Category: parenting

parenting, pets

The Perot and The Puppy

the outside lane

Every year, we do a Family Christmas Outing.  This year, we went to the opening of the new Perot Museum of Nature and Science.  It is an excellent museum, and an excellent value for what is available to you.  B and I have been looking forward to this for a couple of years, and it didn’t disappoint!  I didn’t take any pictures inside the exhibit hall because it was incredibly crowded and any photos would have been mainly of the backs of strangers’ heads, or other people pointing  cameras, but I did take a few shots of my little GQ man.

I don't pose him. No. This is one of his "action spy" poses.
I don’t pose him. No. This is one of his “action spy” poses.
Leap frog in the courtyard.
Leap frog in the courtyard.

Thor was really happy with all the interactive items in the museum.  It is 4 floors of finger-food for thought, well designed to be interesting to all age groups.  I was impressed with the layout, the natural lighting, and the friendliness of the staff.

We watched a 3-D movie about prehistoric sea-life in a nice sized theater (I did not need to see that 3-D shark, thank you), and will go back again to see the 3-D meerkat movie that Thor was sorry to miss.  I wimped out (due to knee trouble) before seeing the animal/human life exhibit, and the physics, engineering, and robotics sections, but B assured me they were well worth seeing when the museum isn’t so crowded.  We went ahead and bought a membership, so we can go regularly.

Meanwhile, my mom and I have been working hard to conceal the existence of the Christmas Puppy.  Thor went to spend the night with her on Thursday, so when I left work, I went straight to her house and collected the dog, while she went to our place to collect the child.  When she returned the boy, this morning, I hid in the back yard with the puppy, and ran him (in his kennel) and all his accessories into her car, while they went in the front door.

We still haven’t planned out exactly how we will a) get the dog back over here on Christmas without Thor knowing it, or b) how we will do the big reveal, but I’m pretty excited.  I might be more excited than Thor will end up being.  I told B, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but with the dog it feels like we have the right number of living things in the household.  That feels pretty darned good.

He plays ball with all the energy of a puppy. Which is perfectly normal, and also hilarious.
He plays ball with all the energy of a puppy. Which is perfectly normal, and also hilarious.
154409_10200192695005757_772285408_n
He is an excellent puppy. Right there, he was watching squirrels run across rooftops. Normally, there aren’t slats missing from the fence. A neighbor had an accident, but he is a good neighbor so it will be fixed quickly.

We had two nights with the puppy in our care, and had the same experience Mom has had.  He goes into his kennel quietly, sleeps through the night, and understands where to do his business.  I was amazed that he already understands how to play fetch, but I might be underestimating at what age puppies do things.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a healthy puppy in the house.

He seems to be the right mix between playful and cuddly, considering he was happy to sit on my lap for over an hour, while B and I made our way through the last part of the first season of Parks and Recreation.  Makes a good thigh warmer!  I think he and Thor are going to get along just fine.  I only worry that he’s going to end up with a name that will be a cause for ridicule in the dog park.

parenting, pets, Thor

Snips, Snails, and Puppy-dog Tails

the outside lane

I got my first dog when I was around three.  My parents brought home a fuzzy, little Shih Tzu to be my Only-Child companion.  I was delighted.  The dog?  Not so much.  As I recall, Sweet-Sue-the-Shih-Tzu (so named because every time I told my Grandma I was getting  Shih Tzu, she would tease, “A Sweet Sue?” And I finally got tired of trying to explain–I remember this so clearly–and said, “No, but that is her name, so that’s fine.”) wasn’t crazy about Lane the Pain. 

I wasn’t hurtful to her.  I just wanted to dress her up, stroll her around in my baby buggy, and sleep with her.  She only wanted to chase my house shoes, nip my heels, and hide from my exuberant love.  I was a girly-girl with doll-baby fantasies of pet ownership.  Susie was a feminist and wasn’t having any of my Madame Alexander doll dress and bonnet madness.

