At A Celebration

I was at a local festival today. 

It was cloudy, but humid. 

I had sweat in every folded area of my body. 

As well as the flat downward sloping plains of my back. 

I ate a deep fried brownie. 

1/4 of my daughter's pizza. 

Fried coconut shrimp on a stick. 

River chips. 

Cotton candy. 

A strawberry crepe. 

1/16 of my daughter's cheeseburger. 

Some lemon gelato. 

We wandered over to the carnival rides. 

And I watched my girls scrunch their eyes up as they rode... 

rides that spun. 

rides that dropped. 

rides that soared. 

I hopped onto the Big Drop with them. 

The ride that sloooowly takes you up high into the sky. 

And them without notice, drops you very, VERY quickly back to the bottom. 

Your stomach lurches up into your throat. 

The thrill is intense for me. 

It's my favorite ride at a carnival. 

My kids both cried. 

Sigh. 

But the smiles came out later. 

When they rode rides without me. 

Knowing that they were having fun was all it took to make me feel better after the creepy carnie guy took their tickets. 

And that they were keeping their snacks down. 

To Know Love

I'm going to try the "Blog A Day" writing challenge that BlogHer does every month.

They used to do it only once a year, and I did it a few years ago. 

I haven't been on the site for a while, but when I went on the other day I read that they are doing new challenges monthly. 

Each month has a word or phrase for the writer to think about and then post daily writings on. 

The month of August is the word KNOW. 

I'm going to take the challenge. 

I'm a day late. 

Sorry. 

I was at a family wedding yesterday. 

But that family wedding is a good way to start my daily August blog posts. 

My cousin Kourtnie got married yesterday. 

Love found her and leapt into her heart. 

And never let go. 

She married a man she met a few years ago through some friends and they are completely and madly smitten with one another. 

They want to start a life and family together. 

They see one another as a perfect balance for the other. 

Each said in their vows that the love and kindness the other emits makes them a better person. 

And they are different races. 

That tiny fact never mattered to them. 

They see beyond color and instead see character. 

They see a person's heart and not the skin color that surrounds that heart. 

They can see into the eyes of a soul and aren't halted by an exterior hue. 

They are perfect for each other. 

And perfect for our extended family. 

A family that hasn't always been open to change. 

My grandfather wasn't always the most welcoming to people he perceived as different than himself. 

His generation saw those that were different as those they should fear. 

Our family has needed to see that a person isn't to be judged by their exterior. 

But to know that a good heart and a caring spirit always, always win the girl. 

Current and future generations have thrown the old misconceived thoughts of race in the garbage. 

My daughter Zoe and the groom's niece Brooklyn were two of the four flower girls. 

(Gigi was also a flower girl with cousin Gabby)

Zoe and Brooklyn were like two peas in a pod last night. 

Two ten year old girls that giggled and danced the night away. 

Never seeing that their skin color was different. 

But knowing a new friend when it presented itself. 

A new generation showing the spirit of the heart. 

Because we know love is...love. 

Don't Forget To Dance

A funny thing happened along the way...

I hung out with girls twenty years my junior last weekend. 

And I survived. 

As I know my limits on booze. 

I know my limits on bedtimes. 

I know my limits on the dance floor...wait. 

I didn't know my dance limits. 

And my outer thighs are still feeling it. 

My mom's youngest brother is six years older than me. 

We grew up together and were quite close as he lived three blocks away from my brother and I with my grandparents. 

He has two daughters, with the first being born while I was still in high school. 

And he and his wife lived with grandma and grandpa with their new baby girl for a while. 

His second daughter (who I'll call KR) was born when I was at college. 

And the family didn't live at grandma and grandpa's house anymore. 

There's a big age gap with these girls and myself, but I love them bunches. 

Right before my daughter was diagnosed with leukemia, KR almost lost her life in a drunk driving accident. 

A drunk driver smashed into her car in the middle of the day. 

A head-on collision on a two lane highway. 

While she was talking to her mother, my aunt, on her cellphone. 

We are thankful that she's still here. 

And we all become closer as she fought to regain her life while her little cousin Zoe fought to keep hers. 

KR had to take a year off from college. 

To recover at home. 

To learn how to walk again with rods and pins in her body. 

And she switched colleges when she went back to her studies. 

And that's where she met him. 

Her future husband. 

And that's why I was at a bachelorette party this past weekend in St. Louis. 

I went with two other cousins who are my age. 

My mom has four other siblings. 

The cousins that I drove down to St. Louis with are my mom's other brother's daughters. 

And we are 43, 44, and 45 years old. 

We met my mom's younger sister, who flew in from Atlanta, at our hotel that was three blocks west of the mighty Mississippi River.

And we kept up just fine with the young girls during our weekend. 

