We let Willow go…

And to all my naysayers I say, “HA!” Didn’t think I could do it, huh? Who am I kidding…I didn’t think I could do it.

When the perspective new “parents” came over to meet Willow, she started barking at the husband like he was a mass murderer. “Uh, oh…” I thought, “she’s gonna have to live with us forever. Either that or she’s right and we’ll all be dead by morning.” I gave the man some food and watched as he skillfully lured her in with it. Before too long, Willow was sitting on his lap snuggling up to him like a long-lost lover. “Traitor!” I thought to myself. Part of me jealous, the other part relieved. This couple had just lost their dog of 17 years. They needed to be healed just as much as Willow did. Just as we needed it a year ago when we lost Dublin and adopted Wickette.

We filled out the paper work, told them Willow’s likes, dislikes and warnings (Don’t even THINK about trying to take her Greenie away!) then got ready to say our goodbyes.

“Nate, Zeke…Willow’s leaving, come say goodbye.”

“BYYYYYE!”

“Thanks, Zeke. Next time put down the Legos and don’t scream across the whole house, please.”

“Nate? Nate? Are you crying? Oh, my goodness…come here, Sweetie…”

“I’M VERY SAD THAT WILLOW IS LEAVING!!!”

“I am too. It’s sad AND happy, don’t you think? Look how happy her new Mom and Dad are!”

“Yeah. But how come they get to be happy and we have to be sad?”

“Well, I’m happy that we helped save Willow and I’m happy we helped her find her new forever home and I’m happy….”

“Why don’t you help ME be happy?”

“I’m trying Nate…really, really trying…Hey! I have an idea…do you want to take a photo with Willow so you can look at it whenever you miss her?”

“Uh, huh, OK…ZEKE! Come here and take a photo with Willow!”

“WHY? I’m not sad…you are!”

“Zeke, can you please come take a photo with Nate and Willow? Thank you.”

We all (except Zeke, of course) watched the new family drive off with Willow. I heard Nate sniffling as he buried his head into my stomach. I started to cry, too. My sweet, sensitive Nate. I flashed to all the heartbreaks he would feel in his lifetime. I hugged him a little tighter, hoping it would somehow help him though this one and all the others to come.

“Mommy?”

He looked up at me with his big, beautiful, brown eyes and through his tears said,

“I think I just figured out (sniff) how to make myself feel better…”

“You did? I’m so glad, Nate. What is it?”

“I would feel soooo much better (sniff) if I could play the Wii game for a couple of hours.”

“Hmmm…imagine that.”

(Sigh…)

 

 

I hired a “smell guy”…

“Mark, what is that smell?!!”

“I didn’t do it!”

“No! Not that kind of smell…it’s coming from the laundry room…it smells like when the Diaper Genie was full and needed to be emptied.”

“That’s pretty specific. Let me smell it. (sniff) Ugh! It smells like a dead something. Something died.”

“In my laundry room!? What would die in my laundry room?”

“Something that was done being alive.”

“Great. Thanks. Got any leads, Dick?”

“Excuse me?!!!”

“Dick. Short for Detective.”

“Uh huh. Nice. Hey! Look at the time… I gotta go to work, (smooch) have a nice day.”

“MARK! You can’t leave me with that smell! What am I supposed to do?”

“Call me when you find it.”

“My hero.”

I did have a theory: Last week I hired an awesome company, Dryer Vent Wizard to come out and clean my vents. (Ha! That sounded waaay more fun than it actually was.) I thought maybe since all the lint was gone, an animal/critter/monster was able to crawl down the vent. I probably “cooked” it with the dryer heat! Ewwww.

I called the lovely people at DVW and told them the situation. They informed me (much to my dismay) that it was a definite possibility and had happened several times before. Double ewwwww. He promised to come out within the hour.

Robert (you get to call the man who cleans your vents by his first name) walked into the laundry room and stopped short like he had hit a brick wall. “That’s a rat! I’d know that smell anywhere!” Really? Oh, come on!!! I have a rat in my house? I would’ve jumped out the window, but rarely can you kill yourself out a first-floor window. Besides…I didn’t want to add to the smell.

“Do you think it came in the newly cleared vent, Robert?”

“That’s possible, Ma’am…I’ll run the line up and check.”

“Thank you…and please don’t call me Ma’am – where I come from, that means old.”

Robert runs the line up the vent and calls me back into the stench-pit.

“It’s clean. You see that? If there was a dead bird, there’d be feathers and blood on it; if it was a squirrel, there’d be squirrel skin and blood on it; if it were a…”

“I GET IT! The vent is clear. Thanks, Robert.”

“Yes, Ma’am…uh, young lady. Maybe it’s on top of your cabinets, I’ll take a look.”

“Thanks, I’ll grab my grocery bag down out of your way…”

I pulled the bag down and a million gnats and flies flew out!

“AAAAHHHHHH!!!”

“You found it!”

“You think?”

Inside my fancy, insulated, expensive grocery bag was a week-old bag of now-unfrozen shrimp. Twenty-four, jumbo, deveined $15.99 a bag, shrimp.

(Sigh…)

“Well, thanks for coming out, Robert. How much do I owe you?”