Frosty, our Samoyed Husky, joined the family when I was about 9.  Her owners were allergic to her, so she came to live with us.  Frosty, and I bonded and she was my best friend for years to come.  I would put on my roller skates, put her on her leash, and she would drag me around the neighborhood.  I would perform circus acts with her, having her (my white lion) jump through my hula hoop.  When I cried, she would offer up her warmth and support.  She was my furry soulmate and I loved that dog.

After Frosty died, when I was 16 (Sweet Sue had kicked it not long after Frosty had joined the family), I bought Tuxedo Sam in a pet store for $50.  He was a beautiful Border Collie mix, and just as smart and sweet a dog as you could hope for.  Dad brought Pete, a lab mix, home one day, and they were pretty good buddies.

I found Wart on the side of the road, nearly hairless, one ear chewed up, crawling with red ants.  That little guy was pretty devoted to me, and used to ride around in the car with me.

All three of them were gone by the time I was 22.

When Grandma and Boom came to live with us, they brought their Boxer, Rusty, who was on her last, wonderful leg.  Bryan and I brought another Boxer,  Ella Bella Bon home, when she was 5 weeks old. She extended Rusty’s life with good companionship, and my grandmother adored her.

Ella was four when Thor was born, and he fell in love with her gradually.  She died last summer, and he’s been mooning for a dog since then.  B and I have said no, and maybe, and one day, and no, and never, and Thor (as little boys do) has persisted.

“What would you do with a dog?” I have asked.  “Love it,” he has answered.  Good lord.  What do you say to that?

This is what you say to that.
This is what you say to that.

Friday, I was sitting in the car, waiting to pick him up from school.  NPR was detailing new information about the number of children who had been murdered.  20 children who were all my son’s age.  I watched through tears as my son ran up to a man who had walked his dog up to the school.  He appeared to be chattering to the dog, loving his head and petting his rump and stroking his ears–tip to tail.  He laid himself across the dog’s back, hugging and kissing him, rubbing his cheek against that stiff Boxer fur.  You can’t buy that kind of love.

We were out at a friend’s lakehouse on Saturday, watching Thor play with someone else’s dog.  I was thinking about the last conversation Thor and I had shared about one.  He had said, “I’m so lonely, Mama.  I just want a dog for a friend.”

Our friend said something about how much her son loves their dog and I looked over at B.  I said, “We have to get him a dog.”  He said, “If it is free and lives outside.”  I said, “Okay.”

The next day, I went over to Mom’s to put together a Christmas present that required assembly.  We made a run over to the vitamin store and the new makeup store (getting stuck in Cowboy traffic–go ‘Boys!) and peeked in at the pet place next door, where it seemed like a hundred pups were up for adoption at half price.  Kismet.  My mom paid the $40.

Right now, a beautifully tempered, cracking smart, snuggle bug of an Australian Shepherd mix is hiding out at my Mom’s house, waiting for Christmas morning, when he will meet his Boy.

I asked Thor this morning, “If you had a dog, what would you need to do for it?”

“Clean up its poop,” was his first response, and it came with a laugh.  Then, “Feed him.  Take him for walks.  Play with him.  Teach him to do stuff.”  As he rattled off his list, his face got brighter and brighter.

I agreed with him.  We talked about training dogs and what makes them happy.  I cannot tell you how forward I am looking to his face when we present his new friend to him.

If his connection to this pup is anything like mine was to Frosty, we’ll have given him the best gift possible, outside of the older brother he’d like to have–and that ship sailed!

Explaining the Strange Behavior, Family, Friends of Mine, parenting, Thor

What Kind of Pizza do You Like?

the outside lane

I see pizza a something of a perfect food.  You can eat it with your hands, or with utensils.  You can load it with veggies, with meats, with cheeses, with sauces of all variations and nutritional values.  It’s easy to cook.  It’s easy to serve.  And, as a bonus, most people really enjoy it.  Nothing in the world wrong with a pizza.

