Tricks and Treats

Tricks and Treats.  Kind of describes life, huh.

Two years ago we (P.S. and our husbands) were in Seaside, Florida and had an upper-deck view of the town on Halloween weekend.  (Shout-out to Sundog Books--the bookstore with the best view of town and the Gulf).  We had a perfect vista of all the absolutely adorable wee trick-or-treaters, accompanied by parents who were also getting into the spirit of the season.  Susan and I reminisced about all our Halloween years with our kids.  How much fun it was to be involved  helping them come up with their costumes, and creatively put them all together!

After the kids outgrew trick-or-treating we still had residuals, handing out candy and oohing and aahing over our costumed little neighbors.  The past few years the trick-or-treaters have sadly dwindled...guess the word is out in the neighborhood that only old people live in that cul-de-sac.  This past weekend, my hubby and I were fortunate enough to be back in Seaside again for Halloween weekend...along with two out of our three children.  Treat! This time the highlight of the town's activities was the Halloweener Derby-- a dachshunds-only  race and all-dog costume party.  Our invalid dog was able to attend as a spectator and enjoyed her outing  too.  

These guys got the hang of it right away. 

Chase my human! Chase that dog chasing his human!

... these little weiners  were having too much fun to race in a straight line...

...how good it feels not to wear the cone of shame... 

The crowd favorite, the LSU dog on wheels...and could he ever run!

Smile

Mochi with two of her three favorite people...

...resting her injured and shaved leg...

...making friends...

These doggies were dressed like dragonflies... 

   

Nowadays it's more likely that my trick-or-treaters are going to be 

my kids' old Pez dispensers  gathered on the kitchen windowsill...  

Those Seaside boys, Halloween 1988

No roads lead back......

Doggy Tale

Pain meds, anti-inflammatories, sutures, range of motion, physical therapy.

Rough medical vocabulary.  Or, more like ruff, as in canine speak.

When the vet gave me the news that my dog was going to need surgery to repair a torn ACL, I thought, here we go again.  Only this time I took the news pretty well compared to the first time I received similar news ("oh no, please say it isn't so...").  Then it was about my son, who had injured his knee in a HS wrestling tournament.    My husband and I were listening intently to the surgeon explain the procedure using a plastic model of a knee (complete with ligaments), when, suddenly without warning, I felt lightheaded and a wave of nausea wafted over me.  Without even waiting to excuse myself (how rude) I exited the room and hightailed it to the restroom.  I stared at myself in the mirror as I leaned on the sink for support and struggled not to faint.  (do not fall, hit the sink and chip a tooth).  A few splashes of water and I could feel myself regaining composure.  I did make it back to the room to hear the doctor's final details.  Talk about a very emotional punch in the guts.

I felt the same way when I realized this was going to be a canine traumatic experience.  After all, the dog is part of the family.  How times have changed:  I don't recall a single dog from my childhood days that ever had ACL or meniscus surgery (who knew dogs had knees).  Now it's fairly commonplace, judging by shared stories from other pet owners.  Not to mention pets today can even undergo chemotherapy or  opthamology-related operations...but that's a whole 'nother paragraph or two.

My son's ACL surgery and recovery was the most serious and traumatic medical experience I'd had in recent times.  The evening that he was released from the hospital, I remember helping my son to the bathroom and then hearing a thud.  He had passed out, and only my middle-school- aged daughter and her friend were home to help.  We had difficulty getting the door opened because he was wedged behind it, but we did.  He was OK except for the awful ashen color of his face. The girls took one look and announced, "eeewh, he looks dead."  Wonderful.  But I have to admit they were right: he really looked like a corpse.

I'm happy to report we all survived that medical episode and even again four years later, when SAME son had the SAME surgery on  SAME knee when he was in college.  I know we (and the dog!) will get through this too, despite her humiliation wearing the ridiculous lampshade on her head.  And not to mention her pink shaved leg that resembles a raw turkey drumstick.  Ruff..

All of These Lines Across My Face

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am.
So many stories where I've been
And I got to where I am.
But these stories don't mean anything
If you've got noone to tell them to.
It's true - I was meant for you.

Brandi Carlile


Several weeks ago PS (Pam and Susan) and our husbands went to a concert where one of the opening acts was Brandi Carlile. It was a glorious night at an outside amphitheatre and the words above from one of the songs have rolled around in my head ever since.

I was lucky enough to watch a love story for all of my life. My parents were married 58.5 years before my father's death in April. They married at 18 and 20 and spent all of their lives together weaving a story of love and devotion in some wonderful times but also some dreadful ones. During 8 years of illness my mother cared for my father's every physical and emotional need in a way that someone young would find hard to do not to mention someone in her mid 70's. The toll these years took on her are clearly etched in her face. The depth of her sorrow after she lost the love of her life has been harrowing to watch.

In our family my Dad was the keeper of all the stories and memories. His mind was a steel trap of information, dates and details. We all almost felt panicked that we could never remember it all. For now, my mother is the very epitome of "the stories don't mean anything if you've got noone to tell them to".

It is yet another transition in life to both watch a parent die and to watch another one lose their confidence and strength. But it is a reminder of what we can do for the ones we love - smile as they fly away, step back from being a full time mom, be strong as the people we love have to live their own lives and fight their own battles, be there in both the good and the bad times, keep moving forward step by step through whatever life presents to us, remember the stories of our lives...in all of these things my mother has raised the bar for us. Hopefully my siblings and I are up to the task!

Did We Sign a Parenting Contract?

Anyone reading this blog would think we are two moms who just can't get their acts together past the empty nest.  (We can't).  We are trying, though, seriously trying.  To be fair, we will admit the empty nest isn't all that bad, in some respects.  There is a certain element of liberation, of course!

My husband and I are discovering how nice it is to be able to travel on the weekends and return home Sunday evening whenever we want; no worries about getting kids off to school Monday morning.  (And what a treat to even have a weekend to ourselves--one not restricted by sports schedules, or an SAT Saturday, for example).  It's really pleasant not being a prisoner in your own house because you have to stay home at night because your kids have a social life and, as parents, you just have to be around.   And, it's decadently liberating (or extremely pathetic, whichever way you want to look at it) for my husband and me to come home from work and take our supper of leftovers (sometimes from different meals) in front of the TV... where we sit like blobs unwinding from the work day.  

In defense of that, this past summer we had over 90 days of over 90 degrees! 

That weather is enough to turn anyone into  a blob when just the commute home from work wipes you out.

Anyway, there is no mistaking the pang that accompanies the realization that life before the children started to fly the coop will NEVER be the same again.  But, that's OK... it's what's supposed to happen, right?  Parenting has been described as the one job that if you get it right and do it well, you will be out of a job in 18-22 years.  Intellectually, I believe parents realize and expect that.  Emotionally, (maybe especially for moms?) it's a lot more difficult to accept.  The whole role of parenting was to raise your children well:  to have good manners, be responsible, be thoughtful and kind, and simply become productive members of society.  But wait, how did I forget that along with all this comes the dissolution of our nuclear family.  Was that in the contract?  Did I not read the small print?

The Empty Nest Book by Karen Stabiner is a really heartfelt collection of essays.  And P.S. Pam/Susan:  We could have written all of them.