This Twisted Game of Fetch

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This is Miss Sophie.  Miss Sophie and her “baby.” She has several–the blue lion, the monkey, the little squirrels in their tree, but this–THIS ONE–is her favorite.  I know they say dogs can’t see color, but my girl is very partial to pink.  There’s no explaining it, it just is.  She loves her pink baby, which is actually her second pink baby.  The first one I have tucked away in a special place because I JUST COULDN’T, y’all–it was her precious “I’m so tiny and I love this thing” first pink baby.  But she loved its stuffing out.  And so, this is number two.

It looks nasty.  Even after I wash it.  And sometimes it’s doesn’t smell so good.  But still, Miss Sophie loves her baby.  When I invite her to jump up on the couch and curl up with me, she looks and then runs off and gets her baby and comes back to snuggle.

She loves her babies.

She also loves for us to throw her baby for her to fetch sometimes.  You’ll know this is what is going on when she comes over with it in her mouth, bumping it against my leg, causing the squeaker to go off constantly.  Yes, she definitely wants me to throw it.

However.

She won’t let go of it, y’all.  It’s something of a game for her.  “Please throw this for me so I can run like mad to get it and bring it back to you for you to throw again.”  The only thing is that when I reach to take the baby from her, she won’t let go.  Sometimes she will drop it, and when I go to pick it up, turns out that is part of the game too, and she snaps it back up.

Ahh.  I see what you did there, Miss Sophie.

Please take this from me, but don’t make me let go of it.

But–

I do this too.

I whisper this to the universe–please, please take this away…..only don’t.  I can’t let it go. Not just yet.  But please…..really.  Take it.  

So it turns out this life of mine is a version of Miss Sophie’s twisted game of Fetch.

No wonder she and I get each other.  This life is hard sometimes.

And that’s when a nap on the couch curled up with someone who understands is definitely called for.

BYOB.

(bring you own baby)

Wishing you all someone who gets you and will keep on hanging out with you.  Even when you can’t let go.

Especially then.

Love to all.

 

The Cacophony of the Week–Playing Catchup

Tonight’s catchup post is brought to you by a stomach bug/fever suffering young’un and a tired Mama.

First of all, this happened this week.

The green in our foyer.  I love this color.

The green in our foyer. I love this color.

This color, out of all of them, was the most stubborn.  It took three or four coats.  The first one looked like my littles had painted the wall.  It was such a thin paint.  I’m learning all about bases and the like.  Base C, and a color with as much yellow in it as this one–those take way more than just two coats.  But I LOVE it.  It just suits.  Us. The room.  This house.  It does.  And there’s a lesson in this.  The two colors I love the most, this green and the gold in the kitchen/living room–I had no samples for.  Not that I will give up trying samples out.  I like the ones I chose after trying way too many colors out, but these two I ran out of time and had to get the gallons needed THEN.  I took a huge leap of something and made the choice.  The gold without backup and the green with my Fella and Aub sharing their thoughts.

From the green of the foyer to the pink of the soon to be library.  Yeah, we go from Kermit to Miss Piggy.  That makes me smile.

From the green of the foyer to the pink of the soon to be library. Yeah, we go from Kermit to Miss Piggy. That makes me smile. (and it looks better than this picture shows)

And turns out I love what happens when I make a choice without obsessing over it.  Is there a lesson in this?  Perhaps.  But I’m a really slow learner.

 

Cooter took this picture of his empty cake saucer.  He loved his chocolate cake.  There wasn't a chance to take a picture of it before it was eaten.  He's just that fast.

Cooter took this picture of his empty cake saucer. He loved his chocolate cake. There wasn’t a chance to take a picture of it before it was eaten. He’s just that fast.

And this happened.  With a child with severe food allergies, we don’t go to a lot of restaurants.  And we especially do not do buffets.  The risk for cross-contamination is just too great.  The last buffet I remember us going to, looking back, I realize she had a mild reaction.  That was before the bad one that made me wake up and start carrying an epi-pen everywhere.

