Apologies

I talk my kids up on my blog, big time. But the truth is they can be heathens just like other children.

Take yesterday for example. O.S. is legally old enough, and has been for some time, to be in charge when I'm not home. This has come in very handy at times. However, I have to be very careful the mix of kids I leave together. Inevitably, I have to make sure Y.S. is engaged in an activity that will hold his attention the entire time I'm gone or he and one of the other older two will get into a fight. And not just a little squabble. A shove 'em to the ground, jump on top and pull on their hair kind of fight.

So there I was watching sweet little Big Girl plié and relevé at dance class when my phone chirped loud enough to make every mom in the room jump. Oops. I apologized as I answered the phone. It was Oldest Daughter. She informed me that her two brothers had just had an epic fight. I had her put them on the phone one at a time. I told Y.S. to go lock himself in his room and play Legos. "Yes, ma'am," he said. (There are perks to living in the south.)

But when I told O.S. to go outside and play soccer, because trust me it was for his own good, he sobbed and told me no. It was too hot. He would burn up and die.

People, it was 73 degrees. Fahrenheit. And it was breezy.

He proceeded to argue with me for seven minutes. Seven! I was livid, I tell you. I should not have to parent via phone. He should obey and we can discuss later. Finally, I told him he'd better go outside if he knew what was good for him.

Two minutes later I get another phone call. It's O.S. "Mom, can you tell Y.S. to quit eating the cookie dough."

"Cookie dough? I didn't realize there was a refrigerator outside, which is where you are right now. Right?"

Grrrrrrr. I won't continue with the story. It doesn't have a pretty ending.

My point is, sometimes my kids drive me nuts.

Fast forward to this morning.

I walk into O.S.'s bedroom long before the sun came up and nudged him awake. He sat straight up, looking too bright eyed and said, "I can't go to school today."

I looked at him a little funny and asked why.

"Because, Mrs. H," (name has been abbreviated to protect the innocent), "told us not to come."

Huh? "Wake up," I said. "You're talking in your sleep." Because he had to be. That was just nonsense.

"I am awake. She asked us all yesterday to please not come today because she needed a break for heaven's sake. She said she didn't want to see any of us sitting in her class this morning."

I should've been irritated that a teacher was speaking that way to my child! I should've called the principal!! Scratch that. I should have called the SCHOOL BOARD and demand she be DISCIPLINED!!!

Want to know what I did?

I laughed. Really, really hard.

Because I completely understood.

Apparently, yesterday during class, one of the students, when Mrs. H had her back turned and was writing on the board, stood up, screamed at the top of his lungs squealy-girl style and then sat back down as fast as he could. She turned around and demanded to know who had done it. No one would 'fess up or tattle, (because tattling is so elementary school). O.S. said it was because her history lecture was so boring.

Well, I guess that livened things up.

So, this is an apology really.

To Mrs. H,


I'm so sorry I had to send my child to school today. I'm sorry that I couldn't make things easier for you. I needed him to come to your class worse than you needed him to stay home. It's for his own good. Trust me.


Love,


Mrs. Auten.


PS: There's a special place in my heart for teachers.

Have your children made you laugh lately? Want to tear your hair out? Told you anything funny?

I'd love to hear about it. Here's your big chance...

GO!

Nothing and Everything

There's a lot of stuff going on but none of it's Breaking News.

Oldest Son swears he got dumb over the summer. And not dumb as in the true sense where you can't speak. That's definitely not his problem. Dumb as in, suddenly he sucks at math. This is a falsehood, of course. A child who got a perfect score on the Math SOL last year has not mysteriously lost the ability to calculate. He's just in an advanced class now, so he's getting challenging material. And he doesn't like it. Not one bit. It's cutting into his 'playing time.' Oh, excuse me. I forgot we are too old for 'playing.' Ahem. His 'hanging out' time.

On the up side, he got new soccer shoes and miraculously, he can kick the ball twice as far. If I'd known that, I would have gone shopping a year ago.

Oldest Daughter has a love/hate relationship with her violin.

On the flipside, she's learning that practice really does pay off. Also, her soccer team won last Saturday 11 to nothing. I felt so bad for the other team. At one point their goalie was in tears.

Youngest Son really only has good news...

He is now a reader. I find him up on his top bunk, with his nose stuck in a book, sounding out words. Seriously, y'all. This is a dream come true. As O.S. is a reluctant reader and Oldest Daughter could take 'em or leave 'em. Unfortunately, Y.S's in love with a particular series. A series they don't carry at the local or (as far as I know) school library. Which means he demands I go to Barnes and Noble and buy him the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that.

Thank goodness for Amazon.

Big Girl--yes, she is Toddler no more--is in preschool now. This was going very well for a couple of weeks. Then today at drop off time, as I turned to leave, I spotted it. The quivering chin. Sure enough she looked at me with the saddest blue eyes and started wailing. I walked over and gave her another hug, which was a mistake. I could hardly pry her arms from around my neck. But I did. I escaped and walked to my car where I promptly let my head drop to my chest, said a prayer for her and then thought to myself, what a heel of a mother I am. What kind of parent drops their child off with complete strangers when she's sobbing? Me. But it's not my fault.

