Family life, Paleo-ish eating and Coping with Chronic Illness

Posts tagged ‘Reggie’

Express Blog and Inconsequential Findings

I think I’m posting blogs further apart these days.  It feels like I am.  Quiet moments are not presenting themselves this past month; I’m not good at blogging around noise, or in a crowd.  I prefer no distractions.

Thank the Good Lord for creating Mark Zuckerberg.  Facebook satiates my hunger to express myself.  If you want to bet my Facebook friends that I am their most frequently posting friend,  you’ll win that bet.  I post a lot.

Here’s the alarming part of my Facebook presence.  My FB activity is an example of me exhibiting self control.  What my FB friends don’t realize is all that stuff I’m saying on Facebook is only HALF of what I WANT to say.

What’s wrong with me?

I give myself little lectures.  I say, “Okay Miki, that’s enough.  People have had enough of your shenanigans.  You’re going to resist the urge to post what’s on your mind for the next week. Got it?  Got it.”

Five minutes later.  Reggie is snuggled in the blankets projecting such cuteness, it would be a sin NOT to post a picture of him. Plus, I need to mention how much I love him.  Because, that’s original, right?  I mean I REALLY love my dog; nobody’s thought of that.    Suddenly, slipping back down the slope.

Sometimes I’ll post something on FB, let it sit for a few minutes, then delete it.  Occasionally, I’ve had friends ask me where a post went.  I just tell them I’m sorry.  I had second thoughts.

What’s a girl with an addiction to writing words, and a head full of silly thoughts to do?

Thanks for the therapy sesh.  I’ve missed this between us.

Now, in the interest of time, I’m going to express blog the rest of my way through this. I thought I might highlight a few random tidbits occupying the space between my ears. This might be how I blog until I have time to go old school, long blog again.  Prepare for your life to be changed:

Bragging

When people say, “I don’t mean to brag”, they mean, “I do mean to brag, but I’d like to be excused for it”.  I generally don’t mind when people brag.  They should leave off the, “I don’t mean to brag” part though.   When I hear that I wonder if I SHOULD mind.

Fitbit

The verdict is in; I’m ready to share the results.   I’ve had my Fitbit for almost one year. It works.

I have a routine I follow each day to get my steps.  It is rare for me to change my routine.  I had a couple of extremely busy days last week.  Time did not allow for my normal routine.  I fell quite short of my step goal on those days.  I realized on those days that my default mode is inactive.  I am not your friend who will bustle around you, fluffing pillows and picking lint off your sweater, because I just can’t sit still.   I LOVE being still.  Love it.

For some reason, my mind believes it’s accountable to my Fitbit; I’m not telling my mind otherwise.

The Fitbit works for me.

Walking

Speaking of steps, my super good work friend and I walk at lunch.  We walk the same route each day.  One day, there was a man who was standing off the sidewalk, more towards the street.  The man was smoking, and yelling something.  He seemed angry. At first, I thought the man may be in charge of some construction in the area.  As we walked closer, we realized there was no construction in the area.

That day, my friend and I decided to change our walking route.

On a different day, I was walking alone.    I was startled when I heard a man yell something in my direction from behind me.  I looked, and I saw the same man who was yelling in the street. This time, he was sitting in a lawn chair, outside of an apartment.  He was a big man, with a big belly.  He was wearing tiny shorts.  Nothing else. It wasn’t  warm.

My good walking friend and I have discussed this man at length.  We have agreed that if he should ever pursue us, we will make every effort to push each other in his direction to save ourselves. I thought I might say “Take her.  She’s younger. She’s smart. She can do your taxes.”

Sometimes it’s just good to have your cards on the table with people.

Faith

Zeke and Olivia are in a church group called “Impact”.  The group is an off-shoot of normal youth group.  Impact is for kids who might be asking themselves, “Why are we doing  this again?”

Impact takes an up close look at the Bible. The kids discuss what they read, and ponder how it may apply to their lives right now.  The other day, Zeke happened upon this scripture in the Book of Romans.  He was excited about it:

But the basic reality of God is plain enough. Open your eyes and there it is! By taking a long and thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see what their eyes as such can’t see: eternal power, for instance, and the mystery of his divine being.  So nobody has a good excuse.

Zeke thought this scripture answered a lot of questions for him.  I agree.  God reveals himself to EVERYONE through creation.

