Remembering Bo

Bo joined our family 11 years ago as an eight- week-old puppy. Sophie, our female Lab was two the time and certainly needed a friend, I decided. Bo was wild, had great puppy breath and loved to bark at Sophie and the cats (who were old and cranky and frequently swatted him). Sophie quickly let Bo know who was boss and all was well in our house. They were the best of friends.

Over the years Bo had countless visits to the Braum’s drive thru for ice cream, swims at various lakes, walks through the neighborhood, naps in the sunshine and many other experiences that prove it is great to be an animal at my house. When Max came along, Bo was the first to give him a big sloppy kiss (which my grandmother assured me would immediately make Max sick—it didn’t).

Bo’s escapades of raiding the pantry are known far and wide and I still don’t know if it was Bo or Ben the Cat who could open the door but my money was on Bo. He could eat a box of Krispy Kreme donuts in less than 30 seconds. Bo loved shoes and caused me great stress when he decided to chew up a pair I borrowed from my friend Heidi. I cried to the shoe repairman and he made them look like new. And who could forget the bouncy ball incident. A 25-cent ball from a vending machine cost me $1300 in vet bills. But Bo was worth every penny.

Before Thanksgiving I noticed Bo wasn’t himself. I knew he was sick but I didn’t want to hear it. I just kept thinking he would get better. When I finally had the courage to take him in he was diagnosed with kidney failure. I knew it would eventually take his life but I hoped for later rather than sooner. IV fluids and a special diet helped him bounce back until just after Christmas. On New Year’s Eve when he stopped eating, I knew he was telling me that it was time. Sunday afternoon, I put him on the bed with me and we took a nap. He put his head on my pillow and I rubbed his stomach and told him what a bright light he had been in our life. That night at bedtime, I found Sophie on his bed with him (see photo above). She was saying goodbye. Monday morning before he went to the vet, I sat next to his bed and stroked his head. I put his leash on him and he made one last visit to his favorite tree…he was struggling to get there and it broke my heart.

So on a blue blanket in waiting room one at Nichols Hills Vet Clinic, I held Bo as he quietly went to sleep. In a crazy way, I had a sense of peace that everything was OK because the words of my wise 8 year old rang in my head: “We have had a good life with Bo and now he’s going to be with God, Mom and Dog Heaven is amazing. I bet he can eat all the Krispy Kreme’s he wants!”

Eat up, sweet Bo.

What Makes A Family

Max: For Thanksgiving, I want all the people I love to be here. You know, me, you, Dad, Gran and Mark. That's my family.

I've learned a lot about family lately. In particular, I've learned families can look lots of different ways and often it's a common bond that ties you with others that truly makes a family.

Today, the family that Max spoke of spent the day eating, talking, laughing and being thankful. Our common bond? Our love for Max and our love & respect for one another.

Divorce is never easy, even when it is amicable. It hurts, it can make you feel like a failure, it's scary. You worry about how it will affect your child, what people will say and you wonder if you have it in you to start over.

Since our divorce, Max's dad and I have kept our focus on Max--just like we did when we were married. We made sure he understood that our adult problems had nothing to do with him and that regardless of our marital status, he has mom & dad who love him and always put him first.

Holidays can often bring out the very worst in people, but not at our Thanksgiving. Today was about family and putting others first. As I looked around the table and saw the smile on Max's face, I thought about how happy he was to have the people he loves--his family-- together.

Will it be this way every year? That I can't answer but what I can say is that I am thankful for today.

Perfection & Politics

Max: I don't like all the voting commercials because they are mean. They all talk about how the other person did bad stuff and say don't vote for them. All the candidates do bad stuff, I bet.

Max—my sweet little old soul of a son— offers many wonderful observations on a regular basis but this one stopped me in my tracks. We were on our way home from Mass where we had just heard Father Rick talk about perfection. He explained that no one is perfect—we all make mistakes. Max and I smiled at each other on this one, because we both struggle with striving to be perfect. Father Rick also explained that those who choose to focus on the imperfections of others don’t ever come out on top.

The child to whom I have to repeat 14 times every morning to get dressed and brush his teeth truly does listen, maybe not to me but obviously to political commercials. Max took a wonderful message from Mass and related it to something that was on his mind. He’s 8 and is too young to vote but clearly isn’t too young to realize that pointing out what is wrong with others doesn't make you a winner.

I hope that never changes.

(Note: Max says wearing a mask based on a political figure does not imply endorsement for said political figure.)

My Inner Third Grader

It’s funny how something intended for elementary students can have just as much meaning to adults—and maybe even more.

At our recent school open house, Max’s teacher gave all parents an overview of what to expect in third grade—the types of things the class would accomplish, her goals for the year, expectations and more. One thing that jumped out at me was a list of character goals she will be working on with the students:

Persevere
Be Confident
Show Integrity
