Growing up I loved all things Snoopy. Ok, I still do. I also always wanted a puppy. I asked for one every single birthday and Christmas. I guess my parents weren’t dog people because I didn’t get my first (and only) puppy until June 17, 1994, when I was 24 years old and out on my own. I remember the date because as my friend and I were driving to the breeder’s home to pick up my first puppy we listened in disbelief to the unfolding drama that was the infamous O.J. Simpson low speed police pursuit in that white SUV.

Anyway, I chose a beagle, because that’s what Snoopy was. I was so in love with that dog and thrilled to finally have a dog of my own. I was on top of training her well and she even slept with me until hubby and I moved in together. He wasn’t as in love with her as I was. She adjusted to our new house rules and hubby just fine. She didn’t do so well when we brought home our first baby. She wanted no part of my oldest son. She avoided him and pretended he didn’t exist. She would deliberately step around the blanket he laid on when he was on the floor as an infant, making sure to never come close to even touching one corner of that blanket. She also started to rebel by peeing in the house from time to time. I figured it was just a jealous stage she would get over. Hubby grew to love her less and less.

One night she woke me up sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I kept telling her to go lay down but she kept coming right back, growing more and more frantic. I finally woke up enough to realize she really needed to go outside and got out of bed. Only she didn’t run downstairs to head out the back door. She ran into the baby’s room. The room she refused to go into, except to pee in when I was downstairs. She was hopping around and whining next to the crib. I went in there and my tiny little preemie who had also had surgery at 3 weeks old due to a birth defect was stuck under a blanket. It was completely covering his head and face and he was struggling to get out of it and struggling to breathe. Well, that dog became my hero that night. She may very well have saved his life and it was the third time in his short time on earth that his life had been in jeopardy. I never swaddled him again. And he is now a healthy 12 year old.

My dog did not fare so well. Her rebellion and peeing in the house stopped after that incident. But then along came baby number two. She had reached her limit. She was not going to accept another one of these little interlopers. She started peeing anywhere and everywhere whenever she could get away with it. It really was awful. We had to replace the carpeting in the entire house and she had to be crated a lot of the time. I had reached my own limit too. I had a full time job, a two year old, a colicky infant and a dog that refused to cooperate. Hubby and I made the difficult decision to give her away when we moved to our new house in 2001. We gave her to someone we knew but I still felt horribly guilty about abandoning her. I told myself I’d never have another dog. They are too much work. Plus I secretly felt undeserving of one because I gave her away.

As my boys have grown the pressure to get a puppy has increased to the point where hubby and I actually started to consider getting them one. They are 12 and almost 10 now. They have been dying for a puppy for years and are old enough to seriously help out with taking care of one. We narrowed it down to either another beagle or a puggle. The search was on. For reasons I still cannot comprehend, the only breeders I found anywhere near me were charging $700-$1500 for them. My mother was in Indiana caring for her elderly mother and told my grandmother about our search for a puppy. My grandmother took it upon herself to look through the newspaper ads stating, “We need to find those boys a puppy that doesn’t cost $700!”. How sweet is that?! They found several breeders in her area and my mother, you know, the one who was never a dog person, went to quite a bit of trouble to pick one out, buy it and drive it all the way home to us today. We are now the proud owners of an 8 week old adorable beagle puppy named Cosmo.

Cosmo

Today, my boys are the happiest kids on earth. I’m thrilled that we finally caved and got them a dog of their own. I know their diligence in taking care of her may slack as the excitement starts to wear off and I may end up being responsible for more of her care than we agreed to. But I also know that they are only kids once, they love her and the excitement and happiness they feel today is well worth it.

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About five years ago, our car was stolen. Yes, right here in suburbia. We went out for the evening with friends and when we returned it was not on the street where we had parked it.  It was recovered a few hours later when someone called the police to report noisy teenagers driving a car around a local park. There was some damage to the car but nothing major. The teenagers were never caught, our insurance company paid for the repairs and we went on with our lives.

