Nothing huge to report....just some funny comments.
Last night the boys were running around in swimming trunks and I commented on how Ben's body is exactly like Brian's (and it is!). Wil was sitting there and he said "My body is exactly like yours" (he is too little to understand that isn't something to aspire to). I told him that yes, he is a Giller--his body is like a Giller male. He said "yeah!" then he thought....................and thought.....................and said "Actually, my name is William"
............................
I took Ben on a date because he is so quiet it takes a special effort to get inside his head. One of the things he wanted to do was go to the bakery, into Lynn's office, to the box of giant rubber bands she has, so he could get another like the one he got a few weeks ago, because "a guy at school wants one".
..................................
Elijah was pestering me last night to get his fishing pole out. I didn't want to. i said no. He said yes. I said no. He said yes. You know how it goes with Elijah. Eventually he got distracted and went to play down on the beach with his brothers. Then a few minutes later I see him climbing back up over the rocks. Ben said "come back down here and play!" and Elijah said 'No, I have to get back to my whining"
.....................................
Zaccy has had a nasty bout of the flu. He's been throwing up and has had diarrhea for about 3 days. Very sick puppy. Tonight he is doing quite a bit better. Poor guy has been so lethargic--and actually wants to go to his bed. I think he is going to get eye teeth out of this too.
.....................................
And finally, I've been trying to talk the boys into doing some summer school stuff. Nope, they said. We're fishin'!
Somehow, their sister convinced them to join her in the week of Kollege for Kids at Cold Spring Elementary.................taking perler beading, scrapbooking, latchhooking, etc etc.
Huh?????????????????
Friday, April 24, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Life Goes On
As they say. We are adjusting to our new normal without our little girl pug. For a tiny being her absence sure leaves a big hole. We all miss her very much.
William's response is SO four years old. He keeps talking about her very innocently and loudly. Poor Ana. For example, we were leaving to go for a bike ride and William found it necessary to announce "BUT MINNIE CANT COME BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD, RIGHT?"
Ok, bad, but still...............with Wil you have to laugh.
So then we got to Lynn's house to see Thomas and Dawn, Lynn's yellow lab, was there running around as usual. She was playing around with the kids and Wil kept referring to her as "he". I told him that Dawn is a girl. He argued with me. Finally I made the dog lie down and I rolled her over on her back and showed him. "See" I said "No penis". Wil crossed his little arms, closed his eyes, and airly said "OK, fine, a bagina."
William's response is SO four years old. He keeps talking about her very innocently and loudly. Poor Ana. For example, we were leaving to go for a bike ride and William found it necessary to announce "BUT MINNIE CANT COME BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD, RIGHT?"
Ok, bad, but still...............with Wil you have to laugh.
So then we got to Lynn's house to see Thomas and Dawn, Lynn's yellow lab, was there running around as usual. She was playing around with the kids and Wil kept referring to her as "he". I told him that Dawn is a girl. He argued with me. Finally I made the dog lie down and I rolled her over on her back and showed him. "See" I said "No penis". Wil crossed his little arms, closed his eyes, and airly said "OK, fine, a bagina."
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Update on Ana's blog--difficulty commenting?
If you saw Ana's blog and tried to post but couldn't--please go back and try again as I helped her change some settings that were causing that problem. She'd love comments. Her email is mywildanarose@yahoo.com if you want to email her privately. Thanks for keeping her in your thoughts. Tracy
Update on Ana's blog--difficulty commenting?
Several people have said they are unable to post comments for Ana. I went in and saw she had some settings that were preventing that so I made some changes and now anyone should be able to. Please do if you can, it would make her very happy. Her email is mywildanarose@yahoo.com if you want to email her directly. Thanks for keeping her in your thoughts. She is being a very brave girl but is so very sad.
Sad, sad news
I cannot believe the irony of having my most recent post be the one below.
We lost our sweet Minnie yesterday. She was run over by a car and died in Ana's arms 30 minutes later. Poor Ana is devastated. Brian saw everything happen and is so sad for his girl as well as sad for our Minnie (they have napped together daily for 5 years--since we got our little black pup). Elijah lost his frog Dumpy last year and had some very good insights for Ana. Ben and Wil and Zac don't quite "get it".
As sad as Ana is, I have to say I'm impressed with her coping skills. She went right to the computer and started writing about her dog. She has been alternating writing with laying on the couch and sobbing.
She is having her first real experience with grief and it is going to be a long, hard, road for her. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. The rest of us could use them too but she just went through something that she will never completely get over.
We will have a funeral for our little black pug this evening some time. Daddy will make a coffin today, Ana has asked that there be a little pillow in it. She likes the idea that we will plant a tree over the spot we bury her and we will always have Minnie's tree to sit by and think of her. She got my joke when I asked if it should be a dogwood--and she also told me she is going to need to pet Leo extra and would I please not charge her 50 cents like I usually do. Leo is doing a nice job being where he might be needed at just the right time.
