Gone to the Dogs

I absolutely mean no offense to anyone, but I must beg the question: can animals be retarded? More specifically, can a dog have such a low IQ that, if it were a person, it would qualify for special education and/or state funding?

If yes, then I am certain my dog is part of this group.

If not, then we may want to consider establishing a new group.

Dixie is just the cutest little puff of fur you have ever seen. She is part Shiz Tzu and part Maltese (and quite possibly part cat, since her favorite perch is on top of my couch). She has the sweetest face, and a wonderful disposition. She loves, loves, loves her mamma (me).

HOWEVER, she is the most incontinent dog you have ever seen in your life! She is three years old, and still can not be left alone for more than three minutes, lest she leave a huge pee spot in the floor. (She will probably poop, too- but she eats it, so I have no evidence.)

The dog can go outside, walk around the block, then hang out on her leash in the back yard for an hour. But as soon as she walks in the door and is alone, she will just pull up a piece of carpet and relieve herself.

No amount of begging, pleading, bribing or beating has made a difference. The vet says she could be passive/aggressive and suggested Prozac. I laughed and said, "no." Now- I'm reconsidering.

Literally every inch of carpet in our home needs to be ripped up and replaced. To be fair, she is the fourth pet to contribute to the "problem." However, her "contributions" have been far more substantial than the other three put together!

We also potty-trained two children in this home. So, there was the occasional "oops" when they didn't make it to the bathroom in time. But, at least they felt uncomfortable and requested a wardrobe change. The dog doesn't seem to notice.

We resorted to blocking off the kitchen and leaving her on the linoleum when we were away from the house. She evidently can fly or vaporize and re-materialize on the other side of the huge blockades we have erected on either side of the kitchen. Because in the afternoons when I come home, she has gotten out of her "fortress" and is perched, happily wagging her tail, on the back of the couch.

We were told that dogs NEVER go to the bathroom where they sleep. So we put her in her kennel. Not only did she go to the bathroom, she rolled in it. So she had poop (what she hadn't eaten) matted in her white, soft fur (ICK) and her paws were literally yellow from the pee.

Whenever we say, "Ooh, Dixie, you stink!," she looks perplexed. She hates having her nose rubbed in pee, but only because she doesn't like being held down. The smell really doesn't seem to bother her that much.

I'm certain even the Dog Whisperer would decide this dog has problems. I am totally out of options to make this dog stop using my home as a potty. And it's GROSS!

We have a steam cleaner which gets hauled out just about every twenty four hours. Hubby works for a company that has some GREAT cleaning products, which we have used A LOT. Quite frankly, I am amazed we have any fibers left in our carpets, considering the scrubbing we do.

*Sigh*

She does go to the vet tomorrow for her yearly shots. I am going to ask the vet if they have some magic corks I can put in her. Or if I can feed her cleaning products, so at least if she pees on my carpet, she will make it clean...

*Sigh*

I'll keep you posted...

Stick Out Your Tongue and Say "Om"

Last night I decided I needed to stretch my poor, weary body, which had been in a permanent blob on the couch for too long. I determined I would exercise using one of my yoga tapes. I went into my room, and popped in the tape to begin.

My two daughters came bouncing in and asked if they could join me. We have been talking about them taking yoga for some time now. The evening ("PM") tape is pretty basic and fairly easy. So I thought, This may actually be a pretty good idea.

However, as soon as the first stretch began, Amy was in tears.

"I can't do it!" she cried.

All I could think was, This is supposed to be relaxing.

Emma tried her best to ease Amy's concerns, as did I. But, alas, it was to no avail. Amy's temper tantrum spun quickly out of control into a level 4 tornado on speed. The contrast between the tape's instructor and her deep breathing, and Amy and her high pitched squealing was almost comical... Almost.

Finally, I showed Amy how to do Child's Pose, and told her she was welcome to stay in that pose as long as she wanted. (Which, by the way, is a fact: I spent most of my first few yoga classes in Child's Pose trying to regain consciousness after stretching upside down and inside out.) This seemed to placate her.

Emma and I got down to business, breathing, stretching and having positive thoughts.

Then Amy got bored. So she quit Child's Pose and began her very own series of yoga poses. Apparently these included, but were not limited to, climbing on top of me, sitting in my lap, playing with my hair and poking my stomach to find my belly button.

Again, This is supposed to be relaxing, kept running through my head.

I coaxed Amy into resuming Child's Pose for a little bit longer. But, really, not for long.

She was like a child trapped in the back seat of a car on a cross-country trip with no toys, games, movies, videos, or anything that would amuse her: "Are we done yet?" "How many more minutes?"

Then she got personal with me, trying to make me pay attention to her, and not the tape: "No offense, Mom. But, is you stomach supposed to do that?" and, "Your face sure is red, Mommy. Are you okay? Do I need to get Daddy?"

I felt all of the muscles in my body clenching up into a massive ball of ARGGG!!!

Why am I doing this again? To relax?