That said, I won’t touch one that has sausage on it.  I hate sausage.  I’m weird about meat, and if there is any potential for gristle, or fat, or anything that resembles where the meat comes from (like tendons, veins, you get the idea), I won’t eat it.  Sausage is a gristle fest.  So, no matter how good it smells, how much the gooey cheese makes my mouth water, I won’t touch it.  I don’t even want to pick the sausage off because inevitably there will be a little ball of it hidden somewhere under all that delicious cheese, and I will be the one to bite into it, and it will be a hidden ball of gristle, which will ruin the entire experience for me.  I just-say-no to sausage pizza.

One of my sweet friends called the other night, worried that her daughter was dealing with a pre-school mean girl.  Meangirl was taunting our Princess, saying she hated her, didn’t want to play with her because she didn’t like her, and (more worrisome, even though they are all 4 year olds) that she’d like to kill her.  She asked me if I would tell the Princess to confront and challenge the Meangirl, or if I would tell the Princess to try to come to some peaceful understanding with the Meangirl.  My advice was to tell that little Princess about pizza.

When Thor was about that age, he had a boy he wanted to play with, and that boy kept telling Thor he hated him and insisting that Thor go away.  When I was trying to figure out how to approach it, I wanted to do a few things:

  1. Explain to Thor that there was nothing wrong with him and help him maintain his self-esteem and self-confidence.
  2. Explain to Thor that other people have the right to avoid contact if they want to.

The first because he is my boy, and I want him to feel good about himself.  I want him to be able to make good choices in the future, and good choices start with healthy self-esteem.  The second because I never want to get a phone call saying that my son has forced himself on someone–get my drift?  So I’ve wanted him to understand that no-means-no from an early age.  He has the right to say no, and so does everyone else.  I talked to him about pizza.

We all like pizza, I told him, but we all like different flavors.  We laughed about my sausage issues, and how he hates veggies on his, but we agreed that any pizza is ultimately good pizza–just sometimes the toppings get in the way.  I said that people are like that.  We’re all good and worthwhile, but some of us have toppings that others of us don’t care for.  You can’t argue with taste.

I told him that if Little Johnny didn’t want to play with him, that was okay.  Little Johnny liked cheese pizza, and Thor was a pepperoni pizza.  I told him that he should leave Little Johnny alone, to stop trying to force him into friendship (or trying to change to be what Little Johnny wanted in a playmate), and to go find himself some people who are into pepperoni*.  And, I told him I bet if he left Little Johnny alone, Little Johnny might see that pepperoni pizza isn’t so bad, and maybe Little Johnny would want to come play later.

Imagine my surprise–and I’m being honest here–when that worked.

Imagine my surprise when I realized it worked for me, too.

In Dianne Brill’s book, Boobs, Boys, and High Heels, she talks about the art of creating the perfect social donut.  Everywhere you go, there are cliques, or donuts of people.  At the center of every donut is the social cream.  The idea is to make friends with the center of every donut so that you end up as the social cream of the most awesome donut in the place–and end up as friends of all the donut rings by proxy.  You can’t be that awesome donut cream if you are a follower, if you are easily led astray by peer pressure, or if you lack self-confidence.

I want Thor to always be confident in his worth as an individual, and not seek to find his validation through the approval of others.  That’s why it is important for him to understand that it is okay if someone else doesn’t like him**.  That’s normal.  That’s the world.  He doesn’t have to conform.  He doesn’t have to change.  All he has to be is respectful of other people, respectful of himself, and 100% Thor.  The same goes for that Princess.  All she needs to be is herself.  It’s okay if Bullygirl doesn’t like her–Meangirl probably just doesn’t think she likes pineapple on her pizza.

What kind of pizza are you? 

(I am a half cheese, half pepperoni with pineapples and green olives.)

 

*Note that this isn’t a situation where another child was actively seeking to hurt Thor.  It was just a kid who didn’t want to play with him, and only became vocal when Thor tried to insert himself.

**It’s okay if people don’t like you because you just aren’t their taste.  That is normal.  If you never meet anyone who likes you, then there might be a greater issue at hand. 