“No problem. Don’t worry about it.”

I gave Robert 20 bucks. He earned it. Just for staying in the room with that smell for as long as he did.

I texted Mark:

“Hey…can you cancel our dinner reservations for tonight…sushi not sounding yummy anymore.”

 

Drum roll, please….

NO POOP ON MY PORCH TODAY!!!!!

HORAH!!

Either my sign worked, or they’re still plotting their next move.

I would give a thousand bucks to have seen their face when they walked up with a fist full of dog poop and read my sign.

(evil giggle)

Side note:

When Zeke was reading the sign, he read, “clog poop” because I didn’t connect my “d” very well.

“Mommy, what’s clog poop?”

“It says dog poop, Zeke.”

“No it doesn’t. That’s a ‘c l’ that makes the sound kkklllll  ooo ggg -clog.”

“Yes, you’re right. I didn’t connect the lines in my ‘d’ very well.”

“Maybe you should come to school and do the letter-writing works today, Mommy.”

“Yeah, maybe I should, Zeke.”

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Zeke?”

“You never told me what clog poop was.”

(Sigh…)

 

Passive / agressive dog poop…

Not everyone is a dog person. I get that. But what kind of sad and miserable life must you have had to become such a vindictive, curmudgeon that you feel the need to bag up dog poop and place it on someone’s doorstep?! I mean, come on!!!!

First, I should tell you that I am a militant pooper-scooper. I carry doggie poop-bags in a cute little designer poop-bag tote. I have given MANY  people lectures on what dog poop can do to our water system if left in our yards. My boys can bag a poop in 4.5 seconds flat. (Yes, we timed them…how else do you get kids to pick up poop if it’s not a game / competition?)

Having said that, I can tell you that beyond a shadow of a doubt…that dog poop was NOT left by Wickette or our new foster.

Even though I know that, it bugs me to no end that someone in my neighborhood thinks I let my dogs do a poop-n-dash.

IT WASN’T ME!!! (er…I mean…my dogs)

At least this dope left the poop in a bag. (That’s the passive part) I guess it could’ve been worse, a Texas couple was SHOT and killed by their neighbor over dog poop. Get a life, people!

I decided to just suck it up and let the poop-vigilanty get out their hostility, albeit misplaced, UNTIL…I woke up this morning to find a SECOND bag left on my porch! OK, the gauntlet has been thrown:

 

I have to tell you that was NOT my first draft. I had to rewrite it when I remembered that my sons would be reading it when they got home from school. I’m just not ready to explain what certain words mean in the grown-up world.

PS The poop is so small, I don’t even think it’s dog poop. I think this ignoramus is actually leaving raccoon poop on my porch. DUH!!!

 

We’re foster parents!

We got an email from our friends at Poodle and Pooch Rescue with this photo:

 

They were asking families that had adopted from them before, if anyone had room in their homes and hearts to foster her while they looked for her “forever family”.

Are you kidding me?!! How can you say “no” to that face? My ovaries replied to the email, “We’ll do it!” And quicker than you can say, “Estrogen-induced impulse-response”, she was here.

FOS’-TER (verb) 1. To nurture and rear a dog with full intent to be a temporary guardian. 2. To spend tons of money on new pet “stuff” 3. To convince husband, “It’ll only be for a week or two.”

From the Latin: SUCKER. To be sucked into thinking you will ever be able to give this ball of love away.

Usage: “I will foster this dog for a week…then adopt her.”

 

Will they or won’t they? Stay tuned.

 

When my son asks for help…

“Mommy… can you help me please?”

“Sure, Zeke! What do you need?”

“I can’t find my white Clone Trooper helmet for my Lego guy.”

“The white Clone Trooper helmet that’s the size of a pea located somewhere in that pile of Legos the size of a haystack?”

“I really need it, Mommy…PLEASE?”

“OK, Zeke…Is this it?”

“No! That’s a Snow Trooper helmet! Mommy, you’re so silly.”

“You’re not the first one to tell me that, Zeke…Is this it?”

“NOOO! That’s a Lego Mime beret hat!”

“Of course it is…Is this it?”

“NOOOO! Mommy! That’s a Ninja hat from Ninjago Masters of Spinjitzu!”

“Oh, sorry but there are hundreds of white helmets in here, Zeke!”

“Never mind Mommy, that’s OK. I’ll find it myself. Can you just go to the kitchen and get me a snack please?”

Great. Now my 5 year old is treating me like a dumb housewife from a 1950′s sitcom.

Curse you, Legos!…

(Sigh…)

 

Bathroom “talk” at 1 am….

“Mommyyyyyy…..I have to go pottyyyyyy…”

“OK, Zeke – I’m coming.”

I’m quite used to the 1 am potty break my kids have written into their contract riders. They LOVE them. I think it’s not so much about the potty, but more about the alone-time with Mommy. They know that asking questions will prolong the nightlight-illuminated snuggle time, so I’m usually prepared for the inquisition. Not last night. I was definitely NOT prepared for last night’s topic. Maybe it was stepping in the puddle on the carpet that threw me off (Wickette!!!!) but more likely it was the topic.

