Halloween in June ...

... or, "A dreary, rainy, yucky day with two bored children." Break out the costumes. Today's character of choice is Batman ... and Batgirl, or rock chick (Aidan's Batman glasses). I'm a little desperate today.

Happy Birthday, Jack!

I remember hearing people joke that before couples have children, they get a dog --I guess to practice or whatever. I suppose we are guilty of that, making our first "child" our Beagle, Jack. OK, people, a little indulgence here -- I'm a sucker for animals, especially dogs ... my dog. Today is his birthday, a whopping 8 years old (or 56 in human years). I'll never forget when we got our middle-aged pal, because the decision to become dog owners wasn't actually ours. We were living in our first "real" house (purchased ourselves -- our brief two-year stint with home ownership, equity, and all those other big grown-up words associated with it), and one day in late July my father-in-law called to say a neighbor was selling off his litter of Beagle puppies. He was thinking of getting one (he's a long-time hunter) and wanted to know if we were interested (in the dog, not in the hunting). We said we would have to think about it -- I mean, that's a pretty big decision. We both adore animals, but while Don grew up with Beagles and was familiar with dog-ownership, I never had one (despite my constant childhood pleas, and my parents' equally firm replies to the negative). I, on the other hand, had hamsters (even had one in seminary) -- something very different than owning a dog. We just weren't sure this was the right time for us.

Well, like I said, the decision ultimately wasn't ours. My father-in-law called back the next day, saying he purchased two puppies, the last of the litter -- one for him, and one for us. Now I absolutely love dogs, but I was not sure I was ready for this -- and I certainly do not like having decisions made for me. But, as Tony Soprano would say, "Whaddaya gonna do ..." Indeed. So in those following weeks I made the necessary purchases of all things related to dogs, I made the necessary phone calls to friends who had dogs for quick over-the-phone tips on what the heck I was getting myself into and what the heck I was supposed to do, and in the first week of August we packed up the car and headed toward our destiny in the Poconos.

We drove to the neighbor's place and I have to admit I was really appalled at the conditions. The father -- a gorgeous, perfect Beagle and a renowned hunter -- was chained to a post, while the mother was locked in what looked like a large rabbit hutch, crammed in there with her remaining two puppies. The cage was disgustingly filthy, with more dog poop on the floor than visible flooring. There was only one bowl of food, apparently shared by the entire litter, with the mother eating last. From what we were told, all the local hunters came and with their infinite wisdom picked the best puppies for their upcoming hunting expeditions. I'm not sure why no one chose Mike (who went to my in-laws -- he ended up being a total doofus, a spaz of a dog, but very cute in a simpleton sort of way. So much for the great hunter), but Jack was the runt. He was timid, was glued to his mother, and was the last to eat (and therefore a bit smaller than the others). Everyone dismissed him as a "loser" and not worth his salt in the hunting world. That was perfectly fine with us -- we weren't going hunting, and a quiet beagle was perfect. I fell in love with him the minute I saw him. At 8 weeks old, he was all eyes and ears. Taking him from his mother, though, was one of the most heart-breaking experiences of my life. He cried, she cried, I cried ... it was awful. But I knew we couldn't leave him there in that filthy place, so we held him up one last time -- he on the outside of the coop, she on the inside -- they cried and touched noses, and off we went. It was truly heart-breaking.

Jack was a dream dog in many ways: fairly easy to train (except in the food department -- you will never get that out of a beagle), very quiet, lovable to the point of being clingy, sweet disposition. He's been a friend, a companion, a stress-reliever -- everything you always hear about in a good dog. And the most ironic thing is that out of the entire litter, he's the best hunter, as far as instinct goes. We aren't "hunting people" (Don is reformed), but even on a calm lazy walk his instinct kicks in. His muzzle is starting to turn white, he's slowing down, but from time to time we'll see a burst of puppy energy. Don's childhood Beagle lived to be 16 years old, so I'm hoping we have many years left ahead of us. He's a wonderful dog, and a huge part of our life.

Happy birthday, buddy. We're glad you're a part of our family.

She said it!

I've been waiting for this a long, long time. About an hour ago I was scuffling around on the floor with my daughter, tickling and giggling and hugging and making silly noises. I grabbed her in a big cuddle, with lots of kisses, and said, "I love you!"

She finally answered. "I yuv you."

Sweet, sweet sounds.

The irony in all of this? Now I am ready to wring her beautiful little neck. Dr. Jekyll has instantaneously morphed into Mr. Hyde in front of my eyes. This sweet girl is now screaming this horrible "I-am-officially-in-the-terrible-twos" kind of scream, she's blatantly disobeying and knows it (offering us a cute little smile and giggle, thinking it will pacify us), she's trying to climb up the ladder to their new bunk bed (knowing full well that's off limits to her) and thrashes her strong little body when we take her down. Those words I had longed to hear have been wiped away with one quick swoop as my blood pressure rises. Her screams are predictable, and the sound grates on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. Being a parent is truly the most complex job on the planet, with emotions simultaneously including sheer love and intense dislike -- a combination that is absolutely impossible yet completely expected. I guess God feels this way too -- loving us completely, desiring to hear those longed-for words, "I yuv you," but feeling that same slap in the face when in that same breath we scream our little lungs out because we're not getting our way. Multiplied by 5,000. Interesting.