 

Explaining the Strange Behavior, parenting, Philosophy, Religion

Lord, I Hope This Day is Good. So I’m going to make it good.

the outside lane

I introduced Thor to the music of Don Williams recently, and said something about it to Mom in front of him.  Thor nodded and said, “Yes.  And he has this song where he says ‘God, make my day good.'”  (If it has God in it, Thor is all over it.  He has been assimilated by Larry the Cucumber.)  The song is actually, “Lord, I hope this day is good.”

I was thinking about that this morning. 

Listen, last week was ROTTEN!  Car trouble with both cars (fixed, thankfully), landed gentry trouble (that’s going to take some time and money to repair, but that’s what I get for having made slumlord jokes), and assorted semi-serious issues combined to make me feel like wallowing.  And I did wallow.  But you know what wallowing gets you?  Dirty.

This morning, I was humming Don Williams.  I stopped to think about the lyrics of the song.  “Lord, I hope this day is good.  I’m feeling tired and misunderstood.  I should be thankful, Lord, I know I should.  But Lord I hope this day is good.”

I’m not the kind of girl who waits for things to happen.  I am impatient.  I’m not wishin’, and hopin’, and prayin’.  I’m doing.  I’m going.  I’m getting.  If it is important to me, I am on the move.  This does not always work to my favor because every good hunter knows that there is a time to lie in wait and a time to go crashing through the underbrush, but it’s who I am.  I do.  I go.  I get. 

I don’t expect God (or anyone else) to give me a good day.  I expect that I have been given all the tools with which to command my destiny, and it is up to me to use them.  When I feel tired and misunderstood, it is up to me to put it to bed (withholding sleep is a way that I punish myself) and explain the misunderstanding.  When I know I should be thankful, you better believe I am thankful.  That’s probably the one thing I have down pat.  Gratitude.

I will tell you that at the bottom of my heart, I will always be able to be thankful for what I have had.  Even if the day comes when I have nothing at all, I will always have what has been, and I have had such love and goodness in my life to date, that I can always be thankful for that.  Even the smallest spark makes a light in darkness, and sometimes that’s the best you can do.

I realized that I haven’t been on top of making sure Thor understands that happiness is his choice and his decision.  I want him to understand that his attitude is his to command, and his temper does not have to be a reaction to the world.  I never want him to wait for someone, or something else to make his day good.  So, when we got in the car this morning, I asked him, “What are we going to do to make this day good?”

He wasn’t sure, so I told him what I was going to do.

“I am going to find something good to say about everyone,” I told him.  “I am going to tell people nice things.  If I think someone looks nice, I will tell them.  If I think they do a good job, I will tell them.”

He smiled and intoned, because it was an imitation of some vegetable he’s been watching, “Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.  That’s Proverbs.”

Good old Proverbs.  Proverbs and Romans are my stomping grounds.  Another Proverb says that you should not only get wisdom, but that you must have understanding of that wisdom.  Knowing the square root of pi doesn’t mean you know how to apply it to anything useful, and what good is knowing 1.772453850905516027298167483314 if you don’t know what it means, or how to get there? 

So, I said to Thor, “That is the truth.”  And I asked him, “How are you going to use that?”

He still wasn’t sure, so I offered some understanding of the wisdom.  “You can use your words to make people feel good, and seeing that you have made someone happy will make you happy. 

“How about you tell one of your teachers thank you for taking such good care of you?  And, how about you tell one of your friends what you like about him?  And, if you think someone is good at a game, why don’t you say so?  Then, you’ll make someone else’s day good, and that will help make your day good.”

He liked that.  I like that.

I’m not telling you I am always on top of this.  I’m telling you that I let life get to me last week, and I ignored a lot of opportunities to turn my attitude around because it felt better (or at least easier) to wallow.  But I have it back on track this week.  I started with apologizing to someone for an overreaction I had.  As I explained to Thor, “Sometimes, you realize you were wrong a few days later.  You still have to bite that bullet and go say so.”

Summing up:

The goodness of my day=my responsibility

 

parenting, Women, work

I Can Bring Home The Bacon, But Some People Can’t

the outside lane

Lisa Belkin writes a great article about Anne-Marie Slaughter and her choice to leave the workplace to focus on family here. There are excellent points about how to make work and homelife more compatible for parents.  Important points.  Very important points.  Slaughter writes another excellent piece about her choice, focusing on how difficult it is to “have it all” the family/the job/the happiness.  Tara Sophia Mohr follows up on Slaughter’s article, asking if her story made the cover of The Atlantic, what got left out? 