Wednesday was the day I met Mr. A. A. Law in person and finished handling some business for my Great Aunt and Mama.  For those who might be wondering, I behaved myself.  I apologized to the women whom I inadvertently took my frustrations out on via a bad attitude when I spoke on the phone with them last week.  I was prepared to have a conversation with Mr. Law if the opportunity presented itself.  It did not.  And I’m okay with that.  But I acted like I was raised to behave, and that’s all that concerns me.

His office was right across the street from Side Tracks, the buffet restaurant that my Great Aunt used to take us to.  Cooter, who made the trip with me–exactly because he figured we’d have to eat out and he really wanted to,  joined me there for a trip down memory lane.  He’s been there before, back when he ate baby food sitting in his car seat/carrier.  He doesn’t remember going at all.  When his little eyes got over the disappointment over so many vegetables (he’s a self-proclaimed fruitatarian, y’all) and he chose some rice, catfish, and a biscuit, he saw the desserts.  Cake and pie slices wrapped securely under plastic wrap.   He looked, with his eyes popping, “Whaaat is thaaaat?”  “Dessert, buddy.”  “Can I have some?”  Sure, I said.  And he was off.  He carefully perused and chose a slice of chocolate cake.  Bless him.  The joy in that little guy that day is a memory I hope to treasure for a long time.  He took pictures of the plates on the table and he was fascinated with my catfish bones.  If I may for just a minute indulge in a bit of pity pot sitting, food allergies stink.  I wish I could take our Princess too.  I wish we could go in a restaurant without mapping out a game plan first.  I wish I didn’t have to quiet my anxieties every time we have a meal prepared by someone else.  But we do.  And I will do it over and over to keep her safe.  And maybe my meal with my little guy was all the more special because we can’t do it all the time.

And then there’s this.

"Sophie!"

“Sophie!”

"What?"  :)

“What?” 🙂

Miss Sophie sure worried us all after her fairly routine surgery.  She wouldn’t get up and walk around.  I called the vet.  Twice.  One time at 11:30 at night.  He is a kind, understanding person, and I’m thankful for that.  He knows I’m overprotective and a worrier, but when Miss Sophie wasn’t up and walking around three days after surgery, I knew something was wrong.  Turns out maybe she doesn’t like accessorizing.  When I took her cone off, she got up and started moving.  Slowly at first, but then she was back to her old self.  And that little face and wagging tail on the one who barks and pouts when I leave the room–I am thankful for her.

 

Lastly, I was reminded today of what little good it does for me to worry over things.  Things in the future.  Now, don’t think I’m going to stop.  I’m a work in progress and change for me will take as long as the rerouting of Highway 96 out my way will take.  LONG time.  Still.  Lesson learned.  Again.  I’ve been worrying for a week over how to fit things in and do what we were supposed to do today and tomorrow.  I just about had it all figured out, after much worry and figuring and planning, and then this morning at 4 a.m. I heard a little voice next to my bed.  “Mama, I feel like I have to throw up.”  Followed by proof.

And just like that.  Plans for today and tomorrow cancelled.  (Tomorrow’s cancellation was validated by a fever this evening.  Yeah, we’re staying put for a while.)

All that worry for naught.  I do that a lot.  Burn a lot of energy and wear myself out doing just that.  Worrying.

But with Anxiety Girl as my BFF, how could it be otherwise?

Wishing you all a day filled with surprises and good things as full as the dessert bar at Side Tracks.

Love to all.

 

What I’ve Learned From My Pup’s “Little Presents”

First of all, let me assure you, there will be no pictures with this post.

You’re welcome.

We took Miss Sophie to her first night of Puppy Beginner’s class last night.  The littles have been calling it Puppy School, and Cooter insisted that we needed to go out and get her a backpack and pencils.  And a glue stick.  When I told one of our young neighborfriends that yesterday, he looked excited and said, “Really?”

No.  Sorry.

But we did give her a good brushing and loaded her in her carrier and headed to the pet store where the world’s best pet trainer teaches you how to teach your puppy good behavior.  We were joined in the class by a sweet German Shepherd/Akita mix and two beautiful Corgis.  All girls.  Our trainer asked us to introduce our pups, tell their ages, what our favorite things are about our little ones, and what we wish we could change.