I was on my knees, cleaning the wet spot while Zeke was going potty. Out of the corner of my eye I see him waddle out of the bathroom with his Pajama bottoms around his ankles. I’m afraid to look up. Nothing good ever comes from pants around the ankles. So, I keep my head down and scrub a little harder hoping somehow that will make what’s about to happen, not happen.

Wishful thinking. As I’m scrubbing a hole in the carpet, I hear the one phrase that strikes fear in every parent’s heart:

“Mommy, what’s this?”

A voice in my head screams, “DON’T LOOK UP!!” I tried not too, but it was like a car wreck…you just have to. There, standing in front of me, is my 5 year old son with a hand full of boy parts.

“Mommy!!! What is this?”

“That’s your penis, Zeke…you know that.”

“NOOO…THIS!”

“Oh, eh, hem…that? That would be your scrotum…now let’s go wash your hands…”

“Socrum?”

“S-C-R-O-T-U-M” I sound out for him, trying desperately not to laugh or sound weird.

“Scrotum. OK….(long pause)….but what’s inside the scrotum? I feel two little balls or something.”

“Ohhh Kayyyy, well….those are your testicles. You have two of them, right?”

“Yup. Oooonnneee, twwwoooo…(dreaded pause)…what are they for?”

“Weeeelllll….you have those in case you want to be a Daddy someday.”

“OH! And girls have testicles in case they want to be a Mommy?”

“Well, no. Girls and boys have different parts. Boys have parts to be Daddies, and Girls have parts to be Mommies.” I stammered, wiping sweat from my brow.

“Oh. What parts do girls have?”

(loud screaming in my head, accompanied by hair pulling and sweating…lots of sweating)

“Uhmmm…well…girls have a vagina, uterus and ovaries.” I said as casually as a freaked-out person could.

As Zeke’s mouth was forming his next life-altering question, Nate appears from his room like a life-raft thrown to save me:

“Hey, what are you guys talking about…and why is Zeke holding his tenders?”

“Nate, this is my scrotum!”
“I know. I have one too.”

“You need this to be a Daddy.”

“AWKWARD!!! Mommy, did you know these two holes in my nose are NOT called holes? They’re called nostrils!”

“Really, Nate? That’s good to know.” Hoping beyond hope that this comment would derail Zeke’s train of questions…

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Zeke.”

“Some people have a Mommy and a Daddy and some people have just a Mommy or just a Daddy.”

“That’s right. And guess what? Some people have 2 Mommies and some people have 2 Daddies!” (Did I really just open that can of worms?)

“Wow! And do some people have 2 Mommies and 2 Daddies?”

“Yes, some Mommies and Daddies decide not to live together anymore and they marry other people…”

“And some people have 1 Daddy and 7 Mommies!”

“Yes, but that’s only in rural Utah…”

“What?”

“Never mind. It’s REALLY time for bed, Zeke.”

(Sigh.)

 

The facts of life…?

When Nate was 5 and Zeke was 2, we took them for what we thought would be a fun-filled day at the zoo. We were wrong.

Now, I’m telling you this story because I wish someone would have told me. SPRING is not a good time to take your kids to the zoo. Lots of questions will be asked if you go in the SPRING – questions you won’t be prepared to answer:

“Mommy? What’s that camel doing?”

“GAAAACKKKK!!!  Uhhhh….he’s…ummm…trying to pick up that tube, carry it over to the other tubes and build with it. He’s too big for Legos, so they gave him those to play with.”

Mark looked at me with a “Nice save” smile and an approving nod of the head. Then he leaned in and whispered, “That camel really thinks a lot of himself, doesn’t he?”

“Most males do, Honey…most males do.”

 

A gesture of brotherly love…

Zeke has a “covers-his-ears” issue. It’s been with us for a couple of years now. Funny how quirks get accepted by family members and even enabled.

Case and point:

Mark was trying to involve the boys in some tool-time, fixing around the house. Nate’s ladder up to his bed was loose and Mark didn’t want to risk “that look” from me if it broke and Nate fell, so it was first on the list.

“Nate, you help hold the screw while I drill it in.”

“OK, Daddy.”

“Zeke, you stand on the ladder to hold it down while we drill in the screw.”

“OK Daddy but is it going to be loud? I can’t hold on and cover my ears at the same time!”

“I can do it, Zeke!”

“Thank you, Nate.”

“You’re welcome.”

It’s moments like these that take my breath away, fill my Mommy heart and make me cry happy.

Of course they don’t last very long:

“NATE! You’re pushing my ears into my brain!”

“SORRY! I was just trying to help!”

“MOMMY…Nate made my ears flat!”

“I DID NOT!”

“DID TOO!”

(Sigh…)

Moment gone.

 

“Daddy, I heard an explosion…

is Mommy in the kitchen?”

“Uhhh…yes she is. Nate, stay here.”

“What happened? Honey, are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m OK…but dinner may taste a little - sharp”

 

“What was it?”

“(Sigh) Vegetarian roast with a glass glaze.”

“Oh.  Chinese Buffet?”

“I’ll get the kids.”

“I’ll  get the car.”