We did have our suspicions about a teenage boy who lives down the street. At the time he was the only teenager on our street and the circumstances surrounding the theft of our car indicated that whoever did it would have had to have known we were gone for the night. Only someone living very nearby would have been able to see us pile into a friend’s mini-van with obvious intentions of going out for the night. We had no proof that it was him but he seemed the mostly likely candidate.

We were somewhat surprised when a year or two later this same teenager came knocking on our door offering to cut our grass. He was a little older and looking to make some money during summer vacation. We said yes despite our suspicions, because they were only suspicions after all, and even if it had been him thought maybe he’d matured and were happy to have someone else cut the grass.

At some point over the past few years, he seemed to expand. He provided us with business cards and a brochure offering full service landscaping, took on a partner and purchased one of those big trailers on which he hauled around several commercial-grade lawn mowers, weed-whackers and other landscaping materials.

A few weeks ago, while cutting our grass he hit a tiny rock. It flew into our patio door with such force it made a loud noise that scared the crap out of me and the outer pane shattered immediately.  It crackled like ice for several minutes before starting to fall apart. He immediately said he’d pay to replace the pane of glass and stopped by a few days later with someone to provide an estimate. A week later a second person came by to measure for an estimate.

Another week later we had heard nothing. Hubby called and the teenager, now nineteen years old, indicated that his parents suggested we file a homeowners insurance claim, told us he really didn’t have the money right now, and over the next couple of weeks made it pretty clear that he was trying to get out of paying for the damage. He even kept cutting our grass each week but never came to the door to collect his weekly fee. After hubby placed a call to his cell phone only to find the number had been disconnected we decided to go talk to his parents.

Throughout all of this hubby and I had debated back and forth about how to handle this situation. On the one hand, he is just a kid (although technically of legal age), it could have happened to anyone, and we aren’t going to take anyone to court over this. On the other hand, it didn’t happen to anyone, it happened to him, he offered to pay for it, and our budget is pretty tight.

His father was immediately belligerent. He had this whole tough-guy thing going on. My immediate impression was that he was a total douche. I mean, if my son broke a neighbor’s window playing baseball or something I would pay for the damage and would certainly not tell my neighbor to kiss off as he seemed to be doing with us. Finally the reason for his behavior came out. His son is in jail. He’s supposed to enter the military in July but since this is his third recent scrape with the law, and this one a felony, his military future is not looking good. The legal fees are going to be enormous. Suddenly the problem we had come to discuss seemed so petty. We are the least of this man’s problems.

I had to fight back tears. Not because of the legal fees or the fact that there is now no way he is replacing our pane of glass. The pain of watching your child go down the wrong path. Especially the path of a criminal right on the cusp of what could possibly lead to a much brighter future (joining the military tends to straighten people out). I can’t even imagine it.

When they are babies their futures seem so bright. The possibilities endless. As young children there is so much potential as their own interests and strengths develop. We have such high hopes for our kids. Sure, an argument could be made that this teenager’s problems are a result of bad parenting but I have no way of knowing if that is the case as I don’t know them at all. No matter what led him down his chosen path, the disappointment, guilt and grief his dad must be feeling right now knock the wind out of me every time I think about it. Shattered dreams, especially those we have for our children….well, it’s terrifying to even consider my own sons ending up in the same position as this troubled young man.

He did not discuss the details of his son’s crimes but did soften up considerably after he got the truth off his chest and we expressed compassion for him and his son. He even apologized for his initial behavior, acknowledging that we had no way of knowing what was really causing his anger. By the time we left I wanted to give him a hug. I hope it’s not too late for his son and that he can get his life together. I hope his parents don’t have to live with shattered dreams for the rest of their lives.

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There is a hint of spring in the air today finally. Finally! Actually it’s more like a hint of summer. Seventy-eight glorious degrees. Even though I had to work today, having all the windows open and getting outside during lunch was…heavenly. It’s supposed to be eighty-two tomorrow! I cannot wait for summer. The sunshine and heat just make life…good.

