Monty Boy

I was planning on writing a review of our weekend in Chicago today.  It was going to be a post about remembering who you are when everything is crazy around you.  We wanted to take the weekend to simply be a couple, not hopeful adoptive parents, prospective adoptive parents, or a waiting family.  We wanted to just be two normal people enjoying a normal life this weekend.

Unfortunately, all of the excitement that had been building for the chance to simply spend some quality time with my husband was dashed on Friday morning, when I went out to feed and water Monty, our Golden Retriever.  Sometime between when Troy had fed him on Thursday evening and when I went to him, he had passed away.  Our only warning that something wasn’t right was his loss of appetite and a little stiffness in his joints, both presenting on Thursday.  We had hoped to alleviate both problems with a little bit of wet food, something he always seemed to accept as a delicious treat.  Sadly, whatever ailed him was more serious than we could have guessed.

We’ve always been dog people and have been blessed with owning three wonderful examples of the species and our family has surrounded themselves with canines of all stripes: mutts, designer breeds, and pure breds. And as much as I love all dogs, if I had to create a breed that combined all of the positive traits of all the dogs I’d ever met and leave out all of the negative, I could do no better than God already had when He created Golden Retrievers. 

Goldens are loyal and enthusiastic.  They are curious but gentle.  They genuinely love the company of people.  I think that Goldens have two states:  excited and waiting to be excited. 

Monty was a particularly good example of the personality of the breed despite his skill set being decidedly un-Golden-like.  He was not fond of the water and would go to great pains to avoid the lake, the garden hose, or an accidental dribble from the water jug on his head, though he did have moments when he didn’t want to come in out of the rain.  For a retriever, he was uncharacteristically bad at retrieving, and while he was happy to chase a stick, he was exceedingly reluctant to return it.  He was a smart and obedient dog, but only one of his senses ever worked at a time.  It was not unusual for him to put his head down and start off through a corn field, with me trailing after him calling his name.  It wasn’t that he was ignoring me; it was simply that his nose was engaged and his ears didn’t work when that happened.  When he would lose the trail, his head would pop up, he’d look around and try to figure out where he was and why his mother was calling his name and chasing after him.   

One day, I went out to feed him and he greeted me at the trap door to his dog house barking loudly, excited I was there.  I put my finger to my lips to “shhh” him and said in a whisper, “Use your inside voice.”  He looked at me and then barked at half of his previous volume. 

I know that many people don’t believe that animals will go to heaven.  They feel that a dog doesn’t have a soul.  Well, I can tell you that I’ve looked into the liquid brown eyes of my Golden Retriever and I can say with a certainty that he had a soul and that it was innocent and joyful and kind and enthusiastic for life.  It was full of all the things that God wants of His children.

I am reminded of a story, which I believe may have been from Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone Episode, The Hunt (which itself may be based on an anciet Sanscrit text called the Mahabharata):

An old man and his dog were walking down this dirt road with fences on both sides.  They came to a gate in the fence and looked in, it was nice - grassy, woody areas, just what a hunting dog and man would like, but, it had a sign saying 'no trespassing' so they walked on.

They came to a beautiful gate with a person in white robes standing there. "Welcome to Heaven!" he said. The old man was happy and started in with his dog following him. The gatekeeper stopped him. "Dogs aren't allowed, I'm sorry but he can't come with you."

"What kind of Heaven won't allow dogs? If he can't come in, then I will stay out with him. He's been my faithful companion all his life, I can't desert him now."

"Suit yourself, but I have to warn you, the Devil's on this road and he'll try to sweet talk you into his area, he'll promise you anything, but, the dog can't go there either. If you won't leave the dog, you'll spend Eternity on this road."

So the old man and dog went on. They came to a rundown fence with a gap in it, no gate, just a hole. Another old man was inside.

"Excuse me Sir, my dog and I are getting mighty tired.  Mind if we come in and sit in the shade for awhile?"

"Of course, there's some cold water under that tree over there. Make yourselves comfortable."