Ahem.

We were the last to introduce.  I had a decision to make.  I could go with the simple and truthful and expected response that we didn’t like her biting.  Which is true.  Very true.  Or I could get even more truthful and tell what really frustrates me.

So I introduced Miss Sophie, almost five months, shared how funny she is and how she turns her head trying to understand exactly what you are saying.  I said that she does the puppy biting/chewing thing that the other dogs do, and then I dropped the real truth.

I blame it on my writing.  I can’t seem to keep anything in anymore, and since Mama died, I seem to have lost my filter.

So I said, “I really don’t like it when she ingests the presents that she leaves, by intent or accident, on the floor.”

The face the trainer made said it all.  Her expression screamed what can usually be heard when this happens, “Ewwwwww.  Grossssssss.”

But then, as often happens when the truth is told, grace abounded.  Because you see, they make pills you can give your dog to discourage them from doing that.  So…..she is not the only dog that does this.  They have a whole line of products for just such a situation, so I’m thinking there must have been at least ten or twenty-two dogs or more who have done this before Sophie.  Right?  Relief right there, folks. Relief.

I clarified that she doesn’t do it when she goes outside, only when it happens inside. And then Miss Ren, the trainer, turned on the lightbulb over my head.  “She’s cleaning up her mess.  She doesn’t want you to see it.”

Well, duh.  Why hadn’t that occurred to me?  The poor thing is always hiding when she does it.  It all makes sense now.

Again, relief.  My dog is not extraordinarily weird or off-balance.

She’s just like the rest of us.

Trying to clean up our messes before someone else sees them.  From the literal scrambling to get the clean clothes off the couch when someone’s coming over to hiding behind our masks to keep folks from seeing the mess and brokenness inside of us.  We all tend to stuff the yuckiest *ahem* junk way down deep inside in an effort to keep up the appearance that we have it all together.  It all goes pretty good until the mask cracks or someone catches us trying to hide our messes.

One day I took Miss Sophie out for her afternoon constitutional.  I saw in the yard where she had gone earlier in the day, and our Princess hadn’t gotten it up.  A color other than normal glinted in the sunlight.  I walked over.  Oh my word.  A Polly Pocket shoe.  A sandal to be exact.  It was little and tiny and soft, thank goodness, and bright blue.  And also completely intact.  I knew exactly where she had found it.  But seriously?  I went back in the house and asked our Princess about it.  She had the grace to blush and said, “Yes Mama, I saw it when she left it there.  I was going to try to get it back, but I just couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Oh baby girl, NO.  That’s one Polly Pocket shoe we will just have to do without.

And as I was cleaning it up out of the yard, I thought about this.  Whatever we put inside of us is going to come out.  If we spend our time “ingesting” junk–on tv, in what we watch, listen to, talk about, or read–it will come out in one way or another.  And when mess like that comes back out of us it is very noticeable, because it’s not really who we are or what we are made of–much like a bright blue shoe in the midst of a little present.  Just as I should have been more careful about what Sophie had access to, we need to be careful about what we take in, what we let touch our souls.

No, I’m not going to buy any of those pills marketed to keep pups from “cleaning up their own messes.”  I’m going to do a better job of paying attention to Miss Sophie’s signals–about what her body needs to do–much as I need to be more aware of my own signals.  About what my spirit and soul needs.  And much as I need to pay attention to those around me to figure out what they need.  Not to be a mind reader, but to be compassionate and caring.

So puppy school was quite educational last night.  Sophie did not learn to do a backflip or roll over as our neighborfriend’s sister suggested she might.  However, she did learn to relax and feel okay in a new situation, and me–I learned that she and I have more in common than I originally thought.  We both like to hide our messes, and we both wish we could understand all that is going on around us.

Oh and we both love naps.   That’s another thing we have in common.  That and our love of yarn and knitted and crocheted things.  *sigh*  But that’s a class for another week.