So, the plan was to spend my lunch doing something outside with my sons since they are on spring break this week. I’ve felt badly that we haven’t been able to take any field trips since I’m working and wanted to do something fun with them today even if it was just for a short time.

They decided they wanted to fly kites. Perfect! We went to the store to get them but they were all too “babyish”. I suggested another store. In the meantime, my oldest son, 11 years old, had received a call on the cell phone that I originally was against but now love since I can reach him wherever he is out in the world. His friends were at the park. He wanted to go. He did not care that he didn’t have a kite. Oh…and he did not want me to go with him. You know, having your mom with you at the park is, like, so not cool, especially when your girlfriend is there.

Yep. My 11 year old has a girlfriend. It’s been almost 2 weeks. That’s a long time for the 6th grade. A group of them are going to the movies this weekend. He told her he’d pay for her. He explained that he wants to be a good boyfriend. While I admire his chivalry I had to point out the obvious. He has no money. Last time I checked I was still buying his underwear. So….in reality it is hubby and I who are being chivalrous. We get to pay for 2 tickets, popcorn, etc. and we don’t even get to see the movie! Oh, and we get to drive a few of them there.

So…..it is not cool to buy a kite that is shaped like a parrot or eagle and it is not cool to go to the park with your mom if your friends are there. But….it is cool for your parents to pay your cell phone bill, buy your underwear, drive you to the movies AND pay for you and your “girlfriend”.

WOW. No wonder parents struggle so much with teenagers! And my son isn’t quite 12 yet! I’m so screwed. In his defense he felt badly once he realized how much it actually costs to go to the movies. But now that he’s promised  we can’t bring ourselves to not give him the money. We did say this would be the last time we pay for anyone else. He’s really more excited about going to the movies with a group of kids and no parents hanging around (after we drop them off of course). Freedom. I remember each of my own first tastes of increased independence. It feels good. I’m happy for him and excited for him too. But I’m sad for me. My tiny little 5-pound preemie is too cool for me in public now. It stings.

Luckily, my youngest son isn’t quite lost to me yet. We had to explain to him why I was uninvited from the trip to the park. He didn’t understand why his brother’s friends presence at the park precluded me from going. And that is how my youngest son unwittingly (and thankfully) saved me from secretly curling up into a ball and crying during lunch today. At least I still have one little boy for a little while longer.

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When my friend Gina was first diagnosed with cancer her biggest concern was that she would die before her twin daughters turned 18. She was afraid that their biological father would take them away from everything she had worked so hard to provide: stability and love, their home, their step-father and their little sister. Throughout her battle with cancer I never once heard her complain about herself, the treatments or anything else. Her mantra never changed. She simply had to stay alive until the twins were 18. She knew she could not fall short of this because the consequences for her daughters were too horrific for her to even consider.

Her worst nightmares have come true.

Last week, less than two months after losing their mother, their biological father abruptly removed them from their school in the upscale suburb in which they have lived for more than 1/2 of their lives. He has taken them to the home of the most recent woman he is living with in a rough neighborhood. He has told them that their mother never loved them and only wanted his money. He has cut them off from all of their family and told them they will never see their step-father or little sister again. He has not even bothered to enroll them in school.

I don’t know what precipitated any of this. I do know that the girls are terrified and cut off from everyone they love, everything that is familiar and safe to them and all while still grieving the very recent death of their mother.

Her sister said it best, “Gina is counting on all of us to fix this.”.

I don’t know how to fix this. All I do know is that getting the word out through my blog may lead us to someone who can help. There is a court hearing next week in DuPage County IL. If anyone reading this knows anyone or knows someone who may know anyone that can help my friend’s daughters (attorneys, advocates, etc.) PLEASE leave a comment here.

Thank you.

You know how all kids always deny being tired despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary? Well, that’s what this adorable little story on Nick Jr. is about. I don’t know what made me remember this story but I thought of it the other day. It was both of my boys’ first experience with the internet. Back before Steve abandoned Blue for a fabulous movie career (?!), and they were each around 2-3 years old they would sit on our laps and make us play this story over and over again. Both of them loved it. 

