A week in the life of Drake Dog

Sunday: A sunny nap. It's exhausting watching all of those birds.  

Monday: Mom gets to spend the next 30 minutes pulling burrs out of my tail.

Tuesday: A tough early morning decision. 

 

Wednesday: Tucking mom into bed.  I stay up with dad and watch basketball. 

 

Thursday: Do you have to go to work mom? 

 

Friday: Where are we going? 

 

Saturday: Having fun in Stowe.

On: Asking for Help

I have never been good at asking for help.

Never. Never. Never.

But recently, I've had to.

As a full-day *important meeting* in the "middle of nowhere Massachusetts" lurked overhead, I swallowed my pride and asked a neighbor if she'd take Dec for the morning

(to play with her same-age-son) and stick them on the kindergarten bus together at noon.

Not only did she say yes so willingly and beautifully, she sent me the most adorable email after the events: Dec spent most of the morning at our house encouraging "T" to "tidy up each toy" before they moved on to the next activity. My response was: "Really?!? I wish he did that around here!@?"

Maybe I didn't need to make that extra trip to the grocery store the night before to make sure Dec had something snazzy to share during that neighborly lunch-session. Why do I make things harder than they need to be?

***

Yesterday we asked Uncle Ollie to help on another tricky scheduling day.

Dec was thrilled.

I tried to ignore the guilty pit in my belly but it was certainly there.

Ollie was to bring Dec from his morning activities to our house, in time for the kindergarten bus. And to wait with him until the bus came (of course). But you see, Ollie is a busy guy - with a business and children of his own.

In my eyes, this was a very big ask.

At work, I waited until approximately 30 seconds after Dec's bus should've picked him up and texted Ollie:

"Dec was excited to have you transport him to the bus today.

I hope it was smooth. Thank you thank you thank you. Thanks again....K"

To which he responded:

"It was an absolute pleasure. Any time. He's a cool polite fun guy to be around."

A few seconds later a picture comes through.

It was a picture taken from our driveway of the "little" bus with Dec's little cherub face looking out the bus window at him. The title of the message from Ollie was: "Proof."

Cue the mother's heart into mega-melt-mode.

So I replied (choking back the guilt.....):

"Glad the bus came !!!! Always an adventure figuring out which direction (and what time) it will come.

New driver almost every day. Thanks again - I'm certain he enjoyed every mili-second.

(He told Nonie this morning that "Ollie is a cool guy".)"

In response I got a message from Ollie with no title.

Just the following picture of Ollie's daughter (Anna) & Dec together:

"He wanted to bring Anna with him" Joked the message.

To which I laughed out loud.

Sitting at my desk, in an office full of people, I laughed.

Out loud.

And I knew that this laughter brought me one step closer to being okay with asking for help. Not all of the time. But some of the time.

Thank you Ollie & Leah and to the many others who make me feel okay about handing over my children: Some of the time. But not all of the time.

I'm not good at asking for help.

But I'm getting better at it.

P.S. Look closely at Dec's pocket in that picture and you'll see the note I scribbled to Ollie about not knowing which direction the bus would come from and thanking him a million times over. Wonder what the Kindergarten teachers thought when that popped out of Dec's pocket at school. Very "Please-look-after-this-bear ... in full Paddington-esque-style". Huh?

on conditional love

There is a chance I might be addressing the wrong crowd here
please excuse my rudeness.
I blame my insincerity on the lack of motherhood my life's resume.

It's just, sometimes I don't get kids. And sometimes, gosh, sometimes they bug me.
Is that okay to say?

I just wonder how you do it? As a mother? Because when my day is over all those kids who stared at me
and said my name over and over
and asked me questions they already knew the answer to
and made a mess on the floor
and didn't pick it up
at the end of my day they leave. And that's when I breathe.

And I come home and run with the dog and I shower and put on my pj's. I watch the news and get carried away in "open in new tab" world for minutes (hours) on end. I read my book and go to bed when I'M tired.

I love them. I do. They are sweet and growing and changing and caring and excited about life.
But at 2:40

they are gone.

And sometimes that makes me love them more.

from the mouths of babes

Every week I give my kids a different share topic.
It's much more fun than watching them show something. Some of them bringing in video games, while others scramble in their backpack to try to keep up with the Joneses. Once in a while we'll have a "show share", but those are the exceptions, not the rules. I like to listen to them think.
This week I asked them, "What is your favorite part about coming to school". Five of them shared today. In case you were wondering, none of them mentioned me, I was upstaged.
But it's ok, because it was rightfully so.

One precious little pumpkin says she likes knowing she'll be greeted every morning. I gave myself a professional-high five, knowing that I emphasize this part of our day. It is so important to make everyone feel welcome, like we are happy you are here, and we notice when you're not.
I say this in my calmest voice as I talk over them while they squiggle and giggle during Morning Meeting.