Now she's standing on top of the overturned laundry basket, wearing the sweetest little pink gingham seersucker dress, with a big watermelon collar across her neckline, eating raisins out of a cup. Yes, no matter what, "I yuv you too," baby Grace.

Best Laid Plans (Why bother)

Confucius had it wrong when he said, "Plan ahead, or find trouble on the doorstep." I planned ahead. I am a planner. But lately my carefully planned schemes end up bombing. I'm not even talking "life plans" or anything big like that -- if I've learned anything on this insane journey, it's to bag any of those plans right away. No, I'm talking something much simpler, much less complicated. First, we decided to buy a ceiling fan a little while back, and what should have been installed in about 20 minutes took an entire stinking day! This was followed by my painting plans from the other week: my children's bedroom is now neon lime, rather than the pleasant softer shade I had imagined. I should have stopped there, but noooooo ... I planned to put bunk beds in their room, and the plan became very specific: set up the bunk beds, take out the bottom bunk, slide Grace's crib underneath, and voila! Yes, Mr. C., I planned ahead. But trouble found my doorstep anyway. Again.

It didn't work. My plan for the bunk bed, that is. How the bunk bed came into our possession was miraculous. I told my friend Jacie of my plan, she called over the fence to her neighbor, who was trying to get rid of her bunk bed, and another voila! They even delivered it the other night to our house, and it was exactly the kind of bed that I wanted. Man, I am on a roll here! On Saturday morning Don cleaned it, and our first plan was to bring it into the house as two separate twin beds (as it came delivered), and then simply pop one on top of the other. I guess there was just way too much hubris action on my part. That plan failed, since we have small rooms and a few twists and turns to get there. We ended up taking a good deal of it apart, and a quick half hour plan turned into a two hour ordeal.

Finally we got the beds in place and it looked great in the room. But here's the problem: it's a shorter version (which is good), but Grace's crib wouldn't fit underneath. Their little 8' x 9' bedroom (or something like that) is now more cluttered than ever, with a bunk bed and a crib. They were cramped before -- now it's ridiculous. Both Don and Aidan wanted to leave it up. Can I morph into MacGuyver and create something to solve the problem? My mind went into frantic overdrive, trying to find some way to raise the bed, giving us enough room to slide the crib underneath. I was completely stumped.

Thankfully the problem has been solved. After a visit to Bed Bath & Beyond yesterday, we bought a package of hefty plastic cones -- bed lifts -- which raised the structure a good 7 inches. Grace's crib slides under just fine, although unfortunately she cannot stand up without bumping her head. Oops. Last night they slept that way for the first time, and for about an hour and a half I heard lots of giggles. At least no one was crying, so that's a good sign. But our entire day was spent dealing with this simple, uncomplicated plan!

My next "planned project" is outdoors, chopping away at the grass to extend our longest flower bed. I'm a little afraid. But at least the kids' room is completely finished ... finally.

FAILED!

We bought our first new car in October. Up until then we always had used cars, the latest having been a 1997 Volvo wagon which served us very, very well. However, it was in the process of biting the dust and we had no choice but to dive into a big purchase. We decided to go with something brand new because used "family cars" really weren't any cheaper. Plus, we were in a strange dilemma: we did not want a mini-van, nor did we want an SUV. So ... what's left? Not much. Enter the Ford Freestyle, one of the first "cross-overs" -- a van, an SUV, and a wagon all rolled into one. It was perfect. But I have to admit I was incredibly leery about purchasing a Ford. I had heard way too many negatives that outweighed the positives. But beggars can't be choosers. We got a phenomenal deal, and the car was ours. We absolutely love it.

Fast forward half a year, a measly 7 months: today. Don had to get the car inspected (part of our induction into becoming NJ residents) and he just called me, laughing. "Guess what?" he said. Somehow, I just knew in my gut what he was going to say. "The car failed inspection!"

Unbelievable. It's brand-stinking-new! It was some data converter that not only isn't working, it just doesn't work -- period. Never did, apparently. The upside to this -- having a brand new car failing -- is that we have to take it to the dealer, get the thing fixed (for free, under warranty) and then bring it back for re-inspection within 45 days.

But still ... come on! Thank you, Ford, for your outstanding craftsmanship. I'll scuff my feet on the ground for a while, but in the end ... I really do love my car. (Oh, but still!!!!)