No. I blame it on Barbie.

See, BG and I went to Walmart two days ago and meandered through the aisles. We haven't done that in a while, so we were having a good time, looking at all the things that were newish. We spotted the new Barbie movie. My girls are suckers for Barbie and since my mom wouldn't let me play with Barbies, I indulge. So we bought it.

Barbie in Princess Charm School.

BG has watched it at least five times. This morning she told me she didn't want to go to school. She wanted to stay home and watch it again. See. So it's not my fault. It's the dang Barbie movie's fault. (We're going to ignore the fact that I'm the one who bought it for her.)

Her happy news is that today is dance class. Along with being big enough to go to preschool, BG is now taking Ballet/Tap. She loves it. I think she might be famous one day. She runs, skips, leaps, plies and moves like a dancer.

As for me, I'm busy wasting my time. Also, I'm hurrying to finish writing my chapter on Christina McNeil, my awesome ancestor who was disowned by her family when she joined the church in Scotland in 1849 and then crossed the plains with the fated Willie Handcart Company. And now she's going to be a little famous as her story will be told (by me) in a collection about women who were born around the same time period. It's a lot harder writing truth than fiction. I'm not sure why. I suppose because I have to get facts straight and whatnot. It's not half as enjoyable as playing around in my own head. So, each day, I promise myself that once I've written x number of words, I can go back to making things up.

As for Husband, he went swimming for the first time in a long time, yesterday. I'm not talking about swimming for recreation. I'm talking laps. He said he felt like he was going to die after 500 meters but he kept swimming. Because that's the kind of person he is. He pushes through until that second wind. He swam another 1700 meters! 2200 meters in all for those of you who aren't good at math. That's like a mile and half. Almost the distance they swim during a triathlon. Which is craziness for someone who hasn't swam (swum? I've lost the ability to grammaritize lately) laps since high school. And he said he could have kept going but he knew he needed to get out, drive home and get some things done with his day.

He also said he thinks he ought to train for a triathlon.

He maketh me sick.

I admire him so much.

That's all the news from here.

What's going on with you?

New look and a big fat Thank You!

As you can see, things are very different around here. Some of the site is still under construction, but I wanted to share it with you because it's so dang cool and I had to give props.

My sis-in-law, Janna, rocks. Obviously.

So quit reading this and go check it out.

PS: And if you think she's as amazing as I do, you can visit her photography website (which she designed herself) here.

Seeing

First let me start by saying--I. Am. So. Sorry. I know my blog is hideous right now. You don't need to email me. I know it. My awesome sis-in-law (Dos's wife) is going to help me fix it just as soon as she's done nursing and mommying her two wild and crazy boys (aren't all boys like this? Mine are.). But it's coming y'all--something better.

Here's what I came to say...

Husband had the day off yesterday and as we often do on days like that, we took a nap. And just like every other time we nap together, I woke up long before Husband. I'm a fifteen minute-er and he's a two hour-er. When I opened my eyes, his were still closed and he was breathing softly (not snoring, like he usually does), and yes a little drool was dripping onto the pillow. But that's completely beside the point.

The point is that for once I didn't get up and do something productive. I just laid there. (Is it laid or lay?) Laid there and stared at my sleeping husband. And the weirdest thing happened. I saw him. For the first time in a long time. What I mean by that is--our lives are busy--he and I. We spend hours working and cleaning and fixing and cooking and cookie baking and home-working and soccer parenting. And I realized it had been so long since I really looked at him. Like really looked at him. It was the weirdest, coolest, saddest feeling. How long has he been there right in front of me, but I'm too busy to just stare at his face?

Too long.

And then I realized--he's still handsome. Really handsome. A few more pounds (and I mean a very few--he has killer metabolism), and a few more wrinkles, but he's the same guy I met in my parent's living room. The same missionary I fell in love with through letters. The same boy I married.



Because sometimes I forget.

And then I thought...I did good.

Yeah, I did. I did really, really good.

Mine

If you look really closely at the right side of my nose (my right) I have a scar. It's from a dog bite I got when I was three. My mom said I wouldn't leave the stitches alone, and you can see where they were thirty three years later. And yet, I always loved that dog. I cried when he died. I've cried when every dog we've ever had died.

But I am not what you would consider an animal lover. I don't love their poop, or when they get fleas, or pee on the carpet, or their barking. Most of all, I don't believe dogs (and definitely not cats) should live in the house. I do not hold it against you if we disagree on this matter as I know plenty of my friends sleep in the same bed with their dogs. But for me, a pet should be outside. Or at least in the garage.

I swore that I would never, ever have an inside dog.

And then Husband went to vet school. I don't think I'm generalizing when I say that every veterinary student feels like they must own a pet. You're not cool if you don't. Husband fell prey to this mentality. I fought him on it for a long time. Like a year. I didn't need an extra 'kid' to take care of and after the last dog we had that chewed everything and dug up my mother's flowers, causing a huge rift, I didn't want to go there again.

Husband has these eyes though. They kind of curve down on the edges and have the natural tendency to look a little sad. When I know he really, really wants something (which isn't very often)...I'm a sucker. So I gave in and we got Daisy.