After each sharer shares they take 3 questions or comments. One girl asked her "Well who is your best friend like who do you like to see?" I think you might know who she expected to be named but little peanut shocked us all, and I think
and I hope
that I'll never forget what she said.

"Well, I don't really have a best friend I just think of everyone as my second best friends"
and I thought, well that is so nice not to make anyone feel left out and what a great kid and look at that her two front teeth are gone clear out of her mouth and who's she going to call on next how much longer will this meeting take we've got to be next door in just a few minutes
"because God is my best friend."

Woah.
Hold up.

From the mouths of babes do we, or do we not, hear stunners.
Total stunners.

The thing was, she meant it. Completely, and with all of her heart, without hesitation. She blew me away.

So I watched her at recess. And I saw her running and playing, with second best friends, and I saw her zooming down slippery snow covered slides. And I thought how I don't think I've EVER seen this child upset. I've never seen her sad. I've never heard her complain or bicker. I've never seen her make a bad choice.
But I've seen her love and grow. And I've seen her do her work, play with her friends, answer questions in math and sing in music. I've seen her stand up for herself when she's been wronged and I've seen her rub her crying friend's back.

And as those images flashed through my head and she frolicked on the playground I thought, she could be one of the happiest people I've ever seen.

And I think she just gave away her secret.

I've got a lot to learn.

lost and found

Yesterday the first treasure of spring was uncovered. The fifty degree temperatures and ample sunshine unearthed a tennis ball. Gone but not forgotten since the December snows rolled in and didn't stop until, well likely May.
Spring in Vermont with a golden retriever is a tango. You have got to be quick and on your toes or else you soon find a muddy crime scene turning circles around your house. Or tiny apartment. But tiny apartments can get muddy too. And so here we are. Brown footprints sink so deep into the floors I abolish the thought of mopping altogether. What would be the point?
The backyard is a soupy mess of melting snow and thawing grass. A river, that was not there yesterday morning, blazes a chocolate stream from under the pine tree. His favorite place to sniff.
But spring with a goldie also means longer outside runs followed by hours and lollygagging in the sunny patch by the door. Watching the birds peck at the softening ground. Waiting for the horse to return to the field and the surefire signs that we are hearty Vermonters now. And we have made it through.
Mud season and all.

you come here often?

I think I have amnesia.
I think I am an 80 year old trapped in a 20something body.
I am shocked, each year anew, when I am directed to spring forward and instantly it is light until 7:30.
This is great! Well, except that's usually when I'm getting ready to go to bed. Now my eyelids set with the sun and it's marvelous to enjoy daylight it really is but well, I have to be up so early anyway and I was just getting excited to have my 5am Drake run be without my flashing headlamp and dayglow vest and here we go again (again?) my mornings are a cold dark shuffle and I can hardly keep my eyes open on the drive to work.
Springing has really hit me hard this year. Usually I love to spring! But I just forgot all about it and it truly is taking me by surprise. It was warm enough today to put the windows down on the drive home and I truly (because sometimes I exaggerate) had the thought "OH YEAH! Summer here is AWESOME."
I had forgotten.
The light at the end of my tunnel is almost here and I completely forgot how much I usually crave it.
Because March, yes March, usually beats us to a pulp around here. Not to say that it hasn't, but somewhere amidst the madness March throws us little reminders that it too, shall pass. And maybe my punishment for not believing in March is an excessive amount of tiredness. Perhaps I have offended March by continually assuming the worst of him (March must be a him, right?)
Some day, not too far off, I will be warm OUTSIDE and the snow will melt and I will go to bed after the sun. And I will enjoy it. And I won't be worn down by it.

And then next year. NEXT year. I'll remember that it's not so bad.
Although, I'll probably forget to remember.
So remind me, would'ya?

Some walls, like people, fall down.

I first saw the crumbled stone wall from the kitchen window on Sunday night.

I was cleaning Finny's bowl.

Yesterday, I decided to take Nonie for a walk to the back stone steps leading out to the trails so she could have a look at the damage.

The retaining wall had crumbled in the far corner, and large stones were strewn below the spot where our lawn connects to the forest below.

It didn't really bother me that our wall had crumbled. It didn't really surprise me either, the rains last week wreaked far more damage on other landscapes than they did in our backyard.

Back in the yard, Nonie took a good, long look.

She crouched, rested on her knees and examined the mess below.

Then, she stood up and launched toward the back steps that lead to the kitchen.

Nonie, Nonie....where are you going?

To get my tape to fix the wall.... She shouted over her shoulder.