Ana has started a blog:
www. minniethedog.blogspot.com
Warning: it'll tear your heart out. If you will, please read it and post a comment to her. There have only been a few but those few have brightened her day immensely.
We lost our sweet Minnie yesterday. She was run over by a car and died in Ana's arms 30 minutes later. Poor Ana is devastated. Brian saw everything happen and is so sad for his girl as well as sad for our Minnie (they have napped together daily for 5 years--since we got our little black pup). Elijah lost his frog Dumpy last year and had some very good insights for Ana. Ben and Wil and Zac don't quite "get it".
As sad as Ana is, I have to say I'm impressed with her coping skills. She went right to the computer and started writing about her dog. She has been alternating writing with laying on the couch and sobbing.
She is having her first real experience with grief and it is going to be a long, hard, road for her. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. The rest of us could use them too but she just went through something that she will never completely get over.
We will have a funeral for our little black pug this evening some time. Daddy will make a coffin today, Ana has asked that there be a little pillow in it. She likes the idea that we will plant a tree over the spot we bury her and we will always have Minnie's tree to sit by and think of her. She got my joke when I asked if it should be a dogwood--and she also told me she is going to need to pet Leo extra and would I please not charge her 50 cents like I usually do. Leo is doing a nice job being where he might be needed at just the right time.
Ana has started a blog:
www. minniethedog.blogspot.com
Warning: it'll tear your heart out. If you will, please read it and post a comment to her. There have only been a few but those few have brightened her day immensely.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Jennie and Bob
Small and crooked, the only thing Dalmation about Jennie was her spots. Blind in one eye and lame in one hip, she was the imperfect remnant of a litter of sleek Dalmations. Bob was a rakish tomcat with a beautiful white coat, blue eyes, and torn ears, proud battle scars from run-ins with neighborhood adversaries.
Jennie preceded me into the world in early 1972, saved from euthanasia by a chance meeting and brought home in Dad's coat pocket. She fast became the constant companion of my older brother, Gary, an independent boy with adventure and wanderlust in his soul. Bob came later, scrawny and mewing, his pink skin showing through his thin white kitten coat. Bob was mine. Boxy photographs from the early seventies depict a wide-eyed kitten dangling from the grasp of a determined toddler.
We grew together, the four of us, in that little house in Lewis. Gary went off to kindergarten, and I grew into a strong willed, spring-haired preschooler. Every afternoon I stood at the screen door and impatiently awaited the return of my mercurial brother. Bob became a breathtakingly beautiful tomcat with a penchant for the ladies and an ever-growing spawn of tiny white offspring. Jennie grew from that small and crooked pup to a small and crooked dog with a joyful wiggle to her misshapen hips and a toothy, snorting, grin.
Gary was one of the “Lewis boys”, a ragtag band of sandlot boys who climbed trees and tool sheds in search of adventure. Bob was the Lewis Lothario. He staggered home early in the morning, ears bleeding, coat dirty, hungry and triumphant after a night of kitty conquests. In one last feat of derring-do before retiring for the day, he used a nearby oak to deliver him to roof of the house, where he could curve his head and body around the eaves to peer, upside down, into my bedroom. Jennie was a logging dog, accompanying Dad to the woods and making herself useful spotting squirrel and chipmunk nests in downed trees. As for me, I found much to do within the confines of my sandbox, in which Bob occasionally joined me.
One hazy summer, Jennie was romanced by the standard poodle across the street. She summarily delivered a litter of "doodles", culturally confused little beings with a Poodle for a father and a disabled Dalmation for a mother. The doodles provided hours of fun, following me from adventure to adventure. Old Kodaks show a tiny girl with wild dandelion hair, grown-up sized purse dangling from her arm, marching resolutely forward in the grass with a row of doodles in pursuit.
Like all good things eventually do, the idyllic Lewis days came to an end. We moved to Frederic, I went to kindergarten, and a baby brother came along. Bob was fast to conquer his new neighborhood, but Jennie became a homebody, content with our company, keeping a wary eye on the much busier street in the much bigger town.
Before long, now accompanied by baby Hans, we moved again. To Luck, Big Butternut Lake, and the rest of my childhood. The upheaval of moving was dulled by the constant presence of good-natured Jennie and soft, brooding, Bob. Bob, newly stripped of his virility, was content to lounge in the dusty sunbeams, paws tucked under him bread loaf style. Every so often he'd indulge in a luxurious stretch, making tiny chef's hats of his snowy feet.