Daisy is a standard poodle that used to belong to a girl in our ward. She moved to a complex that didn't allow pets. And we ended up with her dog.

It is no secret that I felt no love in my heart for Daisy. It's not because she's a bad dog. On the contrary--she is the best natured dog I've ever seen. Literally-she sits in a corner all day and sleeps or stares at you motionless, like a statue.  She doesn't jump up on you, or lick all over your arms, or shed hair or bark in the middle of the night. Someone de-barked her.

Nope. I didn't like Daisy because she was an inside dog. She was on my turf, up in my space, breathing my air. I told Husband from the get-go that she was his dog and that he could take care of her because for pete's sake, I don't have the time or energy to worry about one more living creature.

This is true. I am really busy.

Also, we found out a year after we got her that Daisy has Addison's disease. Yet, another reason I didn't like her. Her medication is expensive and we are poor. I can't recite for you what this disease means. Just know that she's very lethargic and lacking in energy, for the most part. She is the most weak-willed soul I've ever beheld. Also, in the past six months, Daisy has developed some kind of abscess in her mouth or throat. (We are not sure.) Thus, causing her to bleed all over, out of her nose and mouth and so we kicked her outside for the summer. It is mild here and our yard is fenced in, so it worked out fine.

And then last week happened.

So I don't know about everyone else, but here in Virginia we got a lot of rain last week. I almost thought we'd been transported to Seattle or that our house might start sliding down the street. And Daisy was out in it. I tried to bring her inside and she tromped black mulchy-mud all over my carpet, and walked to her spot behind the couch and shook. There were mud flecks everywhere. On the coach, on the wall, the trim, the piano. Back outside she went. She was under the deck, so I knew she'd be okay, Miserable, but okay. And Husband told me to leave her there. Once the rain stopped he was going to bathe her, cut her hair and figure out that abscess so she could come back in. He kept his word and by the next night she was clean shaven. He let her inside and then put her out before bed to eat and go pee.

And then he forgot her.

The next morning when I woke up to get O.S. ready for middle school (middle school! I know. Mind-blowing.) I asked Husband where Daisy was, when I didn't see her in the bathroom. That's when he realized he'd left her outside. No biggie.

Except he'd shaved her and so she had no coat to keep her warm.

I was busy being a good mom, making waffles. And the next thing I know Husband tells O.S. that he has to blow dry Daisy--NOW!-- as he shoots out the door to his vet truck. O.S. came out of the bathroom and said, "Mom? Something's wrong with Daisy. She's biting herself." He sounded freaked out. When I went in the bathroom it was terrible. She was convulsing. Husband came back in then and told me she had gone into hypothermia--which is crazy. It wasn't even that cold. Maybe in the mid fifties. Maybe. We hooked up an IV, put the blow dryer on high, shot her full of sugar, and some other drugs. We covered her with the heat pad, a blanket, plugged in a mini-heater and then we prayed. Her temperature was so low the thermometer didn't even read the number. It just said LOW, which means it was in the eighties somewhere. A dog's temperature--like a human's--should be in the high nineties. Over the next two hours we worked on her, taking turns blowing her dry in a bathroom that had to be verging on a hundred degrees. Oldest Daughter took a forty minute turn--her cheeks were so red, I was getting worried. Every ten minutes we took Daisy's temp. All the while, she was out. Cold.

I cancelled everything I was supposed to do that day and stayed home with the dog instead, checking on her every so often and calling Husband with an update. The kids prayed off and on all day at school. That night she was still hanging in there. But Husband told O.S. that Daisy was on death's door and that she had a ninety percent chance of dying that night. I was mad. After all we'd done, how could he say that? And then I peeked in to see for myself and I realized he was right. She wasn't doing very well. She'd barely opened her eyes all day. Had barely moved or eaten anything. He kept giving her drugs and force-feeding her, but I'll admit--I was worried. He was afraid if she did make it, she had brain damage. And I could see he might be right about that too. When we talked to her, she wouldn't respond or look us in the eye. You could clap right by her ear and she didn't even flinch.

How could we tell our kids in the morning that their sweet dog had died? They were praying for her and O.S. told me that night before he went to bed, not to fix him breakfast. He was fasting. I woke up at three a.m. and shook husband. I was too anxious to check myself. He came back and said she was still hanging tough. The next morning when O.S. went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Daisy stood up. She was loopy and swaying, but she stood, walked outside, ate some food and came back in. We prayed for her more. I pet her (and let me tell you, I never do that because I'm so allergic). I cried when no one was looking. The kids left stuffed animals piled around her (she hoards them, typically) to give her comfort.

By that night she was a different dog.

Here's the thing--and this might make me sound like a horrible person--but this dog that I thought I wouldn't care much to see go--led me to an epiphany. I love her. Maybe not so much for what she is, though she is a lovely animal, as for the good she brings out in my family. The good she could bring out in me. The saying is true--you love those you serve. Even a dog.

So today, she is not that extra burden that sits in the corner adding nothing to my life. Today I am grateful for her. Grateful that she is here to keep me company. That she taught my kids about prayer and fasting and responsibility.

Today, she is mine.