I hear from God every morning.   I see the black sky dotted with white stars first, until the sky turns pink as the sun rises.  My eyes take it in, and I know: man did not create this.   I would know it, If I had never heard a single sermon in my life on Earth.   I see an eagle soaring over the river.  I look at my small hands.  No hands like mine put that eagle in the sky. I feel humble.  My heart knows a God like this should be worshiped.

Rebekkah picture

*Photo credit to my friend, Rebekah Brackett.  She is an artist. She captures beautiful pictures of her world, and shares them on Facebook.

Making Brave Decisions and What’s Wrong with Reggie?

Do you have a hard time accepting things at face value?  I do.

Lately, when the family is hanging out in the living room, Reggie has been slipping away to Scott’s and my bedroom.  We suddenly realize he’s gone. We get up and look around.  We keep finding him lying on our bed (or under) in the dark.

Why does he do that?  Do you think he’s sick?  Or worse, do you think we hurt his feelings?

You’d be pretty surprised to know much space a problem like my dog’s hurt feelings occupies in my brain. I’m glad you don’t know.

Our family is experiencing something new.  College recruitment.

Parents should get manuals for this stuff.  Wait. There probably are manuals somewhere.  Forget I said that.  I don’t want to read a manual.

But, poor Eddie. It’s just like when those dumb suckers let us take him home from the hospital for the first time.  We didn’t have one single idea what we were walking into.  We had no real experience to make us confident we’d succeed as parents.  We looked like adults, but we knew the truth. We were just two kids.  Kids can’t raise babies.

Well, maybe kids can raise babies. Eddie is still alive. Yay!

This little baby is now walking around like an almost big man.  I think this almost big man is probably assuming his parents are mature and adult enough to help him make his first gigantic life decision.

Sorry, Eddie. We’re STILL just kids.

College sports.  There’s a lot going on there.  I know very little about this subject.

We received a postcard in the mail last week.  The card said that if our child athlete doesn’t have at least 25 colleges/universities pursuing him/her, then we’re not doing an adequate job of promoting him as parents.  Which, of course, means we should hire professionals.

Don’t you think that was a stupid advertisement?  My sister-in-law is a college coach.  She says that outfits like that are trying to play on parents’ egos.  Weird. Because, it sounds to me like they just sent me an invitation to chaos.  Because we all need more of that, right?

Eddie is talking to a small handful of schools.  He’s  trying to figure out which wrestling team and college/university to choose.  He’s trying to figure out where he belongs next. Even on a small scale, it can feel overwhelming

Scott and Eddie just did Eddie’s first official school visit.  I sent Scott and Eddie no less than four texts reminding them to take pictures for me.  They said they forgot.  I wish they wouldn’t lie.  Did I really think they were going to stop and ask the coaches and wrestlers to take selfies with them?  A girl can hope.

I had to settle for a pictureless summary of their visit.

Scott and I have not had to make THAT many big, life decisions.  When we do, it’s rough.  I think there are two separate things making the decision making process especially difficult for us.  Scott is EXTREMELY slow to commit to anything;he wants to make the exact right choice.  For him, no decision is better than the wrong decision.  His perfectionism slows him down.

I have the opposite problem. I almost always  really, really, really don’t have an opinion.  This isn’t the oh-I-am-saying-I-don’t-have-an-opinion-so-you-are-forced-to-make-the-decision-and-I-can-criticize-you-later type of no opinion.  I suffer from REAL opinionless issues. .  Everything sounds good to me; I want everyone to make everyone happy.  I’m your basic, every day coward.

I’ve been praying a lot about Eddie’s big decision lately.  Then, I read this the other morning in the Gospel of James:

But when you pray, you must believe and not doubt at all. Whoever doubts is like a wave in the sea that is driven and blown about by the wind.If you are like that, unable to make up your mind and undecided in all you do, you must not think that you will receive anything from the Lord.

Hmm.  Never saw that verse before.  Will you check your Bible to make sure that verse is really in there? I think some jackhole might have written that in my Bible to play a joke on me.

Here’s the part where I’m supposed to tie all this up for you.  I tell you that this verse reversed my indecisive nature; learn from me.  Except, I don’t know.  Should I tell the truth?  Or, should I lie?  I feel like I want to lie, except the truth feels better:  That verse didn’t change anything.  Yet.

