Feeling bad about getting my way

I had dogs growing up, but they were mostly confined to the backyard, so it has taken me a while to realize - even though I love animals, I am just NOT a dog person. Unless it's someone else's dog - then maybe - but I'm not promising anything. Anyone who has read my posts knows I really, really don't like my dog. At all. Trust me, I've even said much worse about her in person than I have on here. It started out okay enough, when we first got her nearly three years ago. But she would chew on my stuff, and Ewan's as well. She chewed four pairs of my shoes during one period of time, and they had all been brand new. She would sneak in Ewan's room, take a toy out of his basket, and we'd find it under the kitchen table in shreds. I tried to like her and be kind to her, I really did, but after all the chewing and the hair that literally fills up our vacuum canister every day, I just couldn't pretend anymore. Add to this the fact that about six months ago, (she has gotten so spoiled to being inside), she seemed to decide she was not ever going to go out back again. We can't keep her back there, even for small amounts of time. She jumps the fence immediately, which has been very annoying for me. It came to a head last week when Animal Control came to my door and told me I was lucky he wasn't ticketing me, but that next time he would. You should see how ridiculous our gate looks from all the stuff we have piled there trying to keep her from climbing, and I wanted that man to go look and see! How could he even think of writing me a ticket?! The only thing that has redeemed her presence in my home is that she barks at strangers and anyone suspicious, so we always feel safe and alert when she's around.

Last year, when I was babysitting Ben, we noticed she'd get really odd around him, and sometimes act quite aggressive. So I would keep her out back all day until he left and let her in. Fynn was still a very wee guy during this time, so I never was able to see how she "felt" about him. But as he's gotten older, it has become apparent she DOES NOT like him, although she loves Ewan. I've been a little nervous about this, but Bryce and I both agreed that no matter what, if she EVER, even once, snapped or growled at Fynn, she was gone. No tolerance. On Friday night, Bryce took Ewan to the movies, and Fynn was having fun just following Sugar from room to room, giggling. I never let my kids hurt or bother the animals, and this was no exception. He was doing nothing that even warranted me to fuss at him, or what she eventually did. All he was doing was sitting up against her back, and it would make him laugh when she'd get up. All the sudden, I thought I heard a growl, but wasn't sure. So I watched her closely, Fynn merely walked within one foot of her, and she growled and snapped her teeth at him. I put her outside immediately, and she is now in Craigs List and PetFinder for a new home. We just absolutely won't have that at all. It feels funny here without her (she's staying at Mary Ann's) and I feel like I "got my way," but this isn't how I wanted it.

That's not to say I'm not totally thrilled she's gone.

Very very very clumsy Kelli

Alas, it was not to be. And it's all my fault. Even Fynn is better around the breakables in this house than I am. Leave it to me to try to move a large piece of baby equipment next to a small table with precious ceramic cats on it.
I am so very sad. Meep. As mentioned before, this belonged to my grandmother. and it was so fabulous. So, which is appropriate to say? "Thank goodness it wasn't the fish?" or "If only it had been the fish?" (To view the kitty in all its former glory, click on the link above.)

My heart walking outside of my body

Last week I enrolled Ewan in a real, live preschool.  He will be attending twice a week for three hours.  I did this because he is so bright, and because he seems to be completely bored out of his mind here at home with me.  He plays better by himself than ever, often inventing, narrating and acting out Thomas the Tank Engine stories with the few trains he has, but he still gets very bored. I wanted him to be around some different kids close to his own age, and have some structured activities and learning experiences.  We were participating in a "co-op" preschool with some mothers in the ward that met once a week.  That worked really well for awhile, but lately it just hasn't been panning out as well, and I felt Ewan needed more of a classroom setting.  Today was his first day, and can I tell you how strange it felt to leave him there? Just the oddest, unusual feeling.  And there was a minor battle with the teacher about whether or not he should be in the four-year-old class.  He turns four on the 20th, and I know all moms say this, but he really is very smart and is beyond anything they would do in a 3-year-old class.  After a little back-and-forth between the teacher and I, she agreed to try it for one day.  He was ecstatic to go, and ecstatic to have me leave.  I've just never left him with anyone other than a babysitter I trusted as much as myself.  It helped that Natalie was there, and that I watched Shannon leave her, so I know everything is okay.  But still, it was just surreal and kind of sad.  Like I'm pushing him out into the real world.  I know, I know, I am totally melodramatic.  

I have rare time to myself because Bryce took Fynn to his follow-up appointment with the orthopedist in Fort Worth.  So I think I will curl up with a good book and perhaps some Coke.  (At 9 in the morning?!  Not really, but I thought about it.)  But first I think it's time to go have a good cry.

Meep to the Meepest Degree of Meepishness Meeping

If a day like today is what is necessary to have something to blog about, I'd rather be blogless, thank you very much.  