I’m so happy I found it still up on their website so many years later! Whenever one of them claims to not be tired and they clearly are tired, we still say, “I’m not tired” in this little bird’s voice to this day.   

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I’m not a big fan of Halloween. Except for the chocolate. My boys are 9 & 11 so they’re still very much into it. Their chosen costumes get creepier every year. This quote reminded me that at their ages my friends and I were out as late as possible without the hindrance benefit of any adult supervision whatsoever. I wouldn’t even consider letting them go trick-or-treating alone after dark. How times have changed. God, I sound like I’m 80 years old….I can remember back during the depression of 1929 2009…YIKES!

Anyway, I don’t mind going out with them and enjoying them enjoying themselves. It’s cute and I know soon they’ll be way too cool for all this nonsense and I’ll miss it. I don’t mind taking all the Reese’s (cups not pieces, I do have standards when taking candy from children) for myself either.

We used to have a neighbor, whom I considered to be something of a drip and not at all attractive. He had no personality to speak of so we didn’t interact much although our kids were friends. He used to wear this Zorro costume every Halloween. He didn’t look like a drip in that costume at all. I don’t know if it was my obsession with attraction to Antonio Banderas or just the mystery of the black mask, cape and sword (insert Freudian reference here…pun intended) but that costume made Halloween a lot more interesting for me.

What I really can’t stand is office Halloween parties where you’re expected to dress up and sit around working in some ridiculous costume all day just to show you’re a “team player”. God, I hate that phrase. There’s always at least one woman who doesn’t get that while it has become standard to dress like a skank on Halloween (when did that happen anyway?!), it’s probably not the best idea for the office.

The options for adult costumes range from hooker to dork with virtually no options in between those two extremes.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

As if I’d be caught dead in either of those costumes in public! Exhibit A…I’d either get arrested, be banned from the PTA (oops, that’s already happened) or get a LOT of candy.   Exhibit B….if I were to even consider wearing this ridiculous thing in public I may as well save some money, give up and just wear crocs and sweatpants.

Luckily I get to work from home tomorrow but I didn’t hear about any office dress-up nonsense anyway and I won’t be attending any costume parties. I will do my part by wearing my t-shirt that says “witchy” and wander our well-lit neighborhood with my little monsters, enjoy their fun and steal their chocolate-and-peanut-buttery-goodness.

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It seems as if my son has made a full recovery from his bout with the H1N1 flu virus.  I was starting to worry on Thursday and Friday. Although his fever stayed down around 101 (an improvement), he was exhausted. He slept for the better part of those two days. This is not like him at all. This is a child who still, at age 9, after having to do this every night his entire life, still pitches a fit at bedtime and will never admit to being tired.

By Saturday his fever was gone and he was so bored. Yay! He even went outside to play for a bit on Sunday and went back to school (he seemed almost happy) yesterday.

So far, no relapses, signs of blood clots or pneumonia as in some of the articles I’ve read. We did nothing unusual to treat him. No TamiFlu, just chicken soup, Tylenol and Motrin for the fever, and lots of fluids and rest.

Miraculously, none of the rest of us caught it either. We’re well past the incubation stage and I’m pretty sure I’ve disinfected every surface in our house. I hope this is our one and only experience with this dreaded and much publicized virus and happy that it seems to have been no worse than the regular seasonal flu.

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My 11 year old son has only been in middle school for a little over a month and has already learned about sex education, dealt with a bully, received his first phone call from a girl, gone to his first dance and now….accelerated math.

Hubby and I have no idea where his math aptitude comes from. We’re both secretly considering DNA testing. I’m pretty sure he’s mine though, because he is both organizationally and directionally challenged just like me. He resembles hubby in the looks department so we’re pretty sure he’s his too. This math thing has us both amazed and proud.

Yesterday his math homework involved finding the least common multiplier amongst groups of 4 numbers. He asked me for help! When I first read the instructions, I swear they said this; “@#$%&!”. After some clarification from my 11 year old, it came back to me. For the most part. We struggled a bit but got through it. This is only 7th grade level math people. I’m so screwed.

