Plodding Along

We are in our late 30’s, early 40’s; the drudgery portion of life. When I was younger I assumed the 40’s would be great - the kids would be older, we’d be settled in our careers, established in our house, all would be good. Only now that we’re there, or nearly there, it doesn’t ring true. We’re tired of working so hard and having little to show for it. Yes, we have a house, two decent cars, retirement accounts. But, most of our monthly income disappears into mortgage, insurance (car, house, life, disability), student loan payments, preschool tuition, ballet lessons, lacrosse. . . at the end of the month there is little left. And when one realizes they just worked a grueling fifteen hours to pay the government, well, it leaves something to be desired.

So, we’ve been fantasizing. Let’s move to Canada. Things would definitely be better in Canada. How you ask? Simple, it’s not America. It’s different. It must be better. The latest suggestion was the African bush. Perhaps I could get a job tranquilizing and tagging lions. The hubbie would drive the Hummer full of tourists. My hubbie, however, wasn’t amused when I asked if there were cardiologists working in the bush, just in case. OK then, how about Norway. Why? Why not?

Yesterday, in the middle of the umpteenth load of laundry, cleaning the girls’ room (can you say Sara Cynthia Sylvia Stout?) and organizing the garage I’d had enough. I needed to get out of the house. We couldn’t go to a foreign land so we packed up the kids and headed to a local fish hatchery. First we stopped at a little bakery off the main strip then went to feed the fish. We wandered through the pine trees admiring their size and strength. Chatty red-winged black birds reminded us spring was near. And we sincerely admired the fish - rainbows of light playing hide and seek, splashes of silver as the pellets hit the water, huge sturgeon hugging the bottom. We had a great time on our simple outing - the kids did not want to leave. I was reminded that we live in a gorgeous place. Many people would give their right foot to live where we do. And we need to take advantage of what sits right before us; no transatlantic flight necessary.

Yesterday our fantasies changed too. We dreamed of buying a fishing cabin, something cute, rustic, close. A place to read, fish, relax and get away. Or how about an Airstream - we could pimp it out 40’s style and camp every weekend.

Truly, there is nothing wrong with fantasizing; imagining what could be. But these fantasies need to be countered with an appreciation of the every day. This house, this life, these kids - this is the stuff that dreams are truly made of, bills or not.

Today I’m continuing with my housework. I’ll bury my face in the towels fresh from the dryer, I’ll inhale the ginger scent thrown by the vacuum, I’ll grab the baby and squeeze her tight and I’ll dream about the curtains for the Airstream that I’ll never buy. I'll keep plodding along.

Scrabble Night

Last night we played Scrabble; the hubbie, myself and our two older kids (seven and eleven-years-old). The baby, at four, had her own Junior Scrabble game spread over the kitchen floor and was busy singing a ballad to the letter X. I played with my laptop open to dictionary.com. It didn’t help. My big words for the night were “taken” and “tier”. I should have visited BigDoggy’s Scrabble Strategy Site before embarking upon this venture.

We used a sand timer to speed things up. Three minutes of sand and one tired husband equaled the word “me”. Shortly thereafter the hubbie gave up and left to watch television. The kids and I finished with my son claiming victory and I joined my hubbie in the living room.

He wanted a foot rub. I declined as these were the same feet that just exited his workout shoes. His feet, he claimed, did not stink. “Prove it!” I challenged, “Sniff them!” This man could not touch his feet to his nose if his life depended on it. He was clearly in dire yoga straits. So, I taught him the downward dog. He almost fell over. “Come on!” I chided, “this is a resting pose!”. He wasn’t buying it. Well, maybe now he’ll admit yoga is a challenging endeavor (dare I say sport?) and not just a foo foo girly thing like knitting or ballet.

Finally, we were ready to call it a night. The kids snuggled in our bed and we read a chapter from The Magic Meadow by Alexander Key. Teeth brushed, PJ’s on and saltine crumbs wiped from the sheets it was time to sleep. I drifted off wondering what words could be formed from K O J A E E and Y. Anyone? Anyone?

Nothing Says President’s Day Like Bribery and Velvet Encrusted Wall Art

Last President’s day I was a domestic goddess. I baked homemade belgium waffles with fresh strawberries and peaches, homemade whipped cream and real maple syrup. My son had a friend spend the night and we all had breakfast together at the kitchen table. I’m embarrassed to say that was the last time my waffle maker was put to use.

And the year before last? We took a long weekend trip to Seattle (a trip, by the way, that made an indelible mark upon the kids - they still talk about it). We went to the Public Market, rode the ferry, went up the Space Needle and had our very own personal goldfish from the Kimpton hotel. The weather was perfect and we avoided a serious sub-zero spell in our own town.