In particular, I loved this question Mohr asked:

Women, who now make up half the workforce, are making it work — and many are doing so in ways that leave them deeply satisfied. Some of those deeply satisfied women are entrepreneurs, some have full-time jobs at companies with enlightened work-life policies, some have spouses who are the primary caregivers. Some find that with quality childcare and connection to community, dual full-time careers with decent hours work just fine for their families.

Why aren’t we reading their stories?

She goes on to describe the women whose stories are missing as:

“Powerful women” aren’t just those who have mega-jobs. A woman who feels satisfied, who feels deep, full-bellied satisfaction with her life and her choices? A woman who feels she is enough, who feels at peace with her mothering, her bank account and her thriving career? Where is she in our cultural discourse?

She is powerful and empowered. She carries the energy of her own happiness. She is not constantly sapping her own contentment with self-critique and guilt. She is strengthened by confidence in her own choices. She’s got the satisfaction of knowing her skills and talents have value in the world, and can bring her and her family economic security.

I am pretty sure we never hear about her because she is boring.  If you’re getting the job done and are happy about it, what is there to say?  No one would watch Grey’s Anatomy if Meredith were a secure, happy, satisfied surgeon with a healthy, happy relationship founded on mutual respect and admiration.  (Which makes me think:  Are there any shows where a woman is a secure, happy, satisfied whatever, who goes about her business without man-hunting or trying to get her kid off crack?  I can think of 6 shows off the top of my head that feature a leading man who is secure, happy, and satisfied and whose only weekly drama is the case he is working at the time.  If there are such shows, please tell me!  I’d like to tune in.)

I would say that I fit Mohr’s description of the invisible working mother.  I wouldn’t say my career is thriving because I’ve spent so much of the past decade leap-frogging positions trying to get ahead that I haven’t built any true credibility–jack of all trades, expert of none situation.  I wouldn’t say I am confident in my ability to bring economic security because I define economic security as being able to save at least half of what you make, but if (God forbid) anything happened to B, I could keep Thor in shoes.

I am happy.  I am satisfied.  I am a good mother, and I am confident in my parenting.  I am confident in the choices I have made for my son, and while I would be the first person to tell you that I’ve lost sleep and cried tears over not being able to be his primary, daytime caretaker, I would also tell you that I am extremely proud of what B and I have done for our family, and I’m not sure I would change it if I could.

So that’s me, and it is also many, many women I know.  Women who read the Huffington Post and The Atlantic.  Middle Class, aspirational, hopeful, working women who have enough income to make choices.  You know who it isn’t?  It isn’t women who work three minimum wage jobs just to put food on the table.  It isn’t women who have no choice but to leave their child with a neighbor, or another child in order to get to those three jobs just so they can feed their child.

It isn’t the women who have to make the choice between getting that child fed, and getting the babysitter vetted.

We see articles about Welfare Moms all the time.  And we see articles about Working Moms who have the money for nannies.  Now and then we see articles about the moms, like me, who are just trucking along.  We do not see the articles about the women (and men) who are working their tails off for next to nothing, paying their taxes, working within the system, doing the absolute best for their families that they can, who still cannot afford to even so much as choose between quality and sketchy daycare.  Or who fall in between the cracks of daycares that run from 6a to 6p, when they work the 7p to 3a shift.  You know: The people whose stories are too sad to tell because there is so little hope for difference for them.  Because you aren’t ever going to get rich working for WalMart.

Let’s talk about those people.  Let’s shine a light on them, and see if we can’t find solutions in Slaughter’s original article and Belkin’s follow up that can make a difference in their lives.

For those who believe that the only right way to raise a happy, successful child is to have a Stay At Home Parent in the house, I reject your judgment and your guilt.  There is no such thing as Only One Right Way and I believe we have had a few Presidents who prove that point.