Finally, we were at the last pose, which is basically lying down on your back and breathing. Amy laid down and did well for two breaths. Then she pretended to snore.

I was almost certain I was going to need to take a couple of shots of whiskey to calm down from my relaxation yoga tape by the time the instructor bid us "Namaste." Finally, we were done, and I was ready to send the girls to bed and take a long, hot shower.

As we got up from this virtual torture we had just endured, Emma said, "Thanks, Mom." Amy turned and looked at me and said, "Mommy, that was fun. Can we do it again tomorrow night?"

"We'll see," I said, trying to sound light. What I really wanted to say was something that was very un-yoga-like. But I, after all, was the adult, so I figured I should act like one.

Emma did enjoy the yoga for what it was, and had very little difficulty with the poses or the stamina required. I think she really would like to do it again.

Amy is still better suited for jumping on a pogo stick while jump roping than practicing yoga. Oh well, I suppose she will get there soon enough.

For now, yoga is strictly for people eight years old and up. If you insist on joining in our relaxation and you are under age, you must take a shot of benadryl and some NyQuil and stay in Child's Pose the entire time. Then... we can relax...

Namaste

Changes: They Are A'Comin...

When I was growing up, I had a very happy childhood. My parents were very loving and supportive. I had a wonderful church family. I had a lot of friends from all different walks of life.

But there did come a time, as it does for most young people, when I decided I could not wait to get OUT! I was going to see the world, experience the world, change the world. This small town was "dragging me down." It was boring. It was too small. And I was tired of everyone being up in my business.

So, I packed my stuff and ran away from home- to college, after graduating High School (I'm not totally stupid). In college I learned a lot of theory, and my eyes were opened to the world- or so I thought. I fell in love and, after graduating college, we married. By then I had decided "home" was not so bad after all. But, to my dismay, hubby had a job that took us all over the place. It took us everywhere but "home."

When we began our family, I wanted nothing more than to take my family "home." There is something instinctual about the way a parent wants the best (or better) for their children. We were certainly no exception. We wanted our son, and any future children, to have the morals, the love, the security we had experienced in our childhood. To us, that meant taking the family "home."

We yearned for our children to experience life the way we had it. However, that was impossible from the get-go. For starters, our junior high school had been demolished and rebuilt in another location. Stores and houses peppered the land that used to be nothing but fields with cows. Our rival junior high school had been transformed into the magnet K - 12 school our children would someday attend. Our high school was now a middle school... How could it really be "the same"?

Well, at least we still had the same friends, same family, same church... Right?

Actually, we made more friends, new friends. We became closer with friends with whom we shared more in common. Old friends were still friends, we just didn't see them as often.

And family changed as members were added and members passed on. But we became stronger.

Church... well, church was one of the things I relied on to be a constant. It was that "x" factor that always stayed the same. After all, church was the House of God.

I wanted my children to have a fun youth group experience, exciting Vacation Bible School during the summers, friends in Sunday School, Eucharistic training and First Communion, acolyte training, Small Catechism, Confirmation, Affirm- all of the things that I believed helped shape me to be who and what I am.

As our world has changed, so has our church, thus proving the theory that any object in motion will stay in motion. I suppose that is better than the alternative, which is any object at rest will stay at rest. But, what if the change is not good? At least from my perspective?

What happens when it begins to feel like I am part of the problem, rather than part of the solution? Can I walk away without a fight? Is it really my fight, or have I grown, moved on, from it?

Ultimately, my children will grow and develop with the guidance of people- not things, like school buildings, or theory, like religion or a particular church. But it is still an awesome responsibility to make sure I make the right decisions about those things and theories to expose my children to the best people.

Thankfully, we do have wonderful, wonderful people (family and friends) who are fabulous role models for our children. And, God is the beginning and end. He will use our good intentions, our prayerfully discerned decisions, to His purpose and glory. He will use us (as long as we allow Him) to guide, shape, mold and love our children.

And, in the end, that is what any parent would really want.

Many Personalities- One Girl

Today seemed like the perfect day to be Sloth Barbie. I was all set to play with my computer, watch TV, read my book(s) and eat bad food. I came lazily down the stairs, rubbing my eyes.

Upon arriving downstairs, my feet met the floor with a crunch (ew). As my vision became clearer, I began to see that my house was in no shape for me to be Sloth Barbie. Instead, I was going to really need to be Princess-Clean-A-Lot Barbie. *gag*

My house actually looked like a bunch of rednecks had hosted a monster truck rally in my living room and kitchen. I sighed and my shoulders slumped as my Sloth Barbie dream went "poof" and I began reorganizing my day in my head.

My kids had each invited a friend or two from the neighborhood over, and I was watching my niece and nephew. At one point I counted thirteen kids in my back yard, ranging in age from four to twelve. And all thirteen of those kids tried to tromp through my kitchen after I had scrubbed it. I threatened them with their very lives if they did. They, wisely, chose an alternate route to their final destination.