Which comes, I guess, to the point of this post. 

You're never to old to have fun. 

And life can throw some killer curves at you. 

You never really know what's around the next corner. 

So do it. 

Shake your stuff on a dance floor. 

Drink some drinks and show the younger crowd how it's done. 

I wore heels out all weekend. 

My cousin, who's my age, said she was going to wear her comfy, sensible shoes out. 

"Oh no!" I said. 

"These feet of mine don't get to go out too often. 

So when they do venture out, the heels go on!"

Yes, I got a blister. 

But I had fun. 

I did some dance grinding with my younger cousins. 

Is that a thing?

Dance grinding?

I did something like that. 

I whooped out loud on the dance floor. 

I danced low, low, low. 

Maybe a little too low. 

Because every time I went to sit on the toilet, whoah!

The tops of my thighs were screaming at me...

"You went too low!"

You're never to old to have fun. 

To remember to dance. 

Go ahead and relive your younger days. 

At one point as we were dancing, I pushed through the crowd to the front of the stage (it was a dueling piano bar kind of place) urging my young cousins and their friends to join me.

It's what I would have done when I was in my twenties. 

I would have been front and center. 

Never dancing on the outer fringes. 

Hey!

You!

Don't forget to dance. 

Household Duties

An assignment was given for my blogging group, Homesteaders and Homeschoolers. 

The topic is "how are household duties divided amongst your family."

Well, since I have a hired maid, cook, gardener, and animal caretaker I don't have any duties at home. 

"Snork, sniff, uh, what?  I'm awake. I'm here."

I was in fact dreaming up there, folks. 

Sigh. 

I do it all. 

End of story. 

All kidding aside, I was very fortunate to marry a very helpful and eager man 14 years ago. 

I hate how he loads the dishwasher, but he does do it. 

I really loathe doing that job, so we seem to both split the duties of that thankless chore. 

Yes, thankless. 

When is the last time anyone in your house said to you "thank you for cleaning that fork so that it's clean when I want to eat a salad."

No one has ever said that to you. 

Laundry I don't mind doing. 

I will wash. 

Then dry. 

Well, the machine really does that job. 

But, I assist. 

And I fold. 

My husband and children both will help fold if I'm knee deep in another task. 

But they all fold as if they are using their feet instead of their hands. 

So, I fold. 

But, I've assigned the children the job of putting away their own clothes now. 

I get moans and heavy sighs about this, but I remind them that I've done most of the work in this area and these polka-dot socks and Minecraft shirts are their things. 

And these things are their responsibility. 

The girls will feed the dogs and cats when asked. 

And the chickens. 

Chad gets the majority of the barn chores. 

Feeding and cleaning the stall in the wee hours of the morning. 

Really, 6:30 AM. 

But in the winter....that sucks. 

We all check the barn throughout the day for chicken eggs. 

I've even had the girls use the dog pooper scooper to pick up the piles of dog doo in the yard. 

Everyone LOVES that job. 

Yard work. 

I love to mow. 

Always have. 

It's like my free time. 

My alone time. 

Chad saws things. 

And burns things. 

And he's in charge of our swimming pool. 

I do nothing unless instructed by him. 

Which is usually just checking the skimmer for leaves. 

Otherwise, I sit on the deck and admire his work. 

There is one job I just do not do. 

And really have no idea how to do it. 

Changing the furnace filter. 

Blech. 

We suck up 2,456 pounds of pet hair daily into the furnace filter. 

That is Chad's job. 

Really, we all help out one another in this house. 

Chad and I both cook. 

I bake, though, as he doesn't really like to do that. 

But, I enjoy it. 

He can make some killer creme puffs if the mood strikes, though. 

He takes the girls to school. 

I pick them up. 

We have had a sick child and understand the need to "pull it together!" and have the mentality of "we are in this together!"

As I think most of our married friends do. 

Marriage and children are a balancing act. 

One side of the scale tips too far and loads up one person's agenda to it's maximum...there's going to be trouble. 

So, we all chip in together. 

We don't pay our children to help out. 

We ask them to help out because it's the right thing to do. 

This is OUR family. 

We teach them to stick together always. 

And keep family first. 

But, would it kill someone to play the lottery a little more often so I can eventually hire that maid!

This one just dusts cats...

The Bag Lady

Our second child Gigi was a surprise. 

You're supposed to say that instead of "accident" because that sounds worse for some reason. 

I guess a child is never an accident if you and your spouse do "the nasty" ever. 

So, anyway, I guess we did "the nasty" at some point in early 2008 because our SUPRISE came in November of that same year. 

She was definitely meant to be a part of our lives. 

Here's why...

Her sister Zoe was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 5. 