Just give me some time with that verse.  Okay?  I’ll read it and reread that verse.  I need to ask God what He means to say to me with that verse.   I might be learning a new way to do things here. Too soon to tell.  When things change, you’ll be the first to know.

Here’s something I do know. Yes. We were like little kids raising a baby, but Eddie is still alive, remember. So far, so good.  And, I think I actually kind of like how he’s shaping up.  I mean, if you had to live with him, you’d see he’s got some rough spots.  He’s kind of a hot mess in the pays attention to detail department.  But, right in the center of all his crusty old man clothes, long hair, inappropriate jokes,  and forgetfulness is a kid who knows himself.  It’s remarkable, really. Considering the confused kids who raised him.

eddie in tree

Secretly (not anymore) I really love that thing inside Eddie.  Knowing his own mind has served him well to this point.  No.  I’m not ready to turn all my parental duties over to that thing inside him, but I think we can at least trust it to guide us in the right direction with this big life decision Eddie’s making. I think. I don’t know. I’m not sure.

eddie eagle senior pic

Choose Joy and a Disgusting Story

I can really smell things.  I don’t know what that talent is good for, or how it’s helpful.  It’s true though.  I have always had a good sniffer.

Last night, I was woken up by a smell.  Has that ever happened to you?  Smells wake me up. It’s true.  Toots really wake me up. I feel like that would make a good T-shirt.  “Toots wake me up.”  It’s just cute, and something most people want to read about.

I thought there might be a skunk in our house.  Then, I thought Reggie really needed a bath.  I tried to put a pillow over my face, and then a pillow over Reggie. Nothing stopped that sour, skunk smell.

I reached my hand out to pet Reggie, and instead, set my hand in a puddle. Yep. Reggie peed in our bed.

I yelled, “Reggie PEED!!!”

Scott is fast when he’s disgusted.  He couldn’t get out of that bed fast enough once he heard “pee”.  Thankfully, we made one good decision in our lives; we purchased a heavy duty, water resistant mattress protector when we bought our bed. That’s the good part of the story. The part I’m going to try to think about.  The part I’m going to think about when I’m trying NOT to think about the pee in our bed part.

Poor Reggie.  He looked so shame faced when the lights went on that night.  His eyes drooped, and  he flattened his ears convincingly. I’d forgive him anything when he makes that face. That face doesn’t have quite the same effect on Scott. Scott was fairly unmoved.

I thought Reggie might have a bladder infection.  He doesn’t though.  Do you know why a dog would suddenly decide to pee in your bed, instead of outside?   Help me out.

I think Reggie gets to move into his cozy kennel for a few nights.  The kennel may become his permanent bed.   I gotta admit.  I won’t hate that.  I love Reggie like one of my children. But, our children don’t sleep with us either.  Why does Reggie? Seriously.  I’m asking you.  How does this happen?

We won’t be getting over this pee thing for quite some time. This probably isn’t the last time you’re going to hear about it.  I’ll be working through this for years. It’s called PTSD.

I have the BEST question for you.  Here it is:

What’s it like to be on the other side of you?

What I mean by that is this:  Have you ever asked yourself what it’s like to be the person on the other side of a conversation with you?  How do the words you use, your mannerisms and your general disposition make people feel?

This was the question posed to the group of women I meet with by author, Kay Warren.  Kay Warren wrote this book:

choose-joy (1)

See that title?  “Choose Joy Because Happiness Isn’t Enough”.  Boy, she said a mouthful there.  I need this book.  Especially now that Reggie uses our bed as a toilet.

Kay Warren is smart.  That girl knows how to break it down.

I’m not going to recap now.  I might in the future.  I just wanted to talk about this one question she asked, because I think it’s so good.  I started to ask myself this question, and I wondered why I had never asked myself this question before.  The fact that I haven’t asked myself this question is telling.  Do you know what I mean?  I hear this word being whispered in my ear…aaarrogaance.  See what I did there?  I was trying to draw out the word arrogance, and make it sound like it was being whispered.  Hey!  Are you listening to me?  I’m talking.  Listen to me.  Because l like to talk, and talk and talk…

Blaach!

I’m sorry I haven’t asked myself these questions.  I’m asking now.  I’m going to try to pay better attention.

Kay warren talked about being a good listener, not interrupting, and offering gratitude to people whenever possible.  Yes.  Sign me up.  I want to be that kind of person.