There is hope.

In addition to the excessively difficult homework, we also received this lovely card from his math teacher that I will keep forever:

I Appreciate Your Efforts At Home

Your son was rewarded with a sticker today because he showed great character and honesty today in math class. We were doing a very difficult problem and the class was stumped on the answer. One young man worked really hard to get the answer and shared it with your son and his math partner. Instead of just taking the answer without doing the work, your son and his partner erased the answer. I was very proud of both boys because they showed good character.

It doesn’t get much better than this. She’s proud?! I couldn’t be more so.

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My 11 year old son figured out that Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny were all nonsense several years ago. He had heard rumors so pretended to be asleep one night when the tooth fairy paid him a visit. We were busted. He seemed to react the same way I did when I figured it out. I was proud of myself. I felt pretty damn smart to have outwitted my parents. He seemed to feel the same way.  He was sworn to secrecy and has done an excellent job of keeping this from his younger brother. I think he secretly liked knowing something that his little brother didn’t.

That all ended today. My soon to be 9 year old son started grilling me about these characters while I was making dinner tonight. I kept the denial going by asking him why he thought they weren’t real, who else would be bringing these gifts to him, etc. I kept it up for a good 20 minutes. I wanted proof that he knew. I wanted to hear that someone had told him or that he had figured it out somehow, similar to how his brother had. He wasn’t budging. He had no proof but he just knew. He insisted that I please just admit it. I finally caved and told him the truth. Then his older brother chimed in with how he found out about these parental lies and furthermore, how he had seen the Wii that they got last year, several days before Christmas! His “surprise” on Christmas Day was completely fake.

At first my youngest son seemed quite pleased with himself. He was finally in on the big secret. He did insist that he still wants an Easter basket each year and I assured him that this discovery isn’t the end of Christmas presents. We all went on with our chosen activities. He went outside to ride his bike.

He came back home a short time later and I heard his older brother ask him what was wrong. They started talking in whispers but I heard something about, “what mommy said”. I thought….shit. What did I say?! I hadn’t gotten angry at either of them for any reason and couldn’t even remember making any sarcastic remarks either (which is a time honored tradition in my family). I went downstairs and my youngest son was crying. I mean really crying.

He was heartbroken about the whole Santa/Tooth Fairy/Easter Bunny thing! I felt awful. I had struggled with introducing these mythical figures from the beginning. It just didn’t seem right to lie to your kids. I finally figured that all the other kids would be talking about them and maybe it is just a magical part of childhood that I shouldn’t deny them. And yet, now that the truth is out, my baby is sad. Through his tears he said, “I just wish they were real.”.

So do I Sweetie. So do I.

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It’s official.  My eleven year old son is a tween.

I pressed play on the answering machine and there it was.  The one thing I’ve been dreading almost since the day he was born.  Some floozy very nice girl from my son’s class last year left him a voice mail to call her.  She rambled a bit about how she wanted to see what classes he was in and if he had any other phone numbers. I believe she was looking for his cell phone number but he thought she was looking for other kids’ numbers so she could call them.

He’s such a guy!  Since he believed that she was calling him just to get other phone numbers and not to talk to him, and he doesn’t “like her like her”, he didn’t feel like calling her back.  So, he didn’t.  That was that.

First of all,  when I was eleven, I would never have called a boy under any circumstances.  I know I’m dating myself with that statement.  It had more to do with my own extreme shyness and fear of rejection than any outdated notion that girls aren’t supposed to call boys.  Secondly, how typical of a guy is my son’s behavior?!  The first time a girl calls him ever and it’s no big deal. He didn’t give it another thought.

She called back.  Again, something I never would have done.  Even if I had somehow mustered up the courage to call the first time, I would have been too devastated and mortified to even consider calling again.  This time it was clear that she did want to talk to him.  This time he called her back.  He still doesn’t like her like her but clearly likes the idea of her liking him.

And so it begins.

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