Gigi was 22 months old. 

And while she didn't really understand what was happening, she had to know something was up. 

Her sister was always gone. 

So were mom and dad. 

We saw her at this big building that was a long car ride from grandma's house. 

There were many lights and machines that made noise around her sister. 

Ladies in outfits with cats and bears on their shirts let her play with their stethoscopes. 

Doctors in white coats looked in her ears with their otoscope because she felt left out. 

Strangers would bring her pudding, Popsicles, and toys to take home anytime she asked. 

She didn't care to be left out of this mysterious "fun" her sister got to be a part of. 

The floor her sister lived on had a computer room and an even more exciting playroom. 

With toys we didn't have at home. 

It was amazing!

Gigi showed us her true self at this fun, amazing, big building far from home. 

Maybe she became this person because she had to. 

To cope. 

Was it nature versus nurture?

Circumstance versus DNA?

She would run down the halls. 

Take a sharp left at the nurses' station and run down the other hall. 

Back to sissy's room where she would make a funny face (and not even wait for the reaction she always got) before high tailing it out the door to do it again. 

And we let her do it. 

Because it made us laugh.

She made us laugh. 

Laughter is what we needed. 

Her sister needed to giggle and be the child she really was. 

Not someone who was fighting for her life. 

And Gigi kept us laughing. 

Through 2 1/2 years of chemo. 

We laughed. 

Gigi has continued the show. 

Cracking us up on a daily basis.

With her bad knock-knock jokes. 

With her insane outfits even Alexander McQueen would never have attempted. 

And her ability to turn a regular visit to the store into a giggle fest. 

Not just for us, but for anyone she passes. 

And that's no accident. 

This girl has been a surprisingly bright light in her sister's life. 

Even if she is a bit embarrassing at times...

Another Year Of Laughter

My 14th wedding anniversary is at the end of July. 

My man and I have been through a lot in those 14 years. 

We only knew one another for 10 months before we got married. 

I had had plenty of relationships before he entered my life. 

But, they were my past. 

And he was to be my future. 

And, maybe I knew that. 

I knew that my future belonged with this guy who made me laugh. 

Who rode a bicycle through the city. 

The guy who worked at the video store. 

The guy who liked cats. 

Maybe, somewhere deep within me, I knew our future would be full of laughter and we would need that to hold our family up. 

Now don't get me wrong. 

It hasn't been all rainbows and lollipops in our marriage. 

We have had to contend with big financial struggles. 

We have had a sick child.

We moved to rural America from one of the largest cities in the U.S.

Where we didn't know anyone except my parents and my family. 

But, the thing that has brought us closer was the fact that we may lose one of our children to a disease. 

And we hadn't signed up for that.

Not when he asked me to marry him at King Crab restaurant in Chicago. 

Not when we got married by Elvis in Vegas. 

Not when we traveled via airplane as a couple and then began traveling via car with two young girls. 

It wasn't in the plan. 

But, really, what was the plan?

Maybe it was the plan for us to be challenged like we were. 

Would we fold under the enormous weight of childhood cancer?

Or would it make us stronger?

Well, I can tell you this. 

It made our muscles bulge. 

We are united and strong and powerful. 

We are still financially poor. 

But we are family rich. 

He totally stepped up and became the super dad that I knew he had inside him.

Because, he didn't have the best role model growing up for the example of "how a dad relates to his kids." 

He had to learn what it meant to be present for his children. 

And he gets an A+, in my wifely opinion. 

He became the father who slept next to his terrified and sick daughter in the hospital. 

He is the father who takes time off from work to be there every single "first day of school". 

And he has done so much more. 

For all three of his girls. 

He and I have learned that the rules of parenting aren't etched in stone. 

And that it can shake a marriage to it's bare-limbed nakedness. 

We know that anything can happen at anytime to throw you to the ground. 

So, as a team, we walk hand in hand in our marriage as the guardians of our daughters' happiness. 

A marriage full of vibrance, light, and energy.  

He still makes me laugh every single day. 

In fact, I think he makes me laugh more today than ever. 

Aunt Gee-Knee

An Elvis song came on the radio a few days ago. 

"Aunt Jeanne saw Elvis in concert once", I told my kids. 

"Yes, you tell us that every time you hear an Elvis song", they bemoaned. 

"I do?"

"Well, did I ever tell you that she also had a major crush on Tom Jones?"

"Who?"

"Tom Jones!  Come on!  You know, what's new pussy cat whoah, whoah, whoooah-oh!"

Now I've got them...

"Oh Yeah!"

"What else did Aunt Jeanne like?!"

 

And the stories begin. 

About my favorite Aunt. 

My mom's oldest sister. 

Who helped open my eyes and heart to musical theater.