The winter of 1981 brought the inevitable and unwelcome experience of grief to my young life. My indestructible Bob got sick one day, curling into himself in a white ball of pain, eyes wide and frightened. A trip to the vet revealed bladder stones, a treatable affliction; I worried obsessively, in my 7 year old way, and awaited his return home. Alas, one dark day my parents appeared in the door of my 2nd grade classroom, somber eyes fixed on me. I returned their gaze with dread, knowing in my heart that they had news that would shatter my little world. Bob had died unexpectedly in the weathered hands of the old veterinarian. There'd be no charges, he said, because he shouldn't have been handling the cat; his bladder had burst from the pressure.
We buried Bob across the street in a place we came to call Bobland. I hid in my closet, clutching a tattered photograph of my beloved kitty, lipstick on his face, his nose delicately poking a whiskey bottle. The picture wrinkled and wore until it was criss-crossed with fuzzy white lines.
The years after Bob's death passed in a shadowy blur, bringing with them the advent of my own disability, my own imperfection, and the upheaval of my world. Jennie remained, steadfast and loyal, lying beside the fireplace in the winter, watching us swim in the summer. She shepherded our pet ducklings, keeping them safe in our yard, occasionally taking just the tiniest taste. She buried pancakes in the garden and pouted in her dog house, tail thumping against the wood, if she felt wrongly reprimanded. She had many adventures left, including one curious trip aboard a slab of ice on the shattering lake, from our shore to the other, where she was rescued.
The winter we were 14, Jennie’s turn came. Incontinent and completely blind, she had lost the pep in her wag and the spring in her step. Her days were filled with pain instead of adventure, and it was time for her to go. We said good bye to her in the garage, lying beside her on her tattered blanket, stroking her soft white head. Mom and Gary gently carried her off to her peaceful death.
Today a portrait hangs in the basement of my parents house. The portrait is of a proud little Dalmation, lying in her familiar curled pose, head raised in inquiry. One eye is brown, one eye is white. Once in awhile she catches my gaze, and I reach across the years to touch her soft head.
Jennie preceded me into the world in early 1972, saved from euthanasia by a chance meeting and brought home in Dad's coat pocket. She fast became the constant companion of my older brother, Gary, an independent boy with adventure and wanderlust in his soul. Bob came later, scrawny and mewing, his pink skin showing through his thin white kitten coat. Bob was mine. Boxy photographs from the early seventies depict a wide-eyed kitten dangling from the grasp of a determined toddler.
We grew together, the four of us, in that little house in Lewis. Gary went off to kindergarten, and I grew into a strong willed, spring-haired preschooler. Every afternoon I stood at the screen door and impatiently awaited the return of my mercurial brother. Bob became a breathtakingly beautiful tomcat with a penchant for the ladies and an ever-growing spawn of tiny white offspring. Jennie grew from that small and crooked pup to a small and crooked dog with a joyful wiggle to her misshapen hips and a toothy, snorting, grin.
Gary was one of the “Lewis boys”, a ragtag band of sandlot boys who climbed trees and tool sheds in search of adventure. Bob was the Lewis Lothario. He staggered home early in the morning, ears bleeding, coat dirty, hungry and triumphant after a night of kitty conquests. In one last feat of derring-do before retiring for the day, he used a nearby oak to deliver him to roof of the house, where he could curve his head and body around the eaves to peer, upside down, into my bedroom. Jennie was a logging dog, accompanying Dad to the woods and making herself useful spotting squirrel and chipmunk nests in downed trees. As for me, I found much to do within the confines of my sandbox, in which Bob occasionally joined me.
One hazy summer, Jennie was romanced by the standard poodle across the street. She summarily delivered a litter of "doodles", culturally confused little beings with a Poodle for a father and a disabled Dalmation for a mother. The doodles provided hours of fun, following me from adventure to adventure. Old Kodaks show a tiny girl with wild dandelion hair, grown-up sized purse dangling from her arm, marching resolutely forward in the grass with a row of doodles in pursuit.
Like all good things eventually do, the idyllic Lewis days came to an end. We moved to Frederic, I went to kindergarten, and a baby brother came along. Bob was fast to conquer his new neighborhood, but Jennie became a homebody, content with our company, keeping a wary eye on the much busier street in the much bigger town.
Before long, now accompanied by baby Hans, we moved again. To Luck, Big Butternut Lake, and the rest of my childhood. The upheaval of moving was dulled by the constant presence of good-natured Jennie and soft, brooding, Bob. Bob, newly stripped of his virility, was content to lounge in the dusty sunbeams, paws tucked under him bread loaf style. Every so often he'd indulge in a luxurious stretch, making tiny chef's hats of his snowy feet.
The winter of 1981 brought the inevitable and unwelcome experience of grief to my young life. My indestructible Bob got sick one day, curling into himself in a white ball of pain, eyes wide and frightened. A trip to the vet revealed bladder stones, a treatable affliction; I worried obsessively, in my 7 year old way, and awaited his return home. Alas, one dark day my parents appeared in the door of my 2nd grade classroom, somber eyes fixed on me. I returned their gaze with dread, knowing in my heart that they had news that would shatter my little world. Bob had died unexpectedly in the weathered hands of the old veterinarian. There'd be no charges, he said, because he shouldn't have been handling the cat; his bladder had burst from the pressure.
