Hello, Cousin!!

Sadie is Rachelle's 6-year-old yellow Labrador Retriever. Max is Annica and Josh's 10-month-old Olde English Bulldogge. Therefore, Sadie and Max are "cousins." They hadn't met until early Thanksgiving morning when Max arrived with Annica and Josh.

Since Sadie's mom (aka Rachelle) wasn't here to help with the introduction, she gave us very specific instructions as to how the two should meet. Annica and Josh were to alert us (which they did) when they were in a few yards of our house. Lance was to (which he did) take Sadie into the backyard. Annica and Josh were to lead Max on his leash (which they did) into the backyard and allow Sadie to sniff Max. (Due to the sensitive natures of some of my readers, I will not mention any of the "sniffing" details. You're welcome.)

Rachelle plead with the nervous grandmother (aka Me) to stay upstairs so as not to influence the dogs with her anxious vibes. The nervous grandmother complied with her wishes. Nervous Grandmother envisioned a raucous session of barking, chasing, nipping and growling. None of her worries materialized.

The dogs were quite civil to each other. Since this all took place at 3:30 am, the tired humans (especially Josh and Annica who had traveled all night) opted to crate both dogs and retire for the remainder of the "night."

The photos above were taken a few hours after the initial meeting. As you can see, there was chasing, more sniffing, and a little bit of barking and growling. All in all, Nervous Grandmother was very pleasantly surprised at how the dogs interacted with each other. If only all people of the world could cooperate like Max and Sadie, the canine cousins!

Will Work for Food

I suppose it's no secret to my friends that I bribe my children. I don't really like to call it bribery; instead, I prefer to label it "motivation." My kids are motivated by food. Let's say that I want Mark to do his homework. He doesn't. Here's a typical conversation:

Me: "I have to run errands."

Mark: "Will you get me a 'Hearty Bowl' at Jack in the Box?"

Me: "I'll call you on my way home and see if your homework is done. If it is, I may get a Hearty Bowl for you."

I run errands. I call home. Fifty-percent of the time, the homework is done and I visit Jack. That leaves the other 50% of the time where I return home empty-handed to a cranky boy. Too bad, so sad.

So, Mark is motivated by JITB Hearty Bowls. And eggnog (with Sprite). Those are his current favorites. My other kids (at least the ones who currently reside with us) are motivated by:

SARA: guacamole and bacon and fries
ZACHARY: Jamba Juice

What will YOU work for?

Striking Feature

Me: "Who taught your Spanish class today since your teacher was sick?"

Mark: "A person with painted-on eyebrows."

I'm So Worried

"You realize this is going on your permanent record, Mom," is what I was told after I issued this ultimatum: "Either do your homework or go to bed."

Living With ADD/ADHD

For quite some time, I've intended to write about what it's like to live with ADD/ADHD. (Some members of my family are blessed with this "condition.) I keep getting distracted, though. I'll begin now. Oops! I gotta get the milk out of the milk box. Bye!

Perception is Reality

Because I am an imperfect parent, my children have accused me of many things over the years. I don't listen. I spoil one child (or another) more than others. I don't make so-and-so do as many chores. I allowed others more privileges. I spent more money on the other children. I never keep my promises. I didn't properly warn of consequences. I let one particular child do something I didn't allow the other children to do. I give longer back rubs to another child. I didn't take as many pictures of one child as I did of the others. I delayed seeking treatment for a child's vision problems. I could go on ad nauseam, but I don't want to further depress myself.

I try to listen to each complaint leveled against me and jog the recesses of my memory to see if I'm guilty of the accusations. Perhaps, sometimes I am. I think, however, most of the time I am not. I have learned, though, that no amount of reasoning or explaining convinces the accuser of their errant thinking. To them (and probably to most of us), perception is reality. They really believe they are justified in their accusations.

I must admit that I was dumbfounded when Sara, the 19.5-year-old, accused me of NEVER buying her her very own Barbie. WHAT?!?!?!? For years, we seemed to have a house full of Barbies, Barbie clothes, Barbie furniture, and Barbie accessories. Barbie shoes were everywhere. Lance even built a sturdy, wooden, large Barbie house for the girls. Grandma Markie made lovely Barbie beds. I simply refused to believe that I never bought a Barbie for Sara.

Upon further questioning, Sara admitted that if I actually had bought her a Barbie, I took it away before she was old enough to play with it. Further, we expunged all traces of Barbie from the house during Sara's formative years. How could we be such callous, uncaring parents? What emotional scars we must have caused our precious princess! I am horrified!!!

Today, I did the only thing I could think to do to atone for my grevious sin: I bought Sara a Barbie. Her face just lit up when I gave it to her. She carefully removed the packaging and freed Barbie from her plastic restraints. Lovingly, she stroked Barbie's "stiff" hair. "Her hair needs to be washed, Mom."

Imagine Sara's glee when I said, "She's yours to do whatever you want with her. If you want to mar her face with permanent marker, you may. You may even cut her hair. You're free to do with her whatever makes you happy."

Happiness is knowing that for at least today, I made one child happy.

Goodbye, Al Capone!

Had I remembered to photograph him last night, I would have posted a picture of Al Capone (aka Mark) today. It's too late for that, however, as Al Capone's costume is in our garbage receptacle at the curb awaiting trash pick-up tomorrow. The costume is ruined.

All week long Mark pleaded with me to get an Al Capone costume for him. He wanted to dress up for school Friday and for Halloween. I procrastinated, explaining, "When you get caught up on your homework, I will get the costume." The "witching hour" approached and I thought I was off the hook. Thirty minutes before store closing Thursday night, he met his goal.

I headed to the store to play the perennial game "Compete for Last-minute Costumes." I scanned the costume displays and found several Al Capone get-ups. Not a one was Mark's size. Should I get a men's medium (too big) or a boys' medium (too small)? Since the men's was $10 more than the boys', I bought the boys'. It was a risk I was willing to take even knowing the costume was unreturnable.

Back at home, Mark tried on the costume and was pleased as punch even though it was quite small. He couldn't raise his arms above chest level. The bottom of the pants was about 6 inches above his ankles. He looked like a gangly gangster, but a cute one. The white knee-high socks, black dress shoes and black fedora completed the outfit. He wore the outfit to school Friday. (I was afraid that he would rip the seat of his pants if he bent over.)

After class, Zachary and Mark raced to the car to claim the front seat. In their rush, Zach accidentally tripped Mark sending him sprawling on the sidewalk. The pinstripe gangster pants were ripped at the knee and bloodied by the knee wound. Both hands were scraped as well. Through his tears and after a scolding of his brother, Mark forgave Zachary but was devastated that his costume was "ruined." I assured him that the costume could be repaired, but he was unconvinced. It took some explaining to get him to have hope that the costume could be worn again.

Yesterday Mark had more homework to complete, and he asked if I would repair the tear in his costume. Sounding like a broken record, I again said, "I will do it after you finish your homework." Realizing that his fate was in my hands, he sewed the hole closed himself. However, he wasn't allowed to trick-or-treat until the homework was done. He got a late start and finished quickly, getting just enough candy to barely satisfy him. He then attended a party with Lance and me.

Somehow during the course of the evening, the repaired knee hole became unrepaired and grew larger. His costume met a fate similar to one many of Mark's other clothes met over the years--very large, unexplanable holes appeared out of nowhere rendering the clothing beyond repair. The costume was discarded and just memories are left. There are no pictures.