After a morning of boring errands, Sarah headed over so we could walk with the kids to the park.  While Ewan ran around like a maniac, and after letting Fynn toddle around a little, I took him up to go down the slides, which he loves and laughs with pure joy every time.  So our third time down, we went down the slide, and his shoe caught on the side, jerking his leg back. His laughing turned into the strangest cry I've ever heard.  It was just a complete wail, and I had a bad feeling.  After comforting him a little, I decided to try again on the slide thinking it would cheer him up.  That didn't work.  I speculated maybe he'd sprained or even broken it, but I knew there was no way that was possible.  After we got home I changed his diaper and wiggled his legs all around, and he didn't cry.  But after his nap, he couldn't stand up on it and was in hysterics.  My doctor directed us to the ER.  Try standing room only ER, I literally sat on the floor.  I got there at probably 3:45, perhaps earlier, and just got home at around 10:15 pm.  I was shuffled from waiting area to waiting area, while listening to one woman freak out because they wouldn't give her her psychiatric medication, then enduring the same woman staring at me quite intensely for a very, very long time, then listening to a mother worried about her 17 year old son be told to F*** off by both her son and her husband.  It was simply grand.  And then the grand finale:  Fynn's tibia is broken. Which, in case you don't know, is the big shin bone.  Can you believe that?  Broken.  It's what they call a "non-displaced fracture" or as we would call it - a crack.  The poor baby just learned how to walk, and now he has a giant splint on his leg and can barely even crawl.  I am so upset, I just can't even put it into words.  I am speechless (though not "typeless" apparently). I also hadn't eaten any lunch at all, so I was near passing out the entire time at the ER.  Luckily Mary Ann was able to get Ewan early on, so he was comfortable in his own home with Grandma and Grandpa.  Bryce was able to join me much later, and he took Fynn home when we were released so I could get me some food.  

Here is when the day got even better.  On the way to get food, I noticed a CVS Pharmacy with "Open 24 Hours" on the sign, so I wanted to get his prescription filled.  They told me they wouldn't fill it because they closed at 10:00.  I was walking out when I realized it was 9:50, and my sister spent years and years as a pharmacy tech, so I know it takes five minutes to fill a prescription.  Well, combine an entire day with no food, the anxiety over my injured baby, plus nearly seven hours in a crowded, flu-ridden ER, and rude pharmacists... it wasn't pretty.  Don't mess with a tired, hungry Mama Bear.  I stormed to the back and said, "Excuse me, it's 9:50, I have a baby at home with a broken leg, and you won't fill his pain meds?"  (Thinking, Why does your sign say 24 hours?)

"Ma'am, we close at 10:00."

"I understand that, it's 9:50."

"We close at 10:00."  

"So my baby will be up crying all night in pain because you won't fill his prescription even though you aren't even closed yet."  

Then the situation really deteriorated with the other pharmacist yelling back at me, and I just left.  And you know, I know it won't hurt CVS or anything, but I will never set foot in one again.  Ever.  It may not affect them, but I'll sure feel better.

Thanks so much to Keith for giving Fynn a blessing, we appreciate it so very much.  My poor Fynn.  My poor Fynnicus Fynn of the Fairest of Fynns.  I can't even make this better for him.  

Meep.

All Creatures of Our God and King

I once drove over 30 miles to an overnight emergency vet at 11:30 p.m. because my pet mouse was dehydrated. I took a different pet mouse to a vet to be euthanized because I could tell it was about to die and was suffering. When my cats have killed birds in the past, I have given them a proper burial. I've driven nearly 50 miles to take an orphaned bird to a bird reserve, I've befriended otherwise unbefriendable wild, stray cats, I've cried over a news story of a turtle being tortured by fire, and I often feel guilty for killing bugs. I think all those convicted of animal cruelty should be burned at the stake.  

I never, ever thought I could cry over a fish. But this fish is suffering.  You can tell he is dying, beyond help, and he's struggling so hard to breathe.  His gills are opening and closing so slowly, but the effort is so difficult that it rocks his entire body.  I am heartsick over it, because I can't stop the suffering.  I guess I could technically do something, but I'm no Jack Kevorkian.  I feel so terrible that I can't help the wee guy, and am anguished that it is taking him so long to die.

When I'm at the final judgement and answering questions about why did I ever drank frappuccinos, my lust for Ryan Gosling, and why I don't even like my own dog, the Lord will look on my heart and see these things I have done and felt over animals, and he'll cut me a little slack. 

You'd think I'd be a vegetarian, wouldn't you?

A Perfect Day

I am actually a little embarrassed about part of what's going to be posted here, mainly because it seems so greedy and worldly, albeit totally fun. And also, I've never, never, never done something quite like this in my entire life, so there's that... It started when I decided for part of Bryce's Christmas, I would let him get some sort of video game system. I've never wanted one before, for many reasons, but I also felt too much like a tyrant by restricting them. I also I realized I can't shut Ewan off from the modern world, and that with limits video games can be fun, even beneficial for a kid of the 21st century. Even a 28 year old kid. Sooooo... of course Bryce wants a Wii, which there's no way we could afford outright. Now, Bryce and I are very careful about credit. Like, we don't use it, really. We've had credit cards before, but we've only used them on vacations, and a little for Christmas one year. But that's it. Our main goal right now is to be totally debt free. However, we talked about it and came up with a plan where he could get his Wii. Then that blessed man promised me something so wondrous and fabulous that I'm still reeling.

A shopping spree.

That's right, I got to go to Old Navy and spend the equal amount of the Wii he will buy (using the future tense as every time we've tried to inquire about the availability of one at any retailer, they pretty much laughed us out the door) on clothes. I'm even cringing that I'm admitting this on here. Please don't judge me! I recently posted this about how lame my shopping has been, and my style has left the building, but that I'm trying to get it back. But I was able to get some really good, classic clothes that I love and feel beautiful in, and it.was.so.much.fun. So fun that it is almost easy for me to ignore the nausea that creeps in every time I think about the bill. Almost. But it was a one-time thing, and the subsequent relief Bryce will feel when I'm not griping twelve hours out of twenty-four about my horrible wardrobe is probably worth it.

After the spree and a nice lunch of pasta at my favorite chain-restaurant (so sue me, restaurant snobs), I went on a date with Ewan to see Alvin and the Chipmunks. It was very cute, and they did such a good job. The voices sounded EXACTLY like the cartoon I remember as a kid. Also, too many shows geared toward kids these days try so hard to appeal to the adults as well, that 90% of the jokes fly right over the kids' heads. Not so with this one, it was appealing for me, but not at the expense of the kids' understanding. And the best scene is when Theodore creeps into Dave's room after a nightmare and curls up right on his shoulder. (Reminded me of being a kid with a litter of kittens curled up all over me, tucked into various crooks and crannies of my slumbering body.) Unfortunately for Ewan, he complained of a bad headache for most of the movie, but he was able to enjoy it nonetheless. After that, we went home and had a pizza picnic on our living room floor.

Luckily, even after all those carbs and cheese, I do still fit in the clothes. Regardless, I don't need to be skinny to carry this, perhaps my favorite purchase.

Your days are numbered

Edgar is at the end of his rope. The former owner has been contacted, and hopefully the little pooper will be exchanging hands this weekend. Which I hate, because I don't want to give up, and I really wanted it to work. But I found a treasure trove of rabbit droppings on Ewan's bed today. The camel's back is broken beyond repair.

P.S. And more time...

O.K., so I know the question I am about to ask is not a new one; it's nothing revolutionary or unheard of to wonder about. But where does one find the time to do everything? Besides basics: Feeding kids and myself, brushing their teeth and mine, playing with them, teaching them, washing dishes, keeping the rest of the house clean, keeping up with the laundry, time with Bryce, time with myself, dressing and grooming myself and kids, making dinner, grocery shopping, feeding the animals, and whatever else I'm forgetting. I'm trying to work on writing again, and even have a real project going, so when do I get to do that? I usually do it at night, but then I'm so tired the next day I'm acting like a wicked stepmother and Bryce complains that I never go to bed when he does. Now after a major spiritual epiphany I've had tonight, I really want to focus on reading the scriptures, especially at times when Ewan and Fynn can see me doing it. I also want to start praying more (i.e. praying at all) and teaching Ewan to say his personal prayers. And real journal writing. Plus, if I ever wanted to work out (pardon me while I spew Coke all over the screen in laughter) when would I do that? And sleep? I know no one really has the answer to this, but does anyone have little minor tips that work for them, even if in one area? And how much time do my children need with me, face to face, no distractions? I never know, and consequently I am perpetually guilty that they are being neglected and ignored.

As I am writing this, I recall an article in the Ensign written by a woman who had prayed for this very thing: a way to find more time. She kept feeling impressed to start her family's temple work. She didn't understand how adding another thing to her plate would help, but the feeling was so persistent, she did it. And miraculously, she had time for all she had to do and then some. Hmm....

Dearest Fynn, A Sequel, A Post that Introduces the Label "Guilt"

Dearest Fynn, Cutest Boy Ever,

I am sorry I tried to make you put yourself back to sleep by letting you cry for ten minutes. I didn't know you'd cut your gums where your new tooth is growing in and that you were bleeding. Mommy feels about as big as a cockroach. I love you madly.

Love,
Mommy, Your Loyal Servant