Life with Rocket Boy!

Big dog has a minor obsession. His PJs have to match. I can't casually dress him in a pair of shark pants and a top littered with dinosaurs. That would never do. In fact, now when it comes time to put him in his jammies, he always asks "Matching, right mommy?"

Three nights ago, I pulled out a pair of pjs that are getting to be a bit on the small side, but still work. The pants are a deep blue with a rockets and stars pattern and the shirt is bright blue with a big single rocket and the word "ROCKET!" just in case the artist's rendering was somehow unclear to you. After confirming they were a matching set, big dog allowed me to dress him, and suddenly, he became "Rocket Boy!"

Big dog got up and jumped on his bed proclaiming "I have a new suit! Rocket Boy is here!" and demanding that I produce some "Rocket socks to help me fly!" After finding socks, I was dubbed "Rocket Mama" , little dog was dubbed "Rocket Little Dog" and Mr. Dog became "Rocket Poppa".

I don't know what the Rocket family is supposed to do, but it appears much of it involves a 4 year old jumping on his bed with his fists planted on his hips Superman-style announcing he is "Rocket Boy".

We have revisited this scene each night for the past three nights. Now I wonder what will happen when the Rocket Jammies are finally put in the laundry pile and he is forced to wear the "suit" of a lesser super hero, like "Monkies on Surfboards Boy!"

I'll keep you posted.

Thanksgiving.

Since I am likely to be too busy coping with my food induced coma to post tomorrow, I will go ahead and do this today.

I am one lucky woman. I have so much to be thankful for.
1. My husband- as smart as he is cute, as kind as he is funny. I love you, Dave.
2. My kids- I don't know what I did to deserve these two perfect little guys, but I never stop marveling at how smart, sweet and funny they are. I could just eat them up.
3. My family- I am one of the lucky ones who came from a family that gets along. Sure, we may all be nuts, but I never want to ditch them in favor of a less crazy family. My parents are supportive and thoughtful, my sister is my best buddy. I'm as lucky as can be.
4. My wonderful pets- I lost Mao this year, but I still had him in my life for 8.5 wonderful years, my sweet Nikita is lovable and truly a mascot for her breed. (If you don't mind a mascot that hogs the bed, and bosses you around).
5. My job- I like it, I actually enjoy what I do, I'm good at it, and I am appreciated for it.
6. My health, and the health of my family- Sure I get an occasional migraine, and the kids have ear infections and colds, and Dave's heart does that thing that scares the life out of me from time to time, but in general, we are well, and able to do our thing unassisted.
7. Our foundation wall- We have one! As of yesterday we really have one!
My list could go on for ages, but those are the biggies.

Getting back on my game....and my meds

A few weeks ago I realized that it had been a while since I had remembered to take my daily Zoloft. Quite a while in fact. I got my email notice from the pharmacy that I could come pick up my prescription, and I was surprised because my current bottle was nearly full. I thought about it a bit, and I was doing fine. Really, no unpredictable moods swings, no anxious nights, no tears at the drop of a hat, so I figured I'd just stay off them.
Unfortunately things don't always stay the same. In the past week, I have had more sadness than I have in a long time. Between losing Mao, and learning that I had long ago lost Terry, I've been slowly washing out to sea again. Mr. Dog has suggested I take my pills to help even out a bit. At first I resisted, I don't like the idea of being medicated. I don't like the idea that I can't handle my own grief, but in the end I relented. He was right. I don't know how long I'll continue with the Zoloft, but I think I need it right now.

Thirty-One

When I was a teenager, I went through a rough patch. My mind spent too much time in dark spaces and I was consumed with images of my own death. Despite a loving family, granted a family with problems of their own, but loving none the less, a supportive group of friends, and endless possibilities ahead of me, I was unable to see farther than my current state of despair. It could probably be chalked up to teenage hormones, or my legacy of a family history of depression, but I was falling deeper and deeper into my sinkhole.
As I was carefully planning my final exit, gently saying my last goodbyes and stepping silently closer to my turn to shrug off my perceived burden, someone noticed. His name was Terry D. In junior high and high school, we were close friends. Our friendship was kind of an odd match. I was a closet over achiever, he was happy just sliding by. He was lanky and funny and played the clown, and inside, despite his "I don't give a fuck" attitude, he was sensitive, sweet and kind. Although much of our time together was spent listening too hard to our latest music finds and smoking pot, he was also the person who I could trust.
Terry noticed that I was slipping into a darkness that he wasn't able to handle on his own. He watched me planning and knew what was in my mind even when I wasn't fully able to admit it to myself. When Terry saw me slipping, he reached out to stop me. When Terry saw me slipping, he went to my family. He tipped them off, and got them involved even though he knew I would see it as a betrayal. At a time in my life, when I was hoping to die, Terry made sure that I would live.