School Woes (Mine)

I believe I am turning into one of those pesky parents that call their child's school constantly over every issue imaginable. My big hang-up is (as usual) money -- the school's need of it and my lack of it. Well, not lack ... just a need to hang on to it, as every proverbial penny does indeed count. When we moved here on the first of February, I scrambled to find Aidan a new school, since he was abruptly torn from his other one (trigger, trigger). I was very thankful that I was able to find one, mid-year -- a good preschool at my youngest brother's church. They sent their kids there, and my sister-in-law arranged everything for me. He now attends three days a week (W-F) in the afternoon. While to me it seems rather expensive, I have discovered that it's clearly an average expectation around these parts.

Here's my dilemma: I feel gypped. Aidan started class during the latter half of February. However, with several snow days and a holiday thrown in there, he was actually in the classroom for a measly 4 days. $193 for 4 days. Ouch. I paid the bill and didn't say anything.

Now we're into June and I'm facing a similar dilemma. His last day of class is Thursday, June 7 which means, again, this is only a 3-day month for him. $193 for 3 days. Again, ouch. My sister-in-law encouraged me to call the director, believing that she would waive this last payment considering the situation. But I've been so hesitant to do it -- I hate calling. I've called the director about 4 or 5 times already over various other money issues -- all of which were cleared up easily in a conversation -- but still ... I don't want to be a nit-picky parent who rings up every time I get an invoice. I just get incredibly uncomfortable when I talk about stuff like this. I mean, every other parent has to pay June' s tuition, and it's not their fault my son had to start mid-year, so why do I feel I should be exempt? Ugh. I don't like this at all. But I also don't like my meager bank account to be emptied of $386 for 7 days (or rather, about 17 hours) of kiddie school. Aidan has a potential two more years at this school -- I don't want to blow it so early in the game. And yet my questions are valid, they are mine. Ugh - talk about a fork in the road!

Forgiveness, Cont'd

Oh, oh, oh! Another amazing chapter in "The Art of Forgiving" -- so good, in fact, that I couldn't put the book down and have now finished the entire thing. The final chapter is called "Forgive and Remember," stating the obvious -- that while forgiving is imperative to healing, it does not erase the past. But the hope is this: "forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future." The author then listed some guidelines about how this all works, two of which jumped out at me:

- We remember the good parts of the bad past. We start to view the past through the lenses of the good that has come out of it. We see the past with healed eyes. He recalled the Biblical story of Joseph, mistreated by his brothers and sold as a slave. Years went by, he was finally reunited with his brothers who indeed bowed down to him, and Joseph said, "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good." Forgiveness didn't wipe out what they did to him, or negate the severity of their abuse. They weren't let off the hook (this is where I keep getting stuck). But rather Joseph chose to remember the good that came from it. "Forgiving only helps us to remember the positive things that follow it." This is very good to know and recognize, but I'm not there yet. I still feel my heart break when I even hear the name of the town mentioned. I still feel nauseous when I hear the name of the church. There are just too many losses right now, too much grieving, too many dear, dear friends left behind. But at least now I have hope that I'll get there, some day ...

- We remember with sadness. Forgiveness doesn't remove the scars completely, and sometimes thinking about what happened feels like those scars are being ripped open again and again. "It is so when a person forgives and the stitches are torn open by a remembrance of past wrongs. She can feel the healed pain again and be glad for the moment's connection with the past; it reminds her how good it is to be healed." I'm not there yet either, but again -- I pray that I'll get there.

Backing up a bit, the previous chapter was equally helpful, "When We Are Not Sure We Have Done It," basically cutting you some slack, taking the pressure off. You believe you have forgiven the person who has wounded you, yet you still feel anger, you still feel some satisfaction when you hear of something bad happening to them, you still feel pain when you recall the past. His advice:
- Be patient. Forgiving is a journey, a process -- it doesn't happen like flicking a light switch. Clearly.
- Expect some relapses. Yep -- check.
- Stay angry. This was for me. It's OK to still feel anger after you've forgiven. "Forgiving is not anti-anger ... The enemy of forgiving is hate, not anger. Anger is aimed at what persons do. Hate is aimed at persons. Anger keeps bad things from happening again to you. Hate wants bad things to happen to him. Anger is the positive power that pushes toward justice. Hate, by that token, is the negative force that pushes us toward vengeance." I'm glad there's a fine line there, something to keep in mind.

I have to recognize, too, that there's a great chance this will all be one-sided. When we left back in January, only one person had the courage to meet with us (separately) and ask for our forgiveness. One person. It was very, very difficult to meet with him but I'm glad I did. I do believe I was able to forgive him. But I'm not expecting any thing more, and I have to be OK with that.

Thank you, Judy, for this powerful book. I couldn't have read this a few months ago. I'm glad I can read it now. I do feel the journey has commenced, but there are definitely parts of it that I am not yet ready to embrace. I wonder if I will even know it when the time comes.