"You're sure my dog can come in? The man down the road said dogs weren't allowed anywhere."

"Would you come in if you had to leave the dog?"

"No sir, that's why I didn't go to Heaven.  He said the dog couldn't come in. We'll be spending Eternity on this road, and a glass of cold water and some shade would be mighty fine right about now. But, I won't come in if my buddy here can't come too, and that's final."

The man smiled a big smile and said "Welcome to Heaven."

"You mean this is Heaven? Dogs ARE allowed? How come that fellow down the road said they weren't?"

"That was the Devil and he gets all the people who are willing to give up a lifelong companion for a comfortable place to stay. They soon find out their mistake, but, then it's too late. The dogs come here, the fickle people stay there. God wouldn't allow dogs to be banned from Heaven. After all, He created them to be man's companions in life, why would He separate them in death?"

You will be missed Big Mo.

Going the Extra 143 Miles....A Parenting Story

I promised this story in a previous blog post.  At the time, I called it A Mello, A Volleyball, A Plane and A Parent.  This story is all true.

When people ask me about my family and the kind of upbringing I had, which happens often as we move through the adoption process, I always tell them that I was lucky to grow up in a family where supporting each other was of the utmost importance. My parents were very involved in our lives and it wasn't until I was in college that my parents actually missed the first high school marching band performance that any of us (me, and my sisters) were participating in.  The reason for their absence?  They were attending an awards dinner for first generation college students as my guests. 

They took their obligation to support their children seriously, and it is something that I am forever grateful for and hope to be able to emulate with as much grace and good will as they did.  Being on the road at 6 am for a State Fair Band Day performance,and then coming to pick us up when the buses rolled back into the school parking lot at 3 am the next morning takes a special kind of dedication.

When I want to provide a specific illustration about how dedicated my parents were in supporting their kids, I always tell this story.  It didn't happen to me, but to my sister, but there is really no better way to explain what my parents would do for us girls.

In a high school marching band like ours, any kid who wanted to participate could.  For the musicians, there were no auditions, and no one was held back as an alternate to fill spots later in the season.  Everyone marched.  And that included the few handful of fall athletes (football, cheerleaders, and volleyball) as well.  One of those was my youngest sister, who, in addition to playing the mellophone (marching French Horn), also played volleyball. 

Her senior year, both groups were doing exceptionally well throughout the year.  The band was getting the highest scores at contests and the volleyball team was state ranked.  As the season dwindled down and the stakes for each contest got higher, my sister, the band director and the volleyball coach had a decision to make.

The state marching band finals happened to fall on the same day as the regional volleyball tournament.  Marching band was in Indianapolis and volleyball was in Kendallville.  Marching band was to end at Noon, and volleyball was to begin at 1:00 pm.  The distance between the two sites was 143 miles. 

No car could legally make the trip between the two points in the hour allotted.  Now, normal people would tell her that she would just have to make a choice.  After all, life isn't supposed to be easy and will be filled with choices.  Adults make these decisions all the time.

But was that what my parents believed?  Well, they always reminded me that life wasn't fair.  And they encouraged me to make well-reasoned decisions.  But in this case, they didn't care for the contemporary logic.

Their youngest daughter had worked very hard at her chosen activities.  She didn't miss practice or class.  She kept her grades up.  She should be rewarded for her dedication to both volleyball and marching band.  She should reap the rewards that she'd worked so hard for all season.  So my parents did the only thing a person could do.

They chartered an airplane.

Now, my parents aren't poor by any stretch of the imagination, but they aren't, to borrow from the current vernacular, the 1% either.  They are solidly middle class.  And they decided that if a car couldn't get her from one event to the other in time, then they'd just have to get a plane to do it.

Tracy marched that day and stayed on the field as awards were announced.  As soon as they had awarded the top trophy, she sprinted off with a stadium worker to the south airlock where she met Mom, Dad and Grandma.  I remember standing on Pan Am Plaza with Tami (my middle sister) and waving as their car sped down the road to the general aviation gate at the Indianapolis International Airport where my Dad put Tracy, Mom and Grandma on the plane to the Kendallville Municipal Airport.  Like a dignitary, her plane was met by the Principal of the high school who then drove all three of them to the gym where the volley ball tournament was just moments away from getting underway.