I retrieved her. Before she made it up the stairs I brought her back to the spot and told her that tape wouldn't work. It wasn't strong enough.

When this shocking news sunk in to her spinning little mind, she looked at me with big, sad eyes and said:

Daddy will make it all better when he comes home.

I was fine that the wall had crumbled and wouldn't be fixed any time soon.

But Nonie was determined to oversee an immediate repair job.

She wanted orderly rocks and paths clear of debris.

I didn't even try to explain that the job would require much more.

Scotch tape can fix ripped paper airplanes and torn books, but not stone walls.

Daddy has the creative answers and quick solutions, but not all of them and not all of the time.

I loved Nonie's simple solutions, but some walls, like people, fall down.

Sometimes it is hard for them to get up again.

And, it takes time and real effort to "right" them. And by them, I refer to walls, and people.

To build them to a point where they are stronger than they ever were before, that takes real effort.

Tape can't do that, sweetheart. But I wish it could.

Grace. Peace. Love. Compassion. Determination. Generosity. Leadership. Courage. Loyalty. Selflessness. Vision. Hope. Bravery. How about Prayer?

?

My prayers are with Japan.

Trapped In A Milk Shake

Today I sat idling in a drive-thru line with one car in front of me for 16 minutes.

Never mind that it was 6:45 PM and I had two cherubs in the back who needed to get to bed.

At 6:30, the thought of getting them a vanilla milkshake to share was a brilliant idea.

Tick-tock went the clock and suddenly, I felt totally trapped and panic-stricken that my children were not home in bed - but prisoners, like me, in our car.

For the first 3 minutes, I actually didn't even realize that the car in front of me hadn't moved. Was too wrapped up in kindergarten stories and Nonie's efforts to echo every last word that Dec says.

Minutes 4-9 I had that, "surely ANY MINUTE now the car in front will get served and then we will be next" belief. This is that funny thing that happens were you spend all your inner powers convincing yourself that what you want is JUST about to happen so there is no need to do anything put sit as still as possible and will it on.

Oh, and while all that inner-psyche-willing-things-to-happen-stuff is going on, it is ever so important to talk calmly to cherubs in back seat about how we're all being

so good and patient....

Didn't work, sooooooo,

minutes 9-14: I actually spent this time looking for the hidden camera.

Was there a mysterious van in the parking lot filming me to see just how peeved I'd get?

Surely this shiny pole to my left has a hidden camera in it.

So, I will spend the better part of a minute staring at it with a smirky smile letting the thumbnail-size camera know, that I know, that it was in there.

After the minute spent staring into a non-existent camera I realized that I was truly tapped.

Unable to back up, unable to pull ahead.

I spent minutes 15-15:30 explaining to Dec & Nonie

that I was just going to ask the woman in the car in front of us "What gives?"

Minute 16 was spent retreating from her driver side window because OF COURSE

her food was delivered just as I'd gotten to her.

And yes. You guessed it....

On the ride home the kids both passed out from exhaustion and

I drank the high-caloric-sugar-infused beverage (no it was not from McDonalds).

Awesome.

But not really.

SNOW DAY

Turns out those little white flakes had a plan.

If you look closely you can see the 3' tall snowbank at the end of the driveway and if you look even closer you can see my neighbor not offering to help me out with his snowblower.

Keep Calm and March On

What IS it about March? Good grief.
The rain that slammed onto the church roof this morning has given way to one inch white flakes.
Vermont's reminder that spring is nowhere to be sprung.
At least not for another two months or so.

I rather enjoy the amnesia I get every year.
I delight in the later sunsets and I groan at March's cold temper.
It was a year ago, on an unseasonably warm day in March that I looked at the kitchen wall and declared it must be yellow.
With the hopes of moving by the summer, I wonder if on the next warm day the urge to paint will have us covering the cheery lemon with snowy white.
The same snowy white that is falling from the sky. Keeping us in a shadow of winter.
I forget, as a often do, if I will make it through this bleak month with my sanity intact.
It will be a lovely surprise if so.

Dreamy Eyes

Well.
It happened.
I remember it all, I do. But I remember it like it was a dream.
Is that what good memories are?

I have some reminders that what I did this past weekend was get married to the love of my life.
I have an extra ring. And he has a new one.
Kids are experimenting with my new name. My flowers are hanging over the sink.

I laughed tonight with my husband.
I laughed so hard.
I laughed so hard that I re-got bronchitis. The bubbles in my lungs and raspy breathing were accelerated by the fact that we were roaring with cheer.
We laughed about spousal duties. Like making dinner and setting the table.
I made jokes about having watched soap operas and Oprah all day.

It was so light. I know it won't always be that way.
But it was a good start
to this new dream.