Who fed my love of dance with live performances of Swan Lake and Seven Brides For Seven Brothers. 

Who my daughter Zoe and I inherited the strange habit of hair twirling from. 

She had the largest collection of return address labels and stickers from all of the subscriptions she had and from the charities she supported. 

I think she had lifetime subscriptions to Readers Digest because if they sent a bill, she paid it. 

Over and over and over again. 

And there was never a bigger donor to the Cherokee National Youth Choir than that lady from Central Illinois. 

She was a voracious reader. 

Who, I swear on my still beating heart, read 7 books a week. 

Cheesy romance novels about pioneer women and men with dusty chaps who hadn't shaved or showered in 4 years. 

My Aunt Jeanne. 

Pronounced "Gee-Knee". 

A woman who never married. 

Who never had children of her own. 

But who had a deep yearning to be with children so she spoiled her nieces and nephews and became a foster mom to kids who had no one. 

She traveled everywhere in the U.S.

And had countless stories to tell. 

And she always ended her sentences with her signature laugh. 

Her "Ernie from Sesame Street" snicker. 

That we often recreate at home. 

Because she isn't here to perform live for us anymore. 

She had a rich and full life. 

I know she wished it had turned out differently, though. 

She was a smoking diabetic who suffered greatly because of these two things. 

She lost toes.

She suffered from congestive heart failure. 

She became someone she didn't want to be. 

And she cried. 

Especially when she had to leave her home for a senior center. 

And she died alone. 

Because she contracted something that the doctors said we couldn't be near. 

And that's not fair. 

It wasn't fair to her at all. 

I believe my children marvel at the Aunt Jeanne stories I tell because they don't remember that. 

They remember the lady who couldn't walk very well. 

Who had dark bruises on her arms from her medications and bumps into walls. 

But who always had candy and stickers for them. 

And hugs. 

Lots of hugs. 

She wanted to be cremated when she passed away. 

So, that's what happened. 

And she has no marker to show the world she existed. 

Which I guess she wanted as well. 

Our family has a strong ancestral hold in the Cherokee Nation. 

She wanted to be spread back into the earth and so my cousin helped her to do that. 

Deep in the woods of Southern Illinois. 

I have her rocking chair on my porch now. 

The chair she sat in for hours and hours.  

Watching her soaps and PBS documentaries. 

Because she had no where to go and because it was too hard to get up. 

She scraped the wood off of the arm. 

Scraped it with her fingernails as she sat. 

Day after day. 

Something she probably didn't even realize she was doing. 

Rocking.  

Scraping. 

Rocking. 

Scraping. 

Going through her return address labels. 

And thinking of Elvis.

 

Tiger The Love Thug

We've lost a dear member of our tribe. 

The last elder of the feline order. 

The last of the original top cats in our family. 

Tiger is gone. 

My husband adopted Tiger when he was maybe 2 years old. 

From a friend of his who ran a shelter out of her one bedroom Chicago apartment. 

Tiger was the thug of cats...always beating up the others. 

Chad thought he would take him out of that environment. 

Give him a real home. 

Chad couldn't even pick up the cat for many years without getting mauled. 

But Tiger soon realized. 

He realized it was best to be loving. 

Because then he would be loved back. 

He was a great food thief.

Stole food right off your plate the moment your back was turned.

I lost many pieces of buttered bread and spaghetti noodles to him over the years. 

He was a great aerial acrobat. 

He survived a fall from a third story window from our apartment into the alley in 2004. 

No broken bones.  

Another life used up. 

He initially bullied the cats he came to live with.

Jack

Molly

Moe

And tried to devour our parakeet through the bars of her cage. 

Then he finally allowed us to pet him. 

But only on the head. 

As he got older he did get sweeter. 

He and his fellow housecat mates became the best of buds. 

But, he was always ready to remind anyone that he was still a bad-ass cat. 

He disliked most people. 

But if we had a party, he would sniff out that person who hated cats and sit right there. 

Front and center. 

And just beg you to pet him. 

And they always did. 

And they would regret that. 

And they vet was scared of him. 

Our recent vet and past ones. 

We were so proud. 

But he wasn't bothering me for his breakfast on Wednesday morning. 

He usually wakes me up by rubbing his wet head on me.

His head is wet because he likes to sit under the dripping tub faucet. 

Cat water park action?

I don't know. 

I just know that that wet head wasn't around on Wednesday morning. 

And I knew something was wrong. 

I found him sleeping in his box. 

A regular cardboard box by the back door that he took over. 

See, cats are easy. 

They don't need fancy beds or $200 cat trees to be happy. 

A brown box was his joy. 

He didn't want to get up. 

He didn't eat for two days.

Not even smelly fishy food from a can. 