We buried Bob across the street in a place we came to call Bobland. I hid in my closet, clutching a tattered photograph of my beloved kitty, lipstick on his face, his nose delicately poking a whiskey bottle. The picture wrinkled and wore until it was criss-crossed with fuzzy white lines.
The years after Bob's death passed in a shadowy blur, bringing with them the advent of my own disability, my own imperfection, and the upheaval of my world. Jennie remained, steadfast and loyal, lying beside the fireplace in the winter, watching us swim in the summer. She shepherded our pet ducklings, keeping them safe in our yard, occasionally taking just the tiniest taste. She buried pancakes in the garden and pouted in her dog house, tail thumping against the wood, if she felt wrongly reprimanded. She had many adventures left, including one curious trip aboard a slab of ice on the shattering lake, from our shore to the other, where she was rescued.
The winter we were 14, Jennie’s turn came. Incontinent and completely blind, she had lost the pep in her wag and the spring in her step. Her days were filled with pain instead of adventure, and it was time for her to go. We said good bye to her in the garage, lying beside her on her tattered blanket, stroking her soft white head. Mom and Gary gently carried her off to her peaceful death.
Today a portrait hangs in the basement of my parents house. The portrait is of a proud little Dalmation, lying in her familiar curled pose, head raised in inquiry. One eye is brown, one eye is white. Once in awhile she catches my gaze, and I reach across the years to touch her soft head.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
It's Been Awhile
Sorry, I know it's been too long since I've updated. No good excuse, either, and I've probably forgotten every good story I should have.
Well, not all, I guess! We do have some news. Ben was asked to be in his Godmother Brittney's wedding next January. He will be a junior groomsman. Brittney said that they don't have a junior bridesmaid so Ben will be with the big guys. I'm not sure what that means, if he'll have a special job or escort a big girl. Either way he will be darling in his tux. I told him I will kiss all the freckles off his face. He is already wiping them off.
We have a new puppy. Zac. You know how Wils pretends he's a kitty? Zac is the puppy. The puppy chases the kitty and vice versa. They lick each other too. So far I've kept them away from each other's butts.
Zac is showing imagination in more ways than one. When we were at gramma's house a few weeks ago he got a 4 wheeler ride (very slowly), sitting in front of my on the 4 wheeler with my arm around his tummy. Gramma gave him his own personal 4 wheeler (no motor, little feeties have to do it) for his birthday. Well, he has been giving his dolls and teddy bear rides on his 4 wheeler just like we do on the big one. I don't remember the others pretending quite so well at that age, so we seem to have a good imagination at work.
Today I left Ana and Wil alone for a bit while Brian slept. On my way out I told Wil that Ana would be babysitting him. "Oh good," he said "we can play house!"
Dog story. I had to videotape myself giving a presentation for school. I was all dressed up to look professional and miraculously kid free. So I set up the videocamera with the living room behind me and taped 20 minutes of presentation. Later I went back to review it (good thing I did) and lo and behold, there is a dog dragging his ass on the carpet behind me. For a good 5 minutes. With an expression of bliss on his face.
Well, not all, I guess! We do have some news. Ben was asked to be in his Godmother Brittney's wedding next January. He will be a junior groomsman. Brittney said that they don't have a junior bridesmaid so Ben will be with the big guys. I'm not sure what that means, if he'll have a special job or escort a big girl. Either way he will be darling in his tux. I told him I will kiss all the freckles off his face. He is already wiping them off.
We have a new puppy. Zac. You know how Wils pretends he's a kitty? Zac is the puppy. The puppy chases the kitty and vice versa. They lick each other too. So far I've kept them away from each other's butts.
Zac is showing imagination in more ways than one. When we were at gramma's house a few weeks ago he got a 4 wheeler ride (very slowly), sitting in front of my on the 4 wheeler with my arm around his tummy. Gramma gave him his own personal 4 wheeler (no motor, little feeties have to do it) for his birthday. Well, he has been giving his dolls and teddy bear rides on his 4 wheeler just like we do on the big one. I don't remember the others pretending quite so well at that age, so we seem to have a good imagination at work.
Today I left Ana and Wil alone for a bit while Brian slept. On my way out I told Wil that Ana would be babysitting him. "Oh good," he said "we can play house!"
Dog story. I had to videotape myself giving a presentation for school. I was all dressed up to look professional and miraculously kid free. So I set up the videocamera with the living room behind me and taped 20 minutes of presentation. Later I went back to review it (good thing I did) and lo and behold, there is a dog dragging his ass on the carpet behind me. For a good 5 minutes. With an expression of bliss on his face.
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