My dad followed in his car, getting there in time for the final set.

I know that I don't thank my parents enough for being the parents and people that they are and providing for me in all ways.  And someday soon, I hope that they, too can reap the benefits of their efforts throughout the years, and hear the excited cries of "grandma and grandpa!"  ringing through the halls.

Life Under Construction

To everyone using real live Christmas trees, especially ones you cut yourself, sometimes Momma Praying Mantises--Manti?--lay their eggs in pine trees in the fall to hibernate over winter and hatch in spring, or in late January if the tree and nest has been at a constant 72 degrees for 8 weeks.  I know this....from experience.  I only tell you that to tell you this.  Our Christmas tree has been down for two weeks now, the decorations are put away, and the house is no longer looking bare, but just normal.  But we can't have that, now can we?

Just when our life starts to calm down, we have to do something to mix it up.  This time, we're re-doing rooms.  Rooms...plural...as in two. 

Today, Troy began the demo on the upstairs bathroom.  We are going to redo everything except the cabinets which will just get a coat of paint.  New floors, new shower, new sink and counter top, new fixtures.  And all of this is especially challenging because the home's builder either didn't understand the concept of using standard measurements on anything or choose to be different by ignoring standard measurements.   

A few years ago, there was a commercial of a guy standing in his kitchen, flipping a switch trying to turn on the garbage disposal.  Flick....flick.....flick.....nothing happened.  Two houses away, a man sat in his car as the garage door went up and down, up and down as if it had a mind of its own.  That could have been us.  Nothing in this house is intuitive, which just presents Troy with more fun challenges as he discovers one idiosyncrasy after another.

Admittedly, my project, the nursery, is not too terribly big.  I'm not even doing a lot at this time because my sister is coming to Indiana in March (our deadline for the bathroom remodel, too), and I thought we'd work on this together.  I've got lots of ideas and am collecting things, but there will be no painting or hanging of curtains or artwork until March.  Unless we have to get it done sooner because of an impending arrival of a baby.

I've heard a lot of hopeful adoptive parents say that the sight of an empty nursery is just a constant reminder of the emptiness in their lives, and  I understand how that can be and will admit that there may be days when that is what I think as I pass by the empty room decorated for a baby we don't know and may not know for a long time.  But I also think it is a sign of hope. That someday, there will be a pitched wail of hunger coming from that room or coos and giggles of delight.  That we look forward to realizing our dream of a complete family and in the end, we have an unwavering faith that it will happen even if we don't know when.

So, while my project is easier (no tearing anything down), it is all that more daunting.  Adoption makes this project even more complicated.  We don't know the gender of our child.  And even once we get matched, we don't want to commit to a gender specific theme since 50% of matches fail and we don't know if our second match would be for a child of the same gender.  So neutral it is.  Except that my idea of neutral (sage green and butter yellow) are not Troy's.  Somehow over the last decade, yellow has become decidedly feminine, and while he is on board with an all-green room, I am not.  But the walls can't remain the boring, characterless white that they are now.  I need to see that some thought has been put into preparing the room.  And so, we came to a decision....gray walls.

Yes, I am afraid it will be a little bit dull for a baby, which is why we need to punch up the walls with splashes of color.  And since the bedding and theme is teddy bears in that nice sage green that I planned for the walls, I've decided that some of my own personal photography will grace the walls:


Bearlington





Bearlington



Passepartout



Furmont

 I can't wait to see the stretched canvas art from these photos that will hang over the crib and bracket the window. 

Now, it's a race.  Let's see which room will be finished first!

Ugh...resolutions

Don't get me wrong, I love a day off work just as much as the next person, but can anyone explain to me how New Years Day became a holiday?  It's the first day of a new year, and though we've made the day a celebration with football games, parades of roses and sleeping in after a long night, I often wonder which came first, the partying or the national holiday.