What would happen if everyone just started behaving and communicating in a way that was always mindful of other people’s best interests?  Sounds like a cockamamie idea, Kay Warren.  Yer just askin’ for trouble planting those kinds of fancy ideas in our heads.

I’m in a bit of a rush today, but I’ll give you a full book report when we’re done. Don’t you worry about that. And, you’ll sit quietly and listen without interrupting, right? Because, you heard the lady.

Family Pictures and Long Skirts

I’ve always thought that the 4th of July marked the half-way point for summer.  I guess I was wrong, because the 4th is next week, and there’s no way summer is half way gone. I’ll not be having it, laddy boy.

I’ve been reading historical fiction this summer.  I’ve been hanging out in Scotland.  Do ye know of the book “The Outlanders”?   Dinna mind me new Scottish accent, lasses.  Canna be helped.  Tis a very good book indeed.

Wow.  I’m like a sponge.  I just read books like this and then I know a whole new language.  Crazy how my mind works. It isn’t average.

I feel so freakin’ sentimental lately.  Blahh!  I hate it.  My eyes well up over nothing.  It’s all this time racing past me.  I try to grab hold of some of it, and make it stay in place; I can’t manage it.

Writing helps.  Writing is a way to memorialize simple moments in my life that would otherwise be lived and quickly forgotten.  I like to remember ordinary things.  Ordinary things are my favorite.

Pictures help too.  I recently read an article about all the things you should do with your family when your child is a senior.  One of the suggestions was taking a family portrait.  I haven’t been good about formal pictures with our family.  We’ve only taken a couple.

Here’s one of our first family pictures.  Scott always teases me about this picture.  We were in my sister and brother-in-law’s wedding. Things sort of came together for me that day; I looked pretty fancy.  It bugs Scott that I don’t have one of the kids on my lap in this picture.  He says he thinks I grabbed Zeke by the ear and pulled him out of the way so the kid wouldn’t block the camera’s view of me.

family pic

Beat it, Zeke!

C’mon, Scott.  You know I’m not like that.  But, let’s be honest.  You think one little kid is gonna stop the camera from capturing all that beauty?

I don’t know where Scott comes up these crazy ideas.

Just to keep me humble, our next family picture captured my real essence.  In that photo, I looked like wet dog with a side of hairball.  That whole picture taking experience was a fiasco.  I won’t bore you with the story now.  But, just in case you think I’m exaggerating, I’ve got proof.  It was misting/raining that day.  My hair was down, all nice and pretty.  By the time we took our picture, the only thing I could do was put all those wet strings plastered to my head into a pony tail.  What I know now is that it really doesn’t matter what I looked like.  I just want to remember what all the other nice people in this photo looked like then:

family pic

5 Years ago. Eddie has his head on my shoulder, AWWW!!!!

This article I read said that now is the time for the family portrait.  Once your senior graduates, the family dynamic will never be the same.  Capture the moment while you can. So, we did.

I called a professional photographer.  I had this discussion with her about scheduling an appointment around wrestling tournaments.  I explained to the photographer that it was likely my boys would have a black eye, or some other facial trauma, if we didn’t pick the right day. She pretended like we were having a normal conversation.

I had to call the photographer the day before our pictures.  I told her the boys did  not have any facial bruising.  Eddie just had a smallish scab on his nose.  Oh, and Eddie was on crutches.  Eddie tore a hip muscle in wrestling practice.  The photographer thought photshopping crutches out of the picture might be a challenge.

We had the pictures taken anyway.  We worked around the crutches. Picture taking can be fun.  I was really well behaved.  I didn’t shove any children out of my spotlight.

Right now, the five people in my family have fewer opportunities than ever to be all in the same place at the same time.  When we are together, I sure enjoy it.  We talk and laugh a wee bit more than y’ may believe.  Oops. There I go again.  Being bilingual is a harder than you think.  I keep having to remind myself to use English.

Eddie hurt his hip three days before our pictures.  We hadn’t talked about his injury much.   Eddie gets a bad wrap sometimes from all the members in our family.  I mean, most of the time he deserves it.  The kid can eat a new bag of chocolate chips in an hour.  But, Eddies’s got some things going for him too.  One thing we all know about Eddie is that he can take a hit.  Eddie does not complain. He doesn’t ask for help.   He doesn’t bring up his troubles in conversation.  He doesn’t do anything other than lay low, and wait for things to get better.  I guess Eddie has had a lot of practice at that.