As teenage friendships, even the profound ones, often do, we waxed and waned. At times we were inseparable, and other times, usually when boyfriends or girlfriends were on the scene, we would drift apart, but it always felt inevitable that we would find each other again.

Terry's family situation was a mess. His role in the family was a precarious balance between playing baby sitter and caretaker for his brothers to working hard to blend into the walls so he wouldn't upset his mom or her asshole husband who neither one wanted the responsibility of a teenage man with emotions and hormones and a lot of spare time on his hands that he frequently filled with music, drugs and alcohol. And as thanks for his help with raising his brothers, on his 18th birthday, his mom kicked him out.
My mom offered Terry a place to live, but instead of taking her up on it, he disappeared. Knowing how things had worked in the past, I didn't worry, I knew over time, our paths would cross and we'd find our way back to our comfortable friendship.
In the meantime, I graduated from high school, spent a year as an exchange student and came home. No word from Terry. I left Portland, and headed to San Francisco for college, and still no word from Terry. I graduated from college and started a career, I fell in love, got married, had a baby and still no word from Terry. My life continued on, I moved to Seattle, had a second son, continued my career and still no word from Terry.
For years now, I have searched for him online every month or two. I google him, his name with our home town, our home state, our metro area and any combination of search criteria that might yield some line on his location, but I had never found him. Every time I went to Portland, my eyes scanned the strangers on the street hoping to catch a glimpse of my lanky long lost friend moving toward me with his laid back gait.
All of that changed tonight. Through a six-degrees-of-separation kind of deal, I connected with an old high school friend. As we talked about who we had seen and what friends were where in their lives, conversation turned to an unlucky man who had died from a heroin overdose. "Terry D. too" she said casually.
I had to ask her to repeat it, because this is not what was supposed to have happened. I was supposed to meet him again, to be able to thank him for pulling out my safety net when I most needed it and was least able to ask. I was supposed to see him in his life, with his family and his career. Instead I only found out I was years too late. That I wasn't there for him and the person who I credit with really and truly saving my life had slipped away without me ever being able to tell him just how thankful I was.
In December 2000, Terry died as a result of a heroin overdose. He had just turned 31.

My Mao-mao is gone from this world.

Today the world lost a furry angel. He passed away today in my arms. He had been getting progressively sicker, not wanting to eat very much at all, even when I have him his favorite treats. He was becoming unsteady on his feet and generally had lost his lust for all of his doggie activities. It seemed that moving was a chore for him, and he was trudging forward despite his pain and rapid decline.

When he went to his vet specialist on Tuesday, she found he had a bleeding ulcer and didn't even bother to check his kidney values since she said last time he was in his values were shockingly high, and she was surprised he was able to even be up and around, most dogs with levels that high were not even trying to get up anymore.

We were lucky to have him as long as we did, and with her help, and the nurturing care of Mr. Dog (who gave him subcutaneous fluids 2x per day, and cooked him special meals to coax him to eat) we were able to keep him relatively healthy and happy for 18 months after his diagnosis.

My heart is truly broken, and I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of life without him, but I know we did the right thing for him. He did not deserve to suffer simply because I could not let go, so for him, I found the courage to say goodbye.

I love you Mao, I always will. And I know you are here with us always.

How do you say goodbye?

about 18 months ago my dog was given a tragic diagnosis. He has chronic renal failure, there is no cure, just a long decline ahead. He's had ups and downs over the past year and a half, but he's having more downs now than before, and it seems like we might be nearing the end.

How do you say goodbye to a dog who you think of as a child? A dog that was your first joint venture with your future husband? A dog that taught you how loyal and loving you can be for another being that takes you just as you are, no matter what kind of day he has? How do you say goodbye to the pup that was there for your wedding planning madness, and there for the photos after the ceremony? The dog that curled up on the bed with you when you brought your first human child home from the hospital? How can I imagine life without his happy dance when I come home, and his amazing sense of "cheese" that brings him running if I open a new block?
How can I expect to sleep soundly when his reassuring snort and snuffles no longer fill my bedroom with a constant rhythm? When his relaxed body is no longer sprawled across his bed right in front of the room heater luxuriating in the radiating heat?
The prospect of a Mao-less home is sickening. I can't imagine not having to dodge his sturdy body when I want to pass through a doorway he just happens to be inspecting.
This morning we went for a walk together, just to have some time together, he took in the scents of the neighborhood and I was almost able to pretend that he was well, and that this upcoming loss was nothing more than a horrible nightmare that disappeared when the sun came up.
How can I go on when he can't? I don't know. I just don't know.