Month in Review: June Bust(ed Out All Over)

Month in Review

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.

People are forever incredulous that time passes.  First of the month, last of the year, that sort of thing. “I can’t believe it’s July 1!” Well, I can. The first half of the year stomped merrily on (my face) and hallo July!

Every year, my expectations for June are high; I have a compulsion to slow down, enjoy, and savor – June seems as good a time as any to start that. Instead, that month always seems to ooze and pelt rather than bust out.

I want life in June to revolve around the outdoors and fireflies and porch swings – all the sloppy yesteryear romance of a Country Time Lemonade commercial. Somehow that hasn’t quite happened. Not yet at least.

Yesterday I made a Nutella pie which I wanted stick my face in and eat in cartoon fashion, ending with my tongue coming out of my mouth and licking my entire head clean. Evolution needs catch up to cartoon sometime soon.

I just deleted 109 emails in my draft folder, some going back to 2015. That counts as exercise right? Or some sort of cleanse? A least some sort of tribute to my being able to hold my tongue.

The dog has his ups and downs, but is not in pain. He’s just tired a lot, with occasional spurts of energy. He likes to protect us from the Very Bad Squirrels in the backyard. Good boy.

Writing is a bit of a slog these days, mostly because I’ve got a lot of first drafts. The rewriting and editing process is where I get bogged down in the self-defeating talk. My goal is to stay the course with a number of pieces I’ve been working on. I’m also trying to find a home for some of my writing. Humor has fewer homes, but, boy, are they sweet.

I’m thinking a lot these days about social media/instant communication and how it affects personal relationships. One of the things I wonder about is the discrepancy between real-life interactions and online interactions – but not the way we normally discuss. Usually, the implication is that we behave badly online, in ways we would never think of acting in person. But what about the opposite? What if people are lovely and kind online, then not so much in person? There are some interesting facets to this that I want to hold up to the light for a while.

One of the highlights of my month was getting to see a rough cut of the short film I co-wrote and produced. Over the next few weeks, final edits will be made, music added, color adjusted, and the production company logo will be created and animated. It’s all quite (sur)real and wonderful. I’ll be sharing more about that in coming weeks. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed seeing the cast again. We only worked together for a few days, but there is something about creating together that makes for bonds that are quick and warm. I do hope to work with these people again. They are good in every way.

The knitting of The Blanket That Will Kill Me continues. I’m hoping to get this done before she goes to college in 13 years. On the positive side, it’s always nice to review how many swear words I know.

Here are some other highlights from June:

I really enjoyed reading Originals: How Nonconformists Move the World by Adam Grant. I don’t have a business background, so my guess is some of the material covered in the book is shared in many MBA programs. But it was an interesting look at creativity and risk-taking.

Do you read Glimmer Train? You should.

I love this video. It’s joyful, it’s fluid, and it’s remarkably calming.

Binge-watched Neil Gaiman’s American Gods. Rarely have I ever seen a show with such beautiful art design. There’s a lot to unpack in the first eight episodes, but I’m glad I found it and thrilled I watched it. I will be back for Season Two, but until then, I will probably spoil myself (ha!) and read the book.

Ever on top of things, I finally got around to watching Inception. At least I think I watched it. Maybe somebody’s just convincing me I did.

I thought Captain Fantastic was going to be some type of superhero movie. And in a way it was. I love art that makes my heart hurt from its beauty and gives me the sense that the world is full of genius. That, for me, is hope – something we could all use a little more of these days.

I suppose I should and with some sort of fireworks analogy or maybe something about mosquito bites or whatever July is supposed to bring. I think the best hope is that July is more like the June of our desires.

 

For the Love of a Dog

For the love of a dog, Parenting, Writing 
We take a break in the Sweet Summer Funtimes for the Love of George.

Warning – this post is about our beloved dog who probably doesn’t have too much time left with us. But boy, is he loved.

 

Last week was a frenzy. I was gearing up for the BlogHer Conference, a dream trip that I much needed, and the prep was near Doomsday level. That’s how it works when a mom leaves home for a few days. I needed to leave early-ish Thursday morning, so Wednesday was a blur of cooking, cleaning, and strategic packing. Wednesday night, I went into the city to see a rough cut of the short film I wrote (more on that in a future post).