On the way home from picture taking we were finally finding the time to ask Eddie about his injury.  It happened during wrestling practice.  Eddie felt a pop in his hip.  The guy he was wrestling put Eddie on his back and said, “Fight back, Eddie!”

Eddie said, “I can’t.”  Then, Eddie army crawled over to the wall and waited for practice to end.

Eddie’s wrestling practice is a 45 minute drive from our house.  Eddie said he left practice without being able to put any weight on his leg.  It was night time, and raining pretty hard.  He hopped on one leg out to the van.   He lost balance in the parking lot, and tried putting weight on his injured leg.  He dropped to the ground with the effort, and found himself laying in a large puddle. Eddie was close enough to the van to crawl the rest of the way.  He got to the passenger side door, opened it, and crawled over the passenger seat to the driver’s side.  He drove home using his left foot.

Eddie casually shared this story on our way home from picture taking.  I thought this was a crappy story.  Why didn’t he call us from practice so we could come and get him?  Why didn’t he tell us this story sooner?

We were real sorry to hear about what happened to Eddie, but we were enjoying being together while we heard it.  There’s something good about having teenagers.  With teenagers, there are moments when they are at their best, and you are at your best, and your realize you might have actually created your very best friends for life.  Great idea, God. Thank you!  We had several moments during the evening where we could not stop laughing.

Later in the night, Scott was trying to text a fellow coach using the voice command option on his phone. Scott was just rambling into the phone to test the technology.  He wanted to see how it worked.   At the same time he was doing that, we were laying around asking ourselves if Reggie farted.  I asked Scott if he farted, and so he spoke into his phone and said something like, “They think I farted.  I didn’t.”

I yelled into the phone, “You farted.  You stink.”

Then, Zeke yelled, “Send.”

Did you know that if you tell your voice command text to send, it will send?  Scott told us the message sent.  The message to his peer said, “Hey coach, do you know what time practice is and they think I farted.  I didn’t. You farted you stink.”

At first we didn’t believe him that it sent.  Then, he showed us.  Oh my Gosh.  You couldn’t stop us then.  We were gasping for air, we were laughing so hard, and so long.

Scott had the last laugh though.  He told us the message didn’t really send to the coach. Scott is smarter than that.  He was practicing voice texting by sending the message to Zeke’s phone.  We should have known better.  Scott was awfully calm for just having sent an important text to a respected peer about whether or not he farted.

I just have one more important thing to tell you.  I’m giving long skirts a try.  I know I’m a little late to the party. But, I’ve never been accused of being a trend setter.  I’m okay with this.

I just haven’t been on board with the long dress/skirt thing, because I felt like I would look less hip, and more like a member of the Duggar family.

I bought this long black skirt.  I think I like it.  I sort of vacillate between feeling like I’m fashion forward, and thinking I look like I should be offering Holy Communion. No disrespect.  Priests dress totally right for their line of work.

At any rate, I like this long skirt because I think there’s little chance all that fabric could get caught in the waist band without me noticing.  If you read my blogs, you feel me on this.  If not, I won’t be opening that wound.  I’m only just now beginning to heal.

long skirt

Looks pretty good, right?

One Complaint and our Happy Anniversary.

You know I don’t like to be mean, right? I hate hurt feelings. I avoid hurt feelings almost always.  Except sometimes.  Like now.  I can’t help it.  I just wanted to say this one thing, and then I’m done.  I’m sorry if it hurts feelings, but sometimes there are things begging to be said.

This one thing I wanted to say was about politics and Facebook.  Right, I know.  You’re already annoyed.  Just hold on a sec.  I’ll be quick about it.  I just wanted to gently point out that there a few things on the interwebs that aren’t actually true.  I’m sorry if you didn’t know it.

Be careful, okay?

There’s more.  The thing is this.  Sometimes, I see viral political posts with inflammatory titles.  Sometimes I click on these posts; usually for entertainment.  Once you are somewhat fluent in interweb-speak, you can identify real news from propaganda.  I worry for folks who can’t tell the difference.

The other day, there was this really outrageous political story posted; the poster was very mad about this political thing.  I looked up the website from where the story originated; it is a fake news website, and I don’t mean “The Onion” either.  Most people know “The Onion” is satirical.   I mean a website that was created to make you think it was a real news website. Only, it isn’t  It’s fake news, written by people who are fake reporters who have the job of coming up with fake stories.  Yep. Real job.