And he loves smelly fishy food from a can. 

We took him to the litterbox. 

He was seen drinking from the water bowl that just so happened to be by his brown box bed. 

It was his time. 

He was with his family at the end.

We all kissed him repeatedly. 

And gave him lots of pets. 

On the head only, mind you. 

And he went out growling, even with a sedative on board. 

He was 16 years old and we knew he was tough. 

But he wanted to make sure no one forgot. 

Goodbye Schmig. 

We love you. 

Talking To Hazel

Ever since I was a little girl, my family has put flowers on our relatives' headstones at the cemetary next door to my grandparents' house on Memorial Day. 

The house that is now my house. 

And today we are cutting fresh flowers from around the yard. 

To take next door to the cemetary. 

For Grandma Dorothy and Grandpa Vern.

Aunt Marie and Uncle Howard. 

Aunt Mary and Uncle Delmar. 

Uncle Dale. 

Baby Rachel who no one got to meet because she left the world before she was brought into it.

Cousin Bill. 

Minnie and Charles. 

Grandma's first husband Harry who died in the war. 

W.E., the uncle who built our house at the turn of the century. 

And Great Grandpa Walter and Great Grandma Hazel. 

Hazel died in our house. 

In our living room in 1953. 

She was 57 years old. 

18 years before I was born. 

Right there where my couch sits. 

And my youngest, Gigi, knows this. 

And she's been talking about Hazel a lot lately. 

"Hazel said she likes my shoes."

"I think Hazel would want this for dinner."

A five year old is fascinated by things from the past. 

Well, my five year old is. 

She's always asking how she is related to so and so. 

"Who is that holding my Grandpa Bob in that picture when he was a baby?"

"Do I remember Great Great Grandpa?"

"Right here?  Hazel died right here?"

Fascinating. 

It's all fascinating to her.

And maybe she has been talking to Hazel. 

I hope she's telling Gigi to be a good girl. 

She needs all the advice she can get...

The Fate Of Lucy Moon

I used to work within the world of animals.

I was a veterinary technician or "an animal nurse."

For almost 15 years. 

With 13 of those being in the city of Chicago. 

I've seen a lot. 

Dogs that have been shot. 

Dogs that have been starved. 

Dogs covered in maggots. 

Dogs left by the side of the road to die because they were fought and they lost. 

I worked at a clinic that had a pit bull rescue within it's doors. 

I met my husband at this clinic. 

He and I both know the atrocities these dogs have faced when in the hands of dog fighters. 

We have a good understanding of the breed. 

They are loyal to people, but can be unreliable if not trained properly after being in the hellish world of dog fighting. 

We aren't ignorant by any means about pit bulls and the stereotypes and injustices that have been thrown at them.

I truly believe that all dogs are good. 

People make them what they are.  

Purebred dogs can have more of a genetic misfire to behave erratically, but I think they can be fine with the right owner. 

This is my lead up to the one dog who entered our lives that we couldn't help. 

I think the year was 2011. 

I don't remember the season...late summer?  Fall?

My daughter was in the throes of cancer treatment AND had a broken ankle. 

What I do remember is this...

My parents were over and we were eating KFC. 

When lunch was almost over my mom declared "oh, I saw a dog tied up at the fence on Mt Gilead Road when I was bringing over the chicken."

Ugh. 

Don't say that to me. 

We decided to go have a looksee. 

I was hoping it was gone or a figment of my mother's imagination. 

It was neither. 

There sitting, and not at all tied up, was a young, white pit bull. 

Small and horribly frightened.

I approached carefully and noticed two things. 

One, female unaltered. 

Two, scars on her face. 

Double ugh. 

I went back home and put our dog crate in the back of our minivan along with some KFC. 

Back to the pup who hadn't moved an inch, she readily ate the chicken. 

I put a leash on her and then wrapped it around her muzzle. 

Then, I could lift her into the dog crate.

We kept her in our barn after contacting several people who wouldn't take her. 

The Humane Society had no room. 

Animal Control would probably have put her down. 

Another shelter had no room. 

A local self-appointed "pitbull expert" had no room for her at her home. 

I put her on a pit bull rescue webpage. 

What I did get was zero interest in her and a certificate from the Humane Society to get her spayed for free. 

By this point she was not growling at my husband anymore. 

If you took care of her, she loved you. 

She loved our girls. 

She was the best kisser and lavished us all with her slobbery tongue at various times during the day. 

She was good at the vet office. 

Too scared to leave her cage after surgery so her "family" had to get her. 

She bounded to my children. 

But she attacked Lola twice in the yard.

A total unprovoked fight both times. 

We eventually let her into the house. 

She enjoyed her dog kennel. 

And the couch. 

We got her a collar and a dog tag with her new name. 

