I never knew how much motherhood would change me. I also never knew how much motherhood would change my relationships. I suppose that if my friends and sisters were at the same point in their lives it would be a different story, but I'm thinking none of them will have kids for years to come. Which is probably a good thing, if I'm going to be completely honest.
And now that I've been thinking of the best way to write this, I can't. I can't explain my relationships with my sisters, friends, or parents. There are no words for the way my family functions. Well, "disfunctional" is a great start, but we'll just leave it at that. I will, in Long family tradition, keep it in and leave it at that.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Must Love Dogs
Every day I scour craigslist in hopes of finding an ad that goes something like this:
"Desperately seeking over-anxious, hip-replacement-surgery-needing, screen-door-slaying, tireless boxer. Separation anxiety and through-the-roof vet bills a must. Non-chewers need not apply. Will pay top dollar."
I have yet to find such an ad. After all, most want ads are for the perfect dog, not your below-average, dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks dog.
He crashes through the screen door just because it's there.
He can't be out in the dog run unsupervised for more than 30 seconds without jumping in the water trough (summer or winter) or breaking off a branch of the now-dead tree.
He is terrified of rat dogs but will happily challenge anyone his size or bigger to a boxing match.
He has chewed two holes in the drywall, while we were home.
He introduced himself to the new neighbors by plowing through the fence and jumping up on their sliding glass door.
He put teeth marks in the siding of the house.
He has come within inches of knocking over our daughter at a full-run.
He's tireless. He may get tired, but only for approximately 33 seconds.
Yet, for all of his faults, I can't bring myself to get rid of him. Thanks to pregnancy hormones I have loaded him into the car to take to either the vet or the pound for them to deal with, but I have yet to leave the driveway. Insetad, I find myself pleading with him. Crying into his fur, asking him why he has to test me on a daily basis. Just when I really am about to call the vet to come pick him up (our vet, for some insane reason, loves him), my daughter, aka his accomplice, will save him. She'll wander over to the dog bed, plop herself down next to him, and lean over to give him a kiss. Either that or he'll snarl menacingly at the creepy door-to-door salesman and save me $20 of unneeded magazine subscriptions.
And now, it is time to call the vet, not to try to pawn him off, but to spend $250 on his medicine. Maybe they will throw in a few tranquilizers for free, seeing as how we have single-handedly paid for the entire staff to spend a week in Hawaii. After that, he will get his second bath of the day before being allowed back inside to sprawl on the carpet, leaving his wet-dog smell wherever he lays.
"Desperately seeking over-anxious, hip-replacement-surgery-needing, screen-door-slaying, tireless boxer. Separation anxiety and through-the-roof vet bills a must. Non-chewers need not apply. Will pay top dollar."
I have yet to find such an ad. After all, most want ads are for the perfect dog, not your below-average, dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks dog.
He crashes through the screen door just because it's there.
He can't be out in the dog run unsupervised for more than 30 seconds without jumping in the water trough (summer or winter) or breaking off a branch of the now-dead tree.
He is terrified of rat dogs but will happily challenge anyone his size or bigger to a boxing match.
He has chewed two holes in the drywall, while we were home.
He introduced himself to the new neighbors by plowing through the fence and jumping up on their sliding glass door.
He put teeth marks in the siding of the house.
He has come within inches of knocking over our daughter at a full-run.
He's tireless. He may get tired, but only for approximately 33 seconds.
Yet, for all of his faults, I can't bring myself to get rid of him. Thanks to pregnancy hormones I have loaded him into the car to take to either the vet or the pound for them to deal with, but I have yet to leave the driveway. Insetad, I find myself pleading with him. Crying into his fur, asking him why he has to test me on a daily basis. Just when I really am about to call the vet to come pick him up (our vet, for some insane reason, loves him), my daughter, aka his accomplice, will save him. She'll wander over to the dog bed, plop herself down next to him, and lean over to give him a kiss. Either that or he'll snarl menacingly at the creepy door-to-door salesman and save me $20 of unneeded magazine subscriptions.
And now, it is time to call the vet, not to try to pawn him off, but to spend $250 on his medicine. Maybe they will throw in a few tranquilizers for free, seeing as how we have single-handedly paid for the entire staff to spend a week in Hawaii. After that, he will get his second bath of the day before being allowed back inside to sprawl on the carpet, leaving his wet-dog smell wherever he lays.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Serenity Now.
Dear Pregnancy Hormone Gods,
I pray that you give me the strength to make it through the day without crying, yelling, or murdering anyone. I also ask that you stop sending me mini-meltdowns, meltdowns, and major-meltdowns. The infections aren't really my thing either, so I would appreciate a break from being sick. I'll even take a week of feeling good. Even just feeling okay. Please save my sanity, my family, and my body. As of now, all are about to leave me. Amen.
I pray that you give me the strength to make it through the day without crying, yelling, or murdering anyone. I also ask that you stop sending me mini-meltdowns, meltdowns, and major-meltdowns. The infections aren't really my thing either, so I would appreciate a break from being sick. I'll even take a week of feeling good. Even just feeling okay. Please save my sanity, my family, and my body. As of now, all are about to leave me. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)