Shelter them

The other day I saw the second of two Pedigree dog food commercials that literally brought me to tears. The first one came out at the end of last year and had a dog in a shelter cage with the narrator speaking for him-"I don't know why I'm here...I am a good dog..." Every single time I saw that ad I was saddened. The most recent one shows this happy shaggy dog again in a shelter who gets all excited as a couple of people pause in front of his crate, then gets real still when these people move on...It is actually so touching but sad too.
Every dog I have ever had as an adult has come from a shelter. Hailey that we had to give away when Brian and I split up. Then there was our beloved Red who was nuts but you couldn't not adore him despite his psychosis. Now I have Lucky. Patrik and I were tossing around the idea of getting another dog about a year and a half after we gave Red to some people with wide open spaces for him to roam in. So I packed up Julia and Emma and we went to the shelter. I WAS JUST GOING TO LOOK. I swear. But those shelters just break my heart, all those dogs left behind. Not knowing why, what they did that was so bad to earn them a cage all alone. Lucky was the only younger dog at the shelter that day. We took her out and played with her a little and because Patrik and I had not totally agreed to get a dog, we left without her. And her face haunted me all night. I couldn't get her off my mind. I kept going on the website to see if she'd been adopted that day and wondered if she was scared, if she was cold....
The next morning the girls and I were back at the shelter the minute they opened and adopted this goofy dog. Julia named her Lucky and she is now a beloved part of our family. When I called Patrik after we got home with her I said, "So I have this dog..." and he said "I thought you were just looking!" But we all love her. She is a good fit for us, not too big, playful, protective, smart and loving, and doesn't mind being crated.
I appreciate pure bred dogs. Some of them are beautiful and if I could have afforded one we probably would have ended up with a golden lab. But fate is a funny thing...if we had a lab what would have become of little Lucky? I encourage people to adopt when they are looking for pets. If not for the girls I would have liked to adopt an older dog because I feel most badly for them...like infant children, puppies are more easily adopted. But I had to be sure of a limited history because I didn't want something to trigger something in an older dog to make having one around small grabby kids unsafe. I can't imagine an older dog who has spent his faithful life with someone being dumped off to end his life at a shelter.
Thousands and thousands of dogs and cats are euthanized every year. They are tossing around a mandatory spay and neuter ordinance here and I'm all for it. There is no reason to add more heartache to an animal's life.
Lucky will be with us until her time comes. And when she is gone I already know our next dog will again be a shelter dog.
Because I feel they need us and the love we have to offer more.

Then and now-boys and girls

I have become one of those parents that is a little paranoid. I wasn't always like this. I certainly didn't grow up to be like this. When I was a kid Joe and I would roam about, free, and I'm pretty sure my parents weren't worried that we'd be abducted and never heard from again. We stayed out past dark and as long as they had a relative idea of where we were, we had alot of freedom. When we lived in Coraopolis we had a house near some fantastic woods. There were caves and hills and streams...we'd wandered around for hours. These days I won't let the girls out of my sight. Literally. There is no biking around the corner, no sleeping in cool weather with the windows open, no sleep overs.
I wasn't like this with the boys which makes me wonder if I'm like this BECAUSE the girls are girls or if the world has changed so much in the last decade that it's my only wise choice. I let the boys do their thing quite often, walking or biking to and from school as young as 7 years old, playing outside after dark, staying entire weekends at some friend's house. In comparison the girls are positively smothered.
I'm so afraid that something unspeakable will happen to them if I am not completely vigilant. My husband is the same way. In fact, he is the one who placed a moratorium on sleep-overs. I am saddened by this, because in doing what we think is keeping them safe, we are also robbing them of some of the best parts of childhood.
So what is the middle ground here? I can't find it. If I let them wander and something, anything, happens, I won't be able to live with myself. If I hold them too close when they are older they may buck the system so hard I could lose them anyway. Every time I hear about another crime against a child, most especially a little girl, my stomach tightens. That little Madeline missing from a hotel room in Portugal, Polly Klaas, on and on. It is not a safe world for our children...but at what cost comes the reassurance that they are within reach?
If they were little boys I wonder if I would feel differently. I wanted the boys to be safe, but I was never afraid that letting them PLAY would bring them harm. Not so with my three daughters. The big bad wolf could be anywhere...and in sheep's clothing to boot.
Maybe as they grow older I won't be so worried. But older girls just seem to have a whole new set of threats, and these days they seem to reach that age of adolescent peril younger than ever.
Looks like I may never rest easy. I am so honored to be a mother to daughters. And I'm also a nervous wreck.
For now my girls are small enough not to balk too hard at my grip. But I know the day will come sooner than I'd like when I have to reason why I am the way I am with them. And I expect a fight. If I don't learn to loosen this parenting noose a little, they won't be able to go out into the world with any sort of confidence. But when is the time right for that? When they're 10? 13? 45?