Zoe and Gigi named her Lucy Moon. 

Because she was white like the midnight moon. 

Then she attacked one of our kittens as they stood together next to our stove.

Totally unprovoked. 

The cat had cuts on his head from her teeth as she tried to eat his head. 

But the kicker came when she tried to eat my mother. 

The lady who saw her on the side of the road. 

The lady who had bought the chicken. 

Lucy Moon would growl at my father if he had my children in his lap. 

She would just stare at him and growl. 

And one afternoon, as my mother left the room, she lunged at her and tried to bite her foot, only getting her hard leather shoe. 

I was constantly on edge with this dog. 

She adored our family of four, but she couldn't be trusted 100%. 

We didn't know her history. 

We didn't have the time to devote to rehabilitating her. 

If our daughter had to be hospitalized, which at that time in our lives could happen at any moment, who would feed this dog?

She wanted to eat my parents. 

I had tried finding another place for her. 

My oldest daughter was gravely ill and I had a 3 year old. 

I had run out of options and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if she hurt one of my children. 

So, I took her to our vet to be euthanized. 

I have NEVER had to kill an animal that I couldn't help. 

But, as I tearfully told my wonderful veterinarian, I couldn't help this dog.

If I were 15 years younger, single or it was just Chad and I, and I didn't have a child with cancer, the situation would have been a lot different. 

I didn't know what else to do. 

She was a good dog who needed someone's time. 

And I currently didn't have time to give. 

As I said before, my veterinarian is wonderful!

She said "hang on a minute" and left the room. 

Upon her return she said they would keep her and try to find a home for her. 

Zoe had written a note with pictures of hearts to Lucy Moon saying we loved her.

I left her collar on her, but took her name tag off. 

The veterinarian took her to the back room, along with her note and said she would call me. 

My girls were told that the vet found her a new home. 

They were sad, but happy that she hadn't died. 

A few weeks later I had a message on my voicemail from our vet office. 

One of the shelters who had told me NO had told them YES. 

They would take her and try to find her a home. 

Wonderful!!

Last year my cousin fostered two puppies (that she now owns!) from the shelter that had taken Lucy Moon.

I was with her one day as we made oogly eyes at the puppies and other dogs at the shelter. 

I asked the lady behind the desk if she knew about Lucy Moon. 

She was cold and looked at me as if I were a very, very bad person. 

I say this only from my vast experience with shelter and "animal people" who seem to always mistrust humans when it comes to rescue/shelter work. 

She didn't believe that I had found Lucy Moon and that I had tried to work with her. 

She thought I was another asshole who had gotten a dog that I couldn't handle. 

I could see it written all over her face. 

She told me that they had worked with Lucy Moon.  

Trained her and that she had been adopted. 

Yes!

But that she had bitten a child and had been euthanized. 

I have no idea if this is the truth. 

To this day, my children believe she's alive and happy.  

I believe if my life had been at a different stage I would still have Lucy Moon.

She was sweet, but troubled. 

She didn't trust everyone. 

She had been pushed around her entire life. 

She never knew true, forever love from a human, but I hope she knew we did love her.

And it still breaks my heart and brings genuine tears to my eyes that I couldn't help her. 

Sometimes when we are out and about and see a dog that resembles her, my daughters will say "that looks like Lucy Moon!"  

And I smile and agree. 

Part 3 in a series titled "Pets" I'll be doing. 

A Cat Named Don

We have cats. 

Many cats. 

I won't bore you with the exact number, but if you really must know, it's less than 8 and more than 6. 

Don't judge. 

The majority of our cats are barn cats. 

Meaning they go outside and hunt mice in the barn and in the pastures. 

And they catch birds. 

And drink the water on the pool cover. 

And for some reason all of our cats look alike. 

There are subtle differences. 

Popcorn has an all-white underbelly. 

Cali is a tortie. 

She's a beautiful mix of browns and blacks and golden reds. 

But everyone is a tabby. 

Meaning brown and tanish/gray with stripes. 

Everyone except one fella. 

A fella named Don Diego. 

He sticks out like a peacock amongst poodles. 

He's part Siamese. 

 

Siamese cats have large ears, a pointy head, a long body and a 20 foot long tail. 

And they yell. 

Very. 

Loudly. 

I walk into the room where Don is and fall over backwards from the volume that comes from within his body. 

He's just saying "hello", but it comes out as "HEEEEELLLLLOOOOO!!!!"

He yells because the water bowl is empty. 

He yells at the back door because he wants to go into the basement (which is his version of outside.)

He yells at 4 AM when I get up to pee. 

As if he's saying "HEY, YOU'RE UP!!  ME, TOO!!!!

We got Don in 2007. 