I came home inspired and happy, carrying an external drive with the culmination of a year’s worth of work on it, excited to share with my husband. I hadn’t even turned the car off before I realized something was terribly wrong.

My two boys stood on the front porch well past their bedtime, distraught. I opened the car door, and before I could say anything, my husband, visibly upset, pointed to the front steps which were slicked with water.

“George had an accident,” he said. I wasn’t sure why this merited a three-man report. Due to decreased mobility from a tumor on his leg, our dog has been having more accidents these days, mostly inside the house. I was happy he’d made it outside.

Middle Child unleashed a tearful explanation.

“Georgie couldn’t walk. He collapsed in the backyard. And he was running, and he was fine because we were all looking at the sunset and he came out with all of us and then he just stopped running and then he fell over and he’s been whimpering and crying. He can’t walk. He can’t move.”

It all came out in a jumble. He is the animal lover, the child closest to our dog. When we told the kids the other week that George’s tumor had grown back again, this time so entwined with the tissue and muscle that removal would be nearly impossible, that at best we could de-bulk the tumor and give him an extra three months, it was Middle Child who took it hardest.

This latest development was a little more real and happened sooner than we’d imagined. The dog’s tumor is complicated by the fact that he has arthritis. He’s been compensating for the tumor putting more and more weight on his front paws, but it seemed that he just could not handle both ailments anymore.

I went inside. They had moved the dog’s pillow from our bedroom out into the main room so that he didn’t have as far to go when he needed to go outside. George was panting hard and yet refusing the water we offered him. He was shaking. He tried to adjust his position when I came in, and he whimpered and yelped in pain.

That sorrowful noise told me everything, especially that there was little I could do make it better. It will forever be the sound of my heart breaking.

I sat down next to his dog bed, and he leaned up against me the way he does during a thunderstorm. Eventually, his breathing calmed, and we nuzzled one another. He rested with his head against my chest the way he did when I was pregnant and on bed rest. The boys sat on either side of us and gently stroked his back.

The kids began yawning, so we told them to go brush their teeth and hit the sack. Once they were out of earshot, I asked my husband if he wanted to take the dog to the emergency clinic right then. He shook his head, then asked me to take a taxi to the airport the next morning for my trip because he was going to take the dog as soon as we dropped the kids off at camp.

He looked at me steadily. “Just make sure you say goodbye to George before you go.”

Middle Son ran back in the room and asked if I still had all the pictures I’d taken of him and the dog (Of course.) He then asked if we would be burying George in the backyard. Then sweet Middle Child dissolved.

It was that moment I decided I would not be going on my trip. My husband started to argue, but Middle Child just said, quietly, “George is more important than a trip.”

I canceled my plans and informed those who needed to know.

We cried a lot.

My husband took the overnight shift with my dog, letting our crying, limping dog out at about 1AM. Then George came back to the bedroom. I think if he were able, he’d have been up on the bed with me. I just couldn’t lift him. My son asked if he could stay home from camp the next day, and I said yes.

It was tense as we waited. The dog jumped into the back of the car as soon as we said the magic words “Doggie Road Trip” and instantly knew he shouldn’t have done it. Both because it was a painful thing for him to do, and also because he remembered that most of our recent “doggie road trips” have been to the vet.

It was an excruciating wait for the update. Son and I sat and poorly distracted ourselves. I kept checking social media to see what was going on at the conference I was missing. My heart felt as though it had been shot with a thousand arrows and that all of them were being pulled simultaneously. Finally at 9:35 am: “All good. Rimadyl for arthritis and we’ll keep an eye on him.”

And that was that. Within half a day, George put weight back on his front leg. Within 24 hours, he was back to the dog he was 6 months ago. Middle Child spends lots of time checking in on George, who spends most of his day sleeping. They have long conversations, and it’s pretty hard to not peek in to see, but I want to respect the sanctity of that relationship. A boy and his dog. A dog and his boy.

We’re day-by-day now, keeping an eye on him. He’s certainly no puppy, but when he’s outside, he runs a bit, he’s happy, and during meals he begs for table scraps again (in a gentlemanly fashion, as is his way). When it’s time, it will be time. We love this dog too much to keep him in pain and misery just to make us feel better.