For further entertainment, I looked at the comments below the story.  People were really mad about this thing that never happened.  Some people devoted entire paragraphs loaded with misspelled words and grammatical errors, expressing their anger over this thing that never happened.  It made me feel sorry for humans.  We’re so easily manipulated.

I have to admit, some of the angriest posts with the poorest English had me clicking on the author to get a better look.  Outspoken, angry people with poor grammar intrigue me.  Those kind of people should teach classes on how to improve your self esteem.  I mean, good for them.  They’ve never spent a minute of their lives doubting themselves.

I’m done with that subject.

This week Scott and I celebrate 22 years of freakin’ wedded bliss, baby!  Every day is a honeymoon in our house.  Every day I’m surprised with another love sonnet, a bedroom covered in rose petals, or a lovely serenade.  Wait.  That isn’t what your marriage is like?  Gosh.  Sorry about that.   Maybe you should take some marriage classes or something.

Well.  I might be misrepresenting things just a little.  Things might possibly be a bit less romantic than I described.  But, still, pretty good.  I mean, Scott and I texted each other about a half dozen times this week.   All the texts were about our schedules, but, I think that counts.  AND…we both know our anniversary is this week.  That is also something kind of unusual. We usually remember our anniversary AFTER it happens.  That’s kind of dreamy, right?

Did I tell you that Reggie had surgery this week?  He did.  He had surgery, and he also had 4 teeth pulled.  Reggie has to wear the Elizabethan Collar for the next two weeks.  Otherwise known as the dog cone of shame.

cone of shame

One night this week, Scott mentioned how busy we’ve been; he said he might like to talk to me again some time this summer.  I told him I was thinking the same thing.  I miss him.  I feel like we are living parallel lives that rarely intersect.  We are using all of our mental and physical resources to manage our careers, children and home.  We wouldn’t dream of making ourselves, or our relationship a priority. That would be selfish, right?

Scott and I got into bed that night.   I strained my head to look at Scott over Reggie’s cone of shame as Reggie laid in the middle of the bed; I thought, I just don’t know what comes between us.  How does it happen?

I have been thinking that there are other married people with relatively happy marriages, and busy teenagers, who are like us.  Couples who take their obligations seriously, who are happy to devote their days to serving all the people in their lives. It wouldn’t occur to these couples to schedule their lives around their relationship with their spouse, because they know that is the one relationship that will always be there.  Because all marriages last forever, right?

Maybe some of us need to rethink how we do things?

I don’t know about rose petals, sonnets and serenades, but I’m going to try to turn this ship around.  Here’s my love poem to Scott.  Happy 22nd Anniversary, my love!

I Like You

I like your hair.  I like your eyes.

I like your jokes, and how you’re a cute guy.

I like the way you try your best.

I like the way you rarely rest.

I like knowing you cannot lie.

But when my butt looks big, I’d like you to try.

I like the gentle way you are a Dad.

I like knowing our kids’ pain makes you sad.

I like the way you never brag.

I like when you deny I look like an ol’ hag.

I like the way you like to have fun.

Baseball, ping pong, or going for a run.

I like that you are kind and not angry.

But, mostly, I like that you chose me.

And THAT, my friends, is how you make Emily Dickinson look like an amateur.

scott and miki

Reggie is NOT a Christian

I have been slower to post lately.  I am not exactly sure why.  I only know I feel badly about disappointing thousands (I’m being modest, millions) of people waiting to hear from me.  If the world is bored, that’s because of me.  I’m sorry about that, you guys.  I’ve been busy.

Do you like it when people say they’re busy?  People LOVE saying that.  Like, if I tell you that I’ve been busy this summer, instead of telling you that I’ve been spending my free time watching “The Bachelorette” and “Last Comic Standing”, you would think being busy sounds better, right?.   I’ve been busy.

I might actually just be in a rut.  I have been pretty nose to the grindstone this summer.  And, then you have my awesome family.  What a blessing to have them all home.  What a blessing, indeed.  What a blessing to see all those blessed dirty dishes they use, and the socks they toss off in a day.  Blessing. Blessing.  It is a blessing.  Do I sound like I’m trying to convince myself?