We had only been on the farm a few months and only had one cat. 

See what farm life does...makes you get cats. 

Tiger was that cat and Zoe was 2. 

Tiger did NOT want Zoe or anyone messing with him. 

All a 2 year old wants to do is mess with a cat. 

So, one afternoon Zoe and I wandered over to the humane society. 

I may have told Chad. 

Or I may not have. 

Anywho, we saw this 4 month old kitten with his brother hanging in the kitten room at the shelter. 

I had had a black and white cat as a child and always had a fondness for them. 

What really got me was his "freckle".   

The big black beauty mark to the left of his nose. 

Alrighty, we'll take that one!

We were told he was born at the shelter and his mother was black and white short hair. 

Nothing about the dad. 

But he must have been the Siamese. 

Don can stretch out on our queen size bed and he touches both sides.

No lie. 

He follows me around and really only likes to sit with me. 

Chad calls him my puppy. 

He likes to sleep on Zoe's bed. 

He will only eat his cat food on the table in our laundry room. 

There are food bowls on the floor, but he won't have any part of them. 

He has many names. 

He's officially Don Diego de la Vega (Zorro's real name!)

But we call him...

Don

Donny

Donald 

Puppy

Be Quiet!

Shut Up!

Hold It Down Will Ya!

 

 

You don't need an alarm clock with this guy around. 

Want to wake the kids at a certain time?

Get a Don Diego and have him stand in their room when he's hungry. 

He'll wake them up in no time!!

Part 2 in a series titled "Pets" I'll be doing. 

To Love A Dog...

Either you're an animal person or you're not. 

You either don't mind the extra work a pet takes or you do. 

The extra finances, not just the extra time out of your day. 

It's a yes or no question. 

And I'm a yes. 

In fact, I can honestly say, I like animals more than people. 

My husband calls me Dr. Doolittle. 

The animals and I can just communicate really well. 

I don't recall having some "it" moment as a child that made fur and paws a must for me. 

I've always had a pet in my life. 

I was that kid who wanted to pet or pick up anything fuzzy.

My own children are the same way. 

Especially Gigi. 

I wanted to take care of every creature I came across. 

I would occasionally find a stray dog and put it in my family's garage only to find out later it lived two blocks over. 

My parents always had a dog when I was growing up. 

The dog we had the longest was a peekapoo named Puggy. 

She was 10 pounds of black moppy fur and by far, the dumbest dog that ever lived. 

But, she would let me dress her up and put barrettes in her hair. 

Our family got her as a puppy when I was 3 and she lived until I was 20 and in college. 

My parents buried her in their backyard after my mom and brother and I took her to the vet to be put to sleep. 

And we always had a cat. 

Bonkers was around the longest. 

A great looking black and white guy who disappeared a few weeks after his friend Puggy died. 

I always just figured he went looking for her. 

I had cats in college. 

First Jack. 

He hated me. 

Then I got him a friend. 

Molly. 

She loved me. 

When I moved to Chicago I had Jack and Molly and then decided to get a puppy. 

Madison he was named. 

My roommate Bill and I raised him. 

Madison met many future boyfriends of mine. 

And ultimately clicked best with the man who would become my husband. 

Madison was essentially my first child. 

He went everywhere with me. 

Work.

Vacation. 

Starbucks. 

The beach. 

Parties. 

He had play dates with dog friends, mostly Elwood and Petey. 

He was the most obedient dog I've ever seen. 

If I walked with him to the store, I could leave him unleashed outside of the 7-Eleven and he would calmly sit there and wait for me to return. 

Sometimes he would walk to the door and stare in, wondering what was taking me so long. 

But if someone walked around him and opened the door, he would just quietly move over, let them enter, then go back to looking in the door. 

I always said he was a little boy who dressed in dog clothes. 

If we had lived in Paris he could have ridden the subway with me.

He only got to do that once, though.

In Chicago where he was raised. 

He took a ride on the El.  

He was then small enough to fit into a carrier. 

He was the greatest. 

dog. 

ever. 

End of story. 

Not really. 

He was also Zoe's first friend.

And they were best friends.

He was with her when she got sick. 

But at that point in his life, he was having his own struggle to stay alive. 

We watched him go downhill as we tried to keep our daughter on an uphill path. 

His back legs stopped working. 

We had to take him to the emergency vet. 

This was a doctor we hadn't seen before and he saw the struggle we were going through with our elderly dog and his best friend who had cancer. 

"No charge" he said. 

I'll never forget that. 

Madison only lasted a few more weeks. 

We came home from a doctor appointment with our weak and chemo-filled 6 year old daughter and he couldn't hang on anymore. 

He couldn't get up. 

He had had an accident in the house and had fallen in it. 

He tried to bite me when I went to help him. 