George will be 11 on July 4. It’s a holiday he detests due to all of the fireworks, but it is one we are glad he’ll be around for.

 

 

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A boy and his dog. A dog and his boy.

 

 

Sweet Summer Funtimes – The First Full Week

Creative non-fiction, Humor, Parenting, Surviving Summer Funtimes, , , , , , , 
Wondering about the great life decisions I made to get to this point? Check out last week's Sweet Summer Funtimes update here.

Day 4 – Feeding the children was a little sporty today. Scoured the depths of the pantry for lunches, because I haven’t grocery shopped out of fear of wrangling three kids in the cereal aisle. Told kids that Triscuits and cheese is too a continental lunch treat!

Kids started an art installation called Band-Aids A-plenty. It’s cool and magical because every day I find 6000 wrappers and used bandages that I pick up and throw away and then they reappear the next day. I think it’s a commentary about the fragility of life and how we also need to take care of our planet.

New word — bouleversé, which is apparently French for summer break.

 

Day 5 — Heard the children excitedly working together on something in hush-hush tones. This tends to set off warning systems in any mother’s head, so I peeked in to see them going under furniture and through bags searching for coins. I oh-so-casually mentioned that if they happened to find anything that needed to be thrown out/donated they should do that, because I’m hopeful and apparently never met a child before. YET — after thirty minutes they had made a donation pile and thrown away some nasty stuff that had been lodged in various crannies. I dub this day the Feast of the Under Bed Miracles.

 

Day 6 – For several hours, kids played catch with the Magic 8 Ball. In the middle of the playing field was a giant tom-tom drum that somebody who is no longer welcome in my house gifted to us. Constant drumming remniscent of an approaching army let me know that my children need lots of practice catching balls, Magic 8 or otherwise.

Added Excedrin to my shopping list, should I survive all this fun long enough to make it to the store.

 

Day 7 – Let the kids have some ice cream on the front porch/driveway. When I joined them about 10 minutes later with a spoon I notice there was some Vanilla Chocolate Chip that had melted on a plate they left in the sun. Fortunately my kids love me enough to stop me from eating what was actually quite accurately-deposited bird poop.

bouleverse-PixTeller-100402 (1)

Day 8  – Child saw hummingbird at the feeder and other two thundered over to the window like a herd of wildebeests. Many tears were then shed that the hummingbird flew away. I spend the afternoon writing bad poetry about being a hummingbird.

 

Day 9 – Took the family to the pool, an exercise in watching the kids flail about pointlessly in the water while screaming at me to watch. For some reason, all of the men and boys at the pool started competing to see who could do the stupidest splashiest jumps off the diving board to their own amusement and to the second-hand embarrassment of everyone else there. My husband stopped after he, and I quote, “broke his butt.” He limped over to a deck chair and we both watched in horror as our clumsiest child, who’s never met a surface he couldn’t impale himself on, slipped as he went down the length of the diving board, slicing a quarter-sized piece of skin off his thigh, thus ending the first pool visit of the season much like we ended the last pool visit of last season. Fortunately, it only took 45 minutes to get the kids from the pool to the car 100 feet away, as they were “freezing” and “so cold” on this 95-degree day. Injured child limped bravely and not-at-all dramatically toward the car. I asked if he wanted to see a doctor or if he wanted to go home and get a snack. Snacks won the day, as they usually do.

 

Day 10 – Waking up now means getting a medical report on accumulated bug bites, including size and itchiness level. Also got an update on the diving board wound, and a slide show presentation of how said wound had bled into the bandage and then started to scab up. You can all look forward to those photos in this year’s holiday card.

 

Day 11 – The kids entertained themselves by trying to figure out a song on the piano. I know that sounds great on the surface – they’re being creative and they’re problem-solving — but it’s a trial and error process that involves banging out the part they’ve already mastered, then hitting every wrong note until they finally arrive on the correct one, and then starting over and getting it wrong, and finally starting over again and getting it right but then having to figure out the next note.

Went to the library, which is a place I always called the amusement park until they learned how to read (which I suppose is my fault for taking them to the library). Shout out to the tween next to me at the new junior high fiction section who intently picked at a massive scab he had on his arm. At least I know my gag reflex is fine.