Clearly President’s day is a revered holiday in our house; a time to do something special. What? What’s that you ask? What did we do this year? This year we went to Target. We bought velvet encrusted coloring sheets; a bribe promised to the kids in exchange for playing upstairs. Last night Mommy and Daddy wanted to watch their movie - Super Bad (this is what I get for sending him to the video store with one simple instruction - nothing violent). And, what else? Well, this morning I managed to exhume the coffee pot from the mess of last night’s dinner. I even did a load of dishes. Spectacular I know. Obviously it was a cold cereal type of morning, no fancy waffles today.

Note to self - do not open bottle of wine until after the dishes are done.

But, really, this weekend was much more than bad movies, bribery and cold cereal. We kept our children at home. We did not allow them to be kidnapped by their friends. We insisted on family time (except for the Sunday night movie). We went bowling. We got suckered into giving the kids money for video games. We walked downtown and had pizza by the slice from a local shop. We went to the pond and fed the ducks. We played at the park. All five of us went to see Juno - a treat as we rarely go to the theater. We planted flowers. I took the labradork for a five mile walk. We had a great, great time doing the little things. We were a family.

This weekend I’ve realized it truly is the little moments that make family life special - fancy food and weekend trips not required. Right now we are headed back to the park. And, you know what? I might just make waffles for dinner.

Happy President’s Day!

It's All Good...

Today I’d like to write about grief and love, mourning and compassion. For those of you who don’t know me - I am an emergency veterinarian. I work all the odd hours (nights, weekends and holidays) and I see the bad stuff. Most of my patients are very sick or severely injured. People are not happy to see us. Crying is a common occurrence; among both the clients and the staff.

Last night we got a call- a pitbull, an intact male hit-by-car. They were coming in - ten minutes out. We set up; clippers and scrub, IV catheters, fluids and oxygen. Ten minutes later we got another call - the dog was too big, they couldn’t lift him. Police dispatch went to assist with transport (kudos to the police in my area - they are awesome when it comes to animal welfare). The dog arrived shortly thereafter, muzzled and in a large kennel. He was dead on arrival. The officer thought he was likely dead on the scene but wanted confirmation. The dog had no form of identification, no collar, no microchip. Fortunately, his owners had been the ones who called and they followed the police to our clinic.

The owner’s were prototypical pitty people (at least those portrayed by the media) - a young couple, broke, pierced and tattooed. They walked with a shrug in their shoulders. Their slouchy gait, I suspect, was a general commentary on life. My receptionist put them in an exam room and I told them their dog had passed - his injuries were just too severe, it was likely quick, and I doubt he suffered much if at all . They were quiet and polite - kids really, probably not much older than 20. I was relieved. I expected more drama. The boy asked to see the dog. We brought the dog into the room. By this time a third person, a girl, also in her early twenties, arrived. She was bawling and couldn’t catch her breath. For a moment I thought she might faint. Then she started screaming, “WE HAVE TO TELL HIM. WE HAVE TO!” Uh oh - here comes the drama. It turns out the real owner of the dog was at work. The people in front of me were his brother, his brother’s girlfriend and his girlfriend. At that moment the real owner called via cell phone. The three in the room tossed the offending phone around like a hot potato. Finally the distraught girlfriend took the call and through horrible gut wrenching sobs told him his dog had passed. The brother and brother's girlfriend slipped quietly out.

The dog’s owner left work. He came to the clinic. He was distraught, maniacal. He did not want to see the dog. He wanted his collar, a leather Harley-Davidson collar. We explained that the dog did not have a collar on when he arrived at the clinic. We suggested that, perhaps, his brother had it. We arranged for transport to the humane society for cremation of the dog’s remains. The owner went outside to call his brother. I went into my office to type records.

Suddenly the man burst into the lobby screaming and pointing fingers at my receptionist. “MY FUCKING BROTHER DOESN’T HAVE THE FUCKING COLLAR. YOU GET THE FUCKING POLICE ON THE FUCKING PHONE RIGHT FUCKING NOW AND TELL THEM I WANT MY DOG’S FUCKING COLLAR!”

My heart leapt into my throat. All I could think is this is not good for my health. I picked up the phone to call the police - and not about the collar. The girlfriend dragged him out of the lobby.

The same officer was back on shift this morning. He did not have the dog collar. He went to the scene to look for it. It was not there. He transported the body for us. He could not convince the dog’s owner that neither we nor he wanted the collar. Honestly, we don’t have a black market e-bay account where we sell collars - really! The police have dealt with this man before.

For all the effort from the police and my staff - there were no charges accrued. Every thing we did was out of compassion and a sense of duty. And this man’s behavior irks me. We were there to help. But, I know he’s grieving. I know he is sad and lost. I know his life’s circumstances are such that he has a multitude of problems. And now I’m at home, snuggling with one of the most precious people on the planet. As my neighbor would say, “It’s all good.”

So I’m giving this owner a reprieve. He is understood and he is forgiven. And, in his honor, I’ll go out of my way to do something nice for someone today. I want to make a deposit in the universal bank of happiness to counteract last night's negativity.

Happy Friday to all! I wish you a joyful and productive day!