The whole time I was cleaning, I was mumbling and grumbling to myself. I, for the life of me, can not figure out how someone can be so pretentious as to just expect me to clean up after them. I mean, not just clean the toilets, dishes, clothing, floors and everything else (which they do), but to actually pick up their dishes when they are done with them; to pick up their dirty towels as they throw them on the floor after a bath; to throw away their gum wrappers they throw on the floor. Honestly!

How did I raise children like this??? Or is this what all children are like? Because, I gotta' tell you, one the huge perks I was counting on past potting training was assigning chores to someone other than myself. However, this is just not working out.

I hate housework with all the passion in my body. I hate it, hate it, hate it. I can not STAND to do something, have it look all nice, and then pffbbbb- gone. In exactly one and a half seconds my children can erase hours of scrubbing and organizing.

So today, as I was sacrificing myself for the sake of my family, when I would ask someone to, like, oh, close a drawer for me, or open a cabinet, and they would whine, it made me angry. And when they would sigh and carry on like I was asking them to move a mountain, I wanted to turn them out to the streets. And when they did do something- however minor -they expected high praise. Like when they picked up their own gum wrapper, they would ask if they got extra allowance!

By the end of the day, I was not Sloth Barbie or Princess-Cleans-A-Lot Barbie. I was Grouchasaurus Barbie. Mommy Barbie had left the building ages ago. And any scrap of PTA Mommy Barbie was completely and utterly gone.

The good news: the house is (for the most part) clean; I have been able to tame my inner beast with a donut and a diet coke; and, the children have indeed lived to see another day. Tomorrow... Well, tomorrow I'll try again for Sloth Barbie- only in a much cleaner house!

Don't Judge a Shirt by It's Tag

I was invited to a clothing party a while ago. I didn't want to really purchase anything. But I decided I would go out of support for my friend who was hosting the party.

When we got there, the (very skillful) sales representative had brought lots and lots of samples for us to try on. Nothing makes a bunch of women want to buy clothes more than trying them on and having all their friends "ooh" and "aah" over how great they look. Especially when you add in some food and wine...

Two shirts and a pair of jeans later, I was still basking in the afterglow of how "awesome" I looked. However, I was brought down to a harsh reality when I was given the bill. Yikes! I could buy an entire season's wardrobe for that much!

But, hold on, says the (very skillful) sales representative. Did I see the specials? Well, I had, but it didn't really help that much. She sighed and put on her most disappointed face. She was sorry, but she understood. She tipped down her hand with the order form in it.

The (very skillful) sales representative let me just peek at the form enough to see the sizes she had written down. Whoa! I knew I had been losing weight, but that size was not even something I had considered! Wow! Okay, now I had to have those jeans!

The (very skillful) sales representative was (almost) able to conceal her smirk when she realized she had "won." I was so excited to be in such a small size, I probably would have paid double what she was asking.

Later, as I was doing my laundry, I smiled again at that little, bitty size on the tag. I hung them up to dry (lest they accidentally shrink) and stood back to admire them.

I happened to catch a look at the pair of pants hanging next to them. Suddenly, I realized that the pants were almost the exact same size as the jeans- but the pants did NOT sport the little, bitty size in them, as the jeans had. Hmph.

So, now I had a very expensive pair of jeans that were just as big as my pants- that just happened to have a little tag in it... As I looked a little closer, I noticed that next to the little, bitty tag said, "Made in China."

This made me giggle. The poor, little, bitty Chinese people who were making these jeans must think we Americans are completely off of our collective rockers!

Really, the Wal-Mart clothing (also made in China) is not much better. I think I actually own a couple of Wal-Mart pants that are like a 4/5. I can only imagine the confusion around the manufacturing plant: "So, the pants going to Target are a size 10, but the same pants, going to Wal-Mart, are a size 4/5... Okay..."

I guess clothiers are just trying to make women feel good about themselves. But telling someone who needs to lose weight for their health and for appearance's sake that they are able to fit into a slim, trim size, isn't helping anyone.

In fact, the only clothiers who still remain true to the sizes as they were originally intended are bridal gown houses. Talk about having things backwards! There is no day that a girl wants to feel more beautiful than on her wedding day. She wants to be the most stunning person in a three-state radius.

As she goes in to try on dresses and find her "dream gown," she is quite unsuspecting that whatever gown she chooses will have to be at least two full sizes larger than what she thinks she wears. What a way to totally shatter a dream! "Yes, dear, the dress is beautiful. You, however, look like a float from the Rose Bowl parade."

I guess when it's all said and done, it doesn't really matter what size tag is in your garment. In fact, my kids pull all the tags out of their clothes as soon as they get home. They say the tags are "itchy." (The only snag to this is while this is probably very good for their self-esteem, it makes it impossible to consign any of their clothes...)

I suppose if you eat well, exercise regularly and don't do too many bad things for you, the size of the clothing doesn't matter as much as how it ultimately looks on you. But, I still have to say, those jeans I got with the little, bitty tag still make me feel prettier than my pants with the "correct" tag. Hey- maybe I just need a Sharpie marker... Now, there's a thought...