint leaves. Everyone sprinkled a handful of dirt and the five year old gave a brief eulogy. The burial commenced.

I will still cry once in a while for, as my brother put it, "It is hard to lose a close family member, especially such a loyal companion," but the burial was good closure.

Racism is a Two Way Street

Life is really heating up in the 'hood and it's got nothing to do with the 90 degree temps. Over the past year this family has put up with strangers coming over to "borrow" things, asking for rides and begging for money. We have had to shut the house up tight and play the TV or stereo loud to cover the thumping of bass boost from the next block over and the yapping dogs in the apartment behind ours. Our assigned parking spaces have been taken innumerable times. One of our cars had graffiti scratched into it and a tire mysteriously flattened overnight.

Last week Blaise (9) came home with a bloody nose. Apparently a bigger boy saw Blaise and his friend Shavion having a mock "slap fight" and didn't think a white boy should be allowed to do that. He started pounding him and before long other boys, "friends" of Blaise's, joined in with the beating or stood passive, watching. Only one came to Blaise's aid. A couple days later Alaric and Diondre (the boy who helped Blaise) were walking along when an adult male yelled to Diondre "Don't hand around with that white boy!" Diondre, much to his credit, ignored him.

Two days ago while taking a morning ride on his bike, Blaise was bitten by one of the dogs that live behind us. It came out of an alley, trotted over to him and attacked, knocking him off his bike. He has three puncture wounds on his calf and some nasty bruises. I was on the phone to animal control within minutes. The next day a control officer came over to inspect the dog owners premises. The owner figured out what was going on and came over to OUR house, following the officer and telling him how our boys tormented her dogs, etc., etc. (Yeah, right....) He told her if she had a problem she could take it to court; he was there to inspect the home. ( Alaric was especially miffed by the woman's blurb because he had, just days before, admonished her grandson, (the boy who started beating Blaise,) to stop pulling the dog's ears and jerking its head around. He said the boy replied, "I can do whatever I want--it's my dog.")

Given the fact that half the neighborhood seems to be related in some way and seems to be getting more aggressive I think that we had better move to our new place quickly before someone really gets burned.

Insomnia: NOT an author's friend

I have, for some reason, been having a really hard time sleeping lately. Could be the heat, new diet pills, stress, whatever. My brain simply doesn't want to shut down at night. With all that extra time between turning in at eleven 'o something and falling asleep around two 'o something, I began planning all my new blog entries. I had at least four ready to type out but waited until the morning. Well, guess what? Next morning all of those well thought out discourses and bits of wit and wisdom faded with the rising sun. The only memory I had was of something to do with a reply to my kids' questions about what happens to pets when they die. Last night I had all the answers. This morning I just want a cola.

Shrinking focus, Growing faith

With school out for the summer and three boys underfoot, I made up my mind to have a go at being "Super Mom". I planned on going to the park twice a week, the library at least once per week and the cheap theater every Tuesday as long as there were good G and PG offerings. We would experiment with new crafts at home and have a schedule for computer time and chores so no one could complain of unfair treatment and, oh yes, we would go camping once a month. So far things have gone perfectly.

HA HA HA HA hahaha HOOeee! Gotcha! What a whopper! We did go the library and the movies twice and the park once but nothing else has gone "right". The house is always messy, there are loads of arguments about who has computer time coming and who is 'way over the limit. An organized craft time has yet to occur and may never happen if I can't find my supplies. I wanted to do all sorts of wonderful life enriching activities with my kids but end up spending a great deal of time fretting over bills and packing (I think we're moving in a couple weeks but am not sure--more stress--argh!) and hot muggy weather and fat legs that look bad in shorts.
My mother-in-law, bless her, called me today with her usual message, "Don't worry, God knows what He's doing," and "Everything will work out." I was able to shrink my focus to the positives: I am spending time with my kids. We play board games and card games and I do take them with me most places I go. We have a place to live and no neighbors immediately on either side of us. We've never gone hungry (and if we did it would speed up the weight loss we all need.)

We can't deny that negative things do happen but we CAN focus on what God has done for us. His spectrum of blessings is tremendous! The next step is realizing that His love and care will never be withheld. Greater faith and contentment should be a natural outgrowth but we must never lose our focus on Him.

Manic-Depressive Community?

Ok, my sabbatical is over and I need to write again. This time the creative juices were (again) stirred by my neighbors. Could there be such a thing as a manic/depressive community? Although there are exceptions, I think the majority of the people around here live on extremes. They are either morose, alone or together, mumbling secretively in some 'hood dialect, or talking and laughing at an excessive decibel level, probably needed to carry over the sound of their car stereos and amplified bass boost.
My children's vocabulary has suffered by living here where conversations best left private are aired in a volume commonly associated with crowds at a football game. Even the most innocuous things like the "Happy Birthday" song seemed to get warped here. Two nights ago a backyard neighbor was screaming the words in something that in no way resembled "happy".

When we move from here, my ultimate dream would be to take a 6 month vacation to somewhere in England, (the "land of impeccable manners"), where I could immerse my family in a culture of well moderated voices, precise speech, simple courtesy and gain a fresh appreciation of the English language.

Kindness Remembered

I've been thinking a lot lately about how the effects of little acts of kindness may linger long after the deed is done. In fact, I am reminded almost daily about one in particular.