He was in pain. 

We had to say goodbye. 

We had tried and tried to keep him alive. 

Because Zoe needed him alive. 

But even she knew it was time to let him go. 

Her first best friend. 

Our family's best friend. 

My first child. 

I wrapped him in his blanket that he had had since he was a pup. 

Zoe walked up to him before he left our home one last time. 

He licked her face when she said her final  goodbye. 

He was with me for 15 1/2 years. 

And I miss him every single day. 

Part 1 in a series titled "Pets" I'll be doing. 

4 Days...A Guy From Houston

My nephew Anthony was visiting the family last week. 

He lives in Houston where he's some bigwig airport "security/wildlife coordinator for critters on the runway/stare down the shifty guys and tell them to leave if they ain't gonna buy a ticket anywhere" guy. 

I was 15 when he was born. 

He was a funny kid and has grown up to be a great man. 

I taught him everything he knows!

My girls adore their cousin Anthony. 

He always calls them on their birthdays and sends them funny cards in the mail. 

We traveled to Houston a few Springs ago and want to go back soon. 

It's a fun city with a fun relative residing within its borders. 

We heart Anthony. 

Saturday I traveled to Arthur, IL. 

It's where the Amish live. 

I met some friends for a fab breakfast buffet that was homemade by the Amish. 

My God, they make the BEST bacon EVAH!

As I was leaving breakfast I drove past Dollar General. 

I was surprised that there were so many horse and buggies parked outside. 

The dichotomy of old world travel stationed outside of a 21st century store. 

I bet these buggies travel back to their respective homes full of boxed mac and cheese, dish soap, and Nutter Butters. 

Sunday we saw more cousins. 

It was cousin Ty's birthday. 

He's 11. 

And a huge Dr. Who fan. 

So we had a cake with that telephone booth on it and some pretzel sticks fashioned into this wand thing they are holding.

These girls love Ty. 

They laugh at everything he says and they love to run wildly around for no apparent reason. 

And somehow, Zoe and Ty have the same squinty eyes. 

Then we went to Grandma and Grandpa's house to eat dinner with the Houston cousin again. 

His sister, our niece Allison, was there, too. 

As were my bro and sis-in-law. 

My kids are young, my brother's kids are older. 

My parents have been grandparents for a long time. 

This picture is a hoot because I managed to get Zoe just as she jabbed Anthony in the throat with her elbow...

And the immediate reaction and laughter!

Monday. 

A movie making comedic genius has passed away. 

Chicago native Harold Ramis. 

A star of classic movies like Ghostbusters and Stripes and the writer/director of Caddyshack, Vacation, and Groundhog Day, to name but a few. 

I have this picture on the side of my fridge. 

It's Bill Murray and Andie McDowell along with a bunch of Chicago guys (I mean if these guys don't scream CHICAGO I don't know who would!) while filming Groundhog Day in Woodstock, IL. 

Chad and I briefly thought of moving to Woodstock. 

It's got a nice rural vibe and it's not far from the city. 

Anywho, I found this picture years ago in a drawer in the kitchen of an animal hospital I worked at in Chicago. 

I took it. 

Yep. 

If it was important, why was it in the silverware drawer?

I just love it. 

And it's my way-off the spectrum connection to the great and amazing Harold Ramis. 

Year End Review

2013 is coming to an end. 

Here's our family end of the year review. 

In pictures. 

The girls bought three hermit crabs in January.  Today, there are two. 

 

Then they tried roller skating...

We now have an 8 year old and a 5 year old. 

And a 3rd grader and a second-year pre-schooler. 

We met Illinois State Senator Manar and the Governor of Illinois, Pat Quinn.

Zoe got her ears pierced. 

Zoe cut the ribbon (again!) at the Midwest Charity Horse Show representing Camp COCO.

And she had a great time at her 3rd year of camp.

We went to a hockey game in Chicago. 

And to Ohio where the girls got to pal around with their cousins, Julie and Hunter, whom they had never met! 

We went to Hannibal, MO. 

And to Chicago, again. 

Zoe had doctor appointments and one more surgery. 

There were dance classes, piano lessons, carnival rides, and a trip to learn about Abraham Lincoln's life. 

Zoe and Grandma sewed. 

And we swam in our pool. 

As well as took swimming lessons at the public cement pond. 

We canoodled with our pets. 

And we canoodled with our cousins. 

We had family gatherings. 

We laughed with friends.

And Grandpa drove the girls in a parade.  

We celebrated holidays.

And said goodbye to my mom's brother, Uncle Jeff. 

We enjoyed a big snowfall in December. 

And are preparing for the spring. 

 

We have made much progress with our license plate campaign. 

We are excited to see what happens for us in 2014!