Here’s the part where you tell me to have the kids pitch in and help.  Make a chore chart, right?  Give them their own duties.   Compensate them for their work.  See, I would do all that,  it’s just that I have found complaining is easier.

All these summer messes lead to issues.  I should be better at handling these issues.  They are not new.   I should be used to these issues. I might not fight it so much any more, but that doesn’t mean the  mess and clutter don’t get in my head.  I think a messy house leaves me feeling uninspired.  So, really, if you want to be mad at someone for my lack of blog posts, be mad at my family. No.  Don’t be mad at them.  They’re really nice.

My brain isn’t firing up fresh insight to share on line.  Instead, I’m writing notes like these:

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The other thing that has me down is that  I just realized Reggie isn’t a Christian.  It’s true.

The other day, Reggie  was whining and jumping.  His pupils were dilated.  He was worried because my purple bag.  I take my purple bag on overnight trips.  Reggie hates that bag.  Reggie saw me with that bag, and started to hyperventilate.

Scott said, “Reggie, you know we always take care of you. Can’t you have a little faith?”

That’s the moment I knew it.  Right there.  That’s when I knew Reggie wasn’t a Christian.

We used to think Reggie’s bad behavior was the result of being high strung and untrained.  Now I know. It’s because he doesn’t know Jesus.

Don’t even try to evangelize  your dog.  You’re just wasting your breath.  I read him Bible verses, and tell him that faith in a higher power will help him not be so anxious.  I’ve told him the story of Jesus, and explained all about His death and resurrection.

Reggie’s all like, “Meatballs?”

Then, I’m like, “Reggie, what are you even talking about?  Can’t you pay attention for one minute, and stop thinking about food?”  He can’t.

During supper this week,  I walked away from the table to refill my water glass.  I came back and Reggie was sitting in my chair.  My food was gone. He ate it. Reggie was fine with that.  He just looked at me, unblinking.  From my chair. No remorse.  The Holy Spirit is not acting as Reggie’s conscience.

I told him Christians don’t do that stuff.   We’re going to have to  keep talking.

 

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Reading the Bible to Reggie. I may, or may not have been holding  a piece of pepperoni to get him to sit still.

 

Life and Complications

My early morning walks with Reggie are my favorite. I get to look like I’m being a responsible adult; I’m walking my dog.  Truth is,  I need these walks.  I love these walks.  Being outside always inspires me to believe I can face another day.Over the years,  Reggie and I have seen some some stuff.

Sunday’s walk was strange.  Reggie and I  always see squirrels.  Sometimes when we see squirrels, we chase them.   I want Reggie to remember he’s an animal.  I worry that he might be confused.  Reggie might think he’s actually my human son. The main reason I think that is because, you know, that’s how I treat him.

When we chase squirrels, Reggie’s on a short leash  (literally, not metaphorically), and when I think I’m sprinting hard, I’ve been told I’m actually doing some kind of trot thing.  So, I don’t know how much these chases help Reggie connect with his primal instincts.  At least we look awesome when we’re doing this.  I am at least sure of that.

This past Sunday’s walk was strange because we saw two squirrels mating. At first I thought they were just playing.  Then, I’m like, no.  They’re mating. Those two squirrels are definitely mating.  I told Reggie to look the other way.  But, Reggie’s about as rude as you get.  He was totally all up in their business. I was hoping they’d break it up when we got closer.

I yelled, “Be decent you guys.”

They didn’t care.

Then, I started to get frustrated.  I said, “You two want us to light some candles, or turn some music on?  Don’t you have a little squirrel room you could go to somewhere?”  Nothing.  They ignored me.

Squirrels are disgusting.

Right after we  made it through that atrocity I thought I heard loud music.  Then, I’m like, no.  That’s yelling.  That’s a GIRL yelling.  Or, screetching, actually. Then I saw the young women.  She was  stumbling drunk. She was sobbing, and yelling, “You don’t love me!” She was walking  sideways through the Walgreen’s parking lot.

There was a young man following her.  I couldn’t hear most of what he was saying. He was trying not to attract our attention (too late). I do think I heard him say, “Please, get in the car.” He appeared sober. I felt sorry for this girl; she was hysterical.

Then, I thought, maybe I should be a counselor. Then, I thought, maybe not.

I would meet with this young girl and say,  “Stop doing things to make your own life more complicated. Would you like to make an appointment to see me again next week?” She might expect more from her counselor.