But I admit, there is something about beginning a new year that allows a person to turn the page in their lives and start anew.  And of course, that's the reason behind New Year's resolutions.  What thing do you want to do this year that you've failed to do before?  But for some reason, resolutions suffer from being possible but unlikely to be kept.  In fact, I've never actually met a person who has succeeded in their New Year's resolution.  It just seems like resolutions are destined to fail.

But I think it's important to have goals for ones self and now, with the whole year ahead of us and endless possibilities, it makes sense to set a course to follow for 2012.  So, this year I'm giving myself one task, one goal.  It looks simple, but it will take a concerted effort to succeed. 

My 2012 goal is: treat myself better.

Three little words: treat myself better. How hard can that be, you ask? Well, those three little words convey a whole lot of tasks.  For example:

1.  Eat better.  I hate diets.  I hate the word diet.  I will never be able to understand how it is healthier to eat a quarter pounder with cheese (skipping the bun, of course) than it is to have an apple or a banana.  Anything that doesn't make sense to my logical brain isn't something I will follow.  So here's what I am going to do.  Eat whatever I want, but eat less of it.  I will be one of those people who counts calories and makes trade-offs during the day.  Dessert is fine, but if I want it, I have to cut back elsewhere.

2.  Get moving.  I'm not talking P90X, or participating in a triathlon, but I need to move.  It can be as simple as walking or as complex (and assuredly humorous) as dancing to one of my Just Dance games on Wii.  Troy and I decided to walk the 500 Festival Mini Marathon again this year, and we are looking forward to some distance hiking this spring and fall.  The thing is just to get up and go.  I often forget how good it feels in the moments after a round of exercise when your muscles are burning a bit and they feel energized.

3.  Water, water, water.  I've kind of got a rhythm down for drinking 8 glasses (4 bottles) of water a day.  One bottle with breakfast.  One bottle with lunch.  One bottle in the late afternoon when my energy starts to sag (that one usually comes home with me). One bottle with dinner/exercise.  But if I don't make a conscious effort, I let that slip.  I tend to forget what one good week of hydration does for my skin.  No amount of lotion can moisturize like drinking water can. 

4.  Journal.  I enjoy blogging, but somethings just aren't for public consumption.  And I've found that, along with exercise, the best way for me to cut my stress level in half is to journal.  I'm actually not really good at keeping a journal however.  I currently own half a dozen journals and all but one has just a few entries.  In this case, turning the page is quite literal.

5.  Relax.  I need to make a concerted effort to do things that allow me to relax.  Journaling and exercise will help relieve stress, but I also need to calendar in down time where I can sit with a good book, sit on a battlefield, or go out to dinner with Troy.  Someday soon, I expect that that time will be spent playing peekaboo, speaking in baby talk and making homemade baby food.

6.  Quality not quantity.  I am an avid reader, and lately, I've enjoyed reading things that go quick, aren't too complicated and don't require me to think: historical romance.  I won't stop reading these, because I enjoy them, but I have lots of books that are more intellectual than those romances and a number of them will help us to become better parents and to understand how to address particular issues that come up in adoptions.  Time to pick up a few of them.

7. Take a class.  There is so much I want to learn to do: speak Hungarian, play the piano, learn a craft (I'm not picky here since my only artistic talent to date is photography).  But the more practical side of me will win out when I sign up for the second of three classes needed to earn a designation from the Wharton School of Business's CEBS program for work.  And when that is done, I'll be one step closer to becoming a Group Benefits Associate.

I believe that 2012 will be a good year for us.  Hopefully, this will be the year that we become parents, and that is a primary reason that I've set out these goals to become fit in body and mind.  We're getting ready for parenthood in other ways (a few home improvement projects, setting up the nursery, buying baby items), why wouldn't we take this opportunity to work on ourselves to become the best we can be?  After all, soon (we hope), we'll have other things to concentrate on!