After Scott moved to Indy and before the kids and I did, we made many, many trips to Goodwill as we were packing and cleaning. On one especially hectic day I had all three boys in the van with me as we were dropping off a load. I had just set down the last bag at the dock and was heading back to the van (whose doors were open) and listening to the loud arguing issuing forth when a lady carrying two covered pails stopped me. "Are those your boys?", she asked. "Yes, (sigh)". "Here, I think you could make good use of these," she said, handing the pails to me. They were FULL of Lego pieces; all sorts of people, animals, vehicle parts, building bases, you name it. She smiled at me and walked back to her car as I stammered out my thanks for this unbelievable gift.

Now, as I watch my kids build space ports and condos and castles and futuristic cars and dinosaurs and ...a lot more...I appreciate more clearly the beauty and value of kindness.

The next Survivor challenge

Though I, personally, do not watch Survivor it is impossible to ignore its impact on American culture. People band together to watch it, have Survivor-themed parties, discuss it in heated conversations with friends or even total strangers and myriads of references to it have been inserted into the public media. I guess that I can see some appeal to this "reality" business but for Pete's sake, how "real"--relevant to the general populace--is it to see a bunch of people on some tropical island doing things that we will probably never be asked to do? I propose this challenge, which I found on the web:


Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 3 kids each for six weeks.

Each kid will play two sports and either take music or dance classes.

There is no fast food.

Each man must take care of his 3 kids; decorate and keep his assigned house clean and presentable at all times, (including the yard in which he shall plant flowers,) correct all homework, complete science projects, cook, do laundry and pay a list of "pretend" bills with not enough money. In addition, each man will have to budget in money for groceries each week.

Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives, and send cards out on time. Each man must also take each child to a doctor's appointment, a dentist appointment and a haircut appointment. He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to the Urgent Care (weekend, evening, on a holiday or right when they're about to leave for vacation). He must also make cookies or cupcakes for a social function.

Each father will be required to know all of the words to every stupid song that comes on TV and the name of each and every cartoon character. The men will only have access to television when the kids are asleep and all chores are done. There is only one TV between them, and a remote with dead batteries.

The men must shave their legs, wear makeup daily, which they will apply to themselves either while driving or making three lunches. Each man will have to make an Indian hut model with six toothpicks, a tortilla and one marker; and get a 4 year old to eat a serving of peas. Each man must adorn himself with jewelry, wear uncomfortable yet stylish shoes, keep their nails polished and eyebrows groomed. The men must try to get through each day without snot, spit-up or barf on their clothing.

During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps, back aches, and have extreme, unexplained mood swings but never once complain or slow down from other duties. They must try to explain what a tampon is for when the 6-yr old boy finds it in a purse.

They must attend weekly school meetings, church, and find time at least once to spend the afternoon at the park or a similar setting. He will need to read a book and then pray with the children each night without falling asleep, and then feed them, dress them, brush their teeth and comb their hair each morning by 7:00 am. They must leave the home with no food on their faces or clothes.

A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each father will be required to know all of the following information: each child's birthday, height, weight, shoe size, clothes size and doctor's name. Also the child's weight at birth, length, time of birth, and length of labor, each child's favorite color, middle name, favorite snack, favorite song, favorite drink, favorite toy, biggest fear and what they want to be when they grow up.

They must clean up after their sick children at 2:00 a.m. and then spend the remainder of the day tending to that child and waiting on them hand and foot until they are better.

They must have a loving, age appropriate reply to, "You're not the boss of me".

The kids vote them off the island based on performance. The last man wins only if...he still has enough energy to be intimate with his spouse at a moment's notice. If the last man does win, he can play the game over and over and over again for the next 18-25 years...eventually earning the right to be called Mother!

An Up and Coming Star?

Well, mixed in with all the unpleasantness of not yet selling our home and cars needing repairs and unexpected medical bills and Blaise's troubles in school comes a ray of blessed sunshine.

Two weeks ago, on a whim, I responded to an ad in the paper asking for kids ages 4-17 to come in and audition for the chance to work for places like Kohl's and Target doing modeling. After a very informative 1 1/2 hours of learning about the modeling business and what it takes and meeting a "headhunter" from a big casting agency, the kids were individually interviewed and filmed reading commercials for either Skippy p-butter or Levi's 501's. When that was done, we were handed a paper with a phone number for the agency and told to call precisely at the time listed on the card the following day.
On Sunday, just after arriving home from church, I called the number and was told that they had good news and bad news. Camber and Alaric had potential but were not what they needed. Then she said, "Blaise!...oh my gosh Blaise...you knew what you were doing when you brought him in, didn't you?" They loved him and he ended up being one of only 2 kids (out of about 45-50) who was offered a contract. He is now in a performing arts academy to learn the business and "develop himself professionally".

The upshot of all this? Blaise finally feels like he is okay being himself. After all, he was told repeatedly that that is what they loved about him--"he is so comfortable in his own skin" and "he has so much energy". Of course, the red hair and freckles helped. He is excited about the possibility of having a "career" and being able to earn more than what a paper route could pay. Amazingly, his schoolwork has improved dramatically in the past week. He is eager to get things done and believes in his own abilities. If he continues to work this hard on everything we really will have a star on our hands!