There are literally thousands of things that you don’t do on purpose, that will make your life complicated.  The same morning I saw hysterical, drunk gal, I swallowed cold coffee left on the counter from the day before.  I’m pretty sure I swallowed a bug. We have these gross bugs in our house lately.  They throw wild parties while we’re sleeping.

I am almost certain there was a bug in my coffee.  I felt it. Now it’s in my stomach.  You and I both know that bug has diseases that are now coursing through my veins, and will soon render me helpless to care for my family.

That’s what I was worrying about and planning for when I came across hysterical/drunk girl. I should have told that girl that if she wants a reason to walk sideways through town, sobbing her eyeballs out, try swallowing a bug.  THAT is what you call a complication.

For sure missed my calling as a therapist.  It’s too bad; I could have helped a lot of people.

On the way to church that morning I told my family about all of my adventures so far.  It was a busy morning.  I thought my family would be really surprised about a drunk girl at Walgreens at 6 in the morning. Turns out drunk people and bug swallowing aren’t even close to as shocking as squirrels mating in public.  After all of my  stories, the only thing Scott said was, “I’m just really surprised squirrels would do that.”

I have a friend who is renewing her vows.  She and her husband have been married 19 years.  Her husband is fighting cancer.  This is going to be a sweet celebration.

This past weekend we had a “bachelorette” party for my friend.  You want me to tell you a secret?  I have only been to one bachlorette party before.  I went to my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party quite a few years ago.  Possibly, one of the most fun nights of my life.  My mother-in-law and sister-in-laws and me dancing the night away.   I love my in-laws. I love dancing. That is a great memory.

That was my one and only bachelorette party experience.  Scott and I got married kind of young.  We were married in the era when you did your own hair and make up for your wedding. I had never heard of a bachelorette party back then.  I think that weddings are a way bigger deal now.

I’m not sure if being married in a different era is why I didn’t get invited to any bachelorette parties, or if it’s because I’m not a good candidate for an invitation? When my friends think wild and crazy night on the town, I guess my name doesn’t exactly float to the top of the list.

My friends probably think, “Oh, we’ll just meet Miki for coffee the next morning.”

That’s cool.  You guys are a bunch of snobs, but that’s okay.  Because it really is your loss.  I am TOTALLY fun.  I’m wild AND crazy.  I  know how to parTAY. ALL.NIGHT.LOOONGGGG….

You’re right.  I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll have a Bible Study.

All of us 40 something/50 something friends of the “Bride” started talking about this bachelorette party.  Some ideas were thrown out that (I won’t lie) scared me a little.  I started thinking about what kind of illnesses I could expose myself to right before the party.  I needed something that would knock me down just for a night.  Not the bug swallowing thing either.  That’s something I’m going to be dealing with for the rest of my life.

Turns out  all of the “Bride’s” friends were fooling themselves.  A lot of things you think are fun when you’re in your twenties, are also fun in your 40’s.  Fun in theory.

Instead, we cruised around the lake all day in a luxurious pontoon boat.  Ate dinner in front of a sunset.  Laughed until our sides hurt. And, ended the night with a dance party by the fire. That is actually the same bachelorette party I would have planned for myself when I was in my 20’s.  I guess I’ve always been old.

The dancing is always my favorite.  Some people need alcohol to dance.  I need music.

I think I left my friends speechless with my dance moves.  I’ve kept my 80’s moves fresh and sharp.  Those moves are always a requested attraction at our get-togethers.  I kindly oblige. My friends are a little bit in awe.  And, if we have to be honest, there’s probably a part of them that’s somewhat jealous too.  They let their moves get rusty.  They haven’t had the dedication I have, or put in the time.   I can’t help that.  I tell them, “You get out what you put in in, ladies. Champions aren’t made in a day.”  They appreciate all that advice.

I asked Scott to help me do this move for our friends one night when we were at a campfire (Who does that crap stone cold sober?  Me. I do.):

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I’m not sure if it was Scott’s poor timing, or the fact that I have a more solid bone structure than “Baby”, making me slightly heavier; our move didn’t exactly turn out like what you see in the picture. Our, move turned out more like my forehead slamming Scott’s chest.  I knocked him off balance, putting us pretty close to landing that move in the fire.

I think I might actually be more of a solo act.

 

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Nobody puts Baby in the corner.

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