Everyday is a new lesson. I hope I am learning the right ones.

The dream is for all of us

I love Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have A Dream" speech. It embodies, to me, the good in us all, the visceral hope we all have for mankind. My favorite line, "I hope that one day my four little children will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."
I hope the same thing for my five. Injustice is everywhere but I am still hopeful that when it comes down to it, judgement on any one individual will be fair and right. This is naive, I know...but I can dream.
I stopped watching the news after 9-11. Before that I spent too many hours holding my little Laura and weeping. The television was on day and night for 2 weeks. Like most of us, despite the horror I couldn't tear my eyes away. It is a sophomoric form of rubber-necking, this need to gaze upon tradgedy even though it keeps us up at night. Then something in me snapped and off the television went. I couldn't take one more image. And I stayed away until hurricane Katrina hit my once-hometown of beloved New Orleans and it started all over again. I don't know why I do this to myself. I wept again the day after the storm hit as the levees gave way and that city was drowned, as the little children stood stranded and frightened on the overpass waiting for anyone to help, as our government floundered with this rescue mission. We can get troops to Iraq faster than we rescued those folks.
But I digress. After the Katrina debacle and submerging myself again in sadness, I started to have panic attacks, and sat Patrik down and told him that the nightmares about water were wrecking me, that we had to move and get away from water...that our very lives depended on it. Off the tv went. And I slowly moved on and past that fear. There was no more news again for me for a long time.
Life isn't fair. But I truly believe that each of us wakes each morning with the best of intentions. And it all starts with childhood. A terrorist was not born a terrorist. He was made into one. Children are our clean slate. They are the future of the world. And though I realize that a parent can simply do everything right and still have their beloved child turn into a monster, the odds are greater that this will not be the case. If a child grows up secure and loved and not in a life fraught with injustice at every turn, his future bends in his favor. His future has hope.
I watch the news every now and then. I try to be objective about what is going on in the world right now but it isn't easy. I will keep putting one foot in front of the other , I will love and hold my children as often as I breathe, and do my best not to be ignorant or judgemental of humanity. And I hope as a reward the same will be done unto me and mine. It is the same dream as Dr. King's, and just as color-blind. Justice for all is a grand dream indeed.

Guilt comes knocking

Yesterday I was talking to my 17 year old, Christopher, on the phone. He was out and about, doing his thing. We exchanged concerns about my oldest son, Chase. Chase has spent most of his life searching for a certain confidence that always seems to elude him. He is incredibly bright, well-spoken, and lovely in all aspects. But he has always felt seperate from others. An outsider looking in. I carry such guilt for this. Despite the fact that what's done is done, I second guess so many things about his younger years.
Chase went to live with his dad in Alaska when he was just 8 years old. He was such an unhappy boy at times, and I felt I was failing him. I felt he was one of those kids that needed his dad. So, in the single most difficult decision of my life, I let him go. He loved Alaska. It wasn't perfect, but Alaska suited him. He was a little adventurer and he felt special. I was glad for that no matter how I missed him.
It was the move to Hawaii that seemed destined to change him. There, he met a prejudice that I didn't even know about, where the islanders spurn white kids. Chase started to struggle again and has never quite gotten his self esteem back on track. No matter how loved he is (and he IS!!) he still feels like an outsider sometimes.
It is frustrating for me. I go back through my history and think "what if?". As in "What if I had brought him home when he was having such a rough time?", "What if I had never sent him to live with his dad in the first place?", "What if this is all my fault?".
All parents struggle with guilt. I know this, I've talked to other parents. I've seen my mom second guess herself and choices made when my older brother was struggling with his own demons (a struggle he happily seems to have won). Guilt has no preference. Even those parents that are truly stellar (my friend Sandy at work) have moments of doubt. It can be crippling, stealing sleep and comfort.
But this worry is self-defeating. You can't go back and start over. There are no do-overs in parenting. Despite my heavy heart, I know that all any of us can ever do is our best. You give your children the love, the tools and lessons and hope when the time comes they will make the right choices for themselves.
I will continue to assure Chase that not only is he adored by all of us, that he is a gift to this world and has a purpose in this life. That he makes me swell with pride just by being himself. He with the nine lives, he is meant for something great. Wait and see.
And Christopher. He has never given me a moment's worry. He leads instead of following. He is self-assured and confident. I never worry that the phone call in the middle of the night is about him. This at least gives me comfort. Maybe I did something right after all. I am proud of his drive and passion. He will be a success simply because he refuses not to be.
Such different boys, born of the same parents. But it has never occured to me to compare them. I have never thought to say to either of them, "Why can't you be more like your brother?". Because then they wouldn't be these children I love. They are their own persons. They are as different as night and day but have both brought such joy to my life. They make me happy....and I want so much for that same happiness to envelop them in return. They both deserve it.
We all do.

Belonging

Last night my 3 year old, Emma, was laying on the floor in the hall peeking under the door into Julia's room. Both of my older girls were in there playing with their High School Musical dolls and we had told Emma she couldn't play this time. In giving the older girls some big girl time we have to ban Emma occaisionally and it breaks my heart.
The need to belong starts early and lasts all of our lives. I was not part of any clique at school when I was a kid for a very long time. I was always the new girl, and heavy with bad teeth to boot. It's not that I blamed the other kids for thinking I was a dork, but oh how I wanted to be THEM. Once I hit high school things changed and I found some good friends who were popular enough that riding their coattails sort of saved me. But that insecurity from before that time stays with me even now. I am a self-proclaimed hermit by nature: my favorite place on earth is within my own four walls with my family, these people who have never judged me, who don't care if my clothes are stylish or if I'm overweight and not wearing make-up. But I still want to fit in. Patrik, my husband, is a little neighborhood social butterfly. I love my neighbors and enjoy myself when I make the effort to join them outside just to hang out. But I rarely do it. I have no explanation for this except that I am still afraid that I am not cool enough. And I'm almost 40.
This may make me over-sensitive to the plight of my kids as they make their way through life. When Chase was 3 he got a baby brother, his dad and I split up, and we moved from Florida to be with my parents in New Jersey. It was a tough time for all of us. One morning I heard him out front talking to the kids who lived next door. They were older and were making it very clear that they didn't want anything to do with this over-eager little kid. They were talking amongst themselves about what they were going to be for Halloween. Chase, all bright excitement, said, "I'm going to be a dinosaur."
And they completely ignored him. He said it once or twice more with no response and I got up, went out there, and asked the kids to just be nice to him, that he was little. Their mom, in return, came out and told me to mind my business, that I couldn't MAKE them be his friend. I remember the heat filling my head. So no wonder these kids were so ignorant...and hurtful. Common courtesy wasn't part of their upbringing.
It would not be the last time I felt the need to stand up for my boys, but it was the first and it has always stuck with me. I don't tolerate bullies or bullying, a definite kickback from being mercilessly teased as a child at school. But I know I can't necessarily save them from it either. Kids can be heartless, downright mean. It is life, I know, but it doens't change my need to sheild them. These little people with their hearts wide open, so easily bruised-it's all I can do not to turn them into hermits, too. "Come, stay with me. I will keep you safe. I will never intentionally hurt you. You are perfect just the way you are."
But I won't. In order to become resilient adults, a lesson must be learned, trials must be met with strength, and your mom can't always deflect the blow. So every now and then, each of these little girls must sacrifice something for one another, whenther it be a big-girl playing space decimated by the baby sister who wants to have things her way, or by that little sister being shut out for a bit so those big girls can have a little privacy.
It is such a fine line I am walking. I want to keep them clear of the hurts of life for as long as I can, and I want them to learn to deal with the disappointment of not fitting in so Middle School doesn't kill them. At least here in my hermit's house, if someone gets left out, I can pull them into my lap and whisper sweet nothings in their ear and make it all better.
It's OUT THERE that I worry about.

This beginning

I have always wanted to be a writer. I filled notebooks with love and loss, almost always with some heartachy tragic ending, since I was 13. I still keep them and even read them sometimes, which brings me back to that old yearning. Now my goal is different. I want to remember what I have right now. I want to document these crazy, beautiful times before they too soon turn into yesterday's stuff. I have 5 children. One is grown, one is nearly so, and three still have eyes for only me (and their dad). Having my boys grown up so fast, I know how short this is...this Mommy time. I will always be their Mom, but Mommy is such a brief bright light..if you don't stop and pay attention, you will miss it....
I don't want to miss a thing.
I will fill this blog with the good stuff, and the not so good stuff. And I will admit it: it is for my kids, for my mom, for my family, for anyone that wants to see that they are not alone in the quagmire (though lovely it is) of motherhood. But mostly, it is for me. Because life can get in the way. And I don't want to forget that Emma, just 3, is barely holding on to that glorious curl at the base of her neck from her babyhood; that Julia, 5, sings upon waking and has a maniacal and contagious giggle; that Laura, 7, frightens me both with her beauty and the speed at which she is maturing; that Chris, 17, was only mine for so long that having him living out of the house nearly kills me with loss; that Chase, 20, is still just as loving and gentle with me when he's around that it nearly breaks my heart and want to turn back time to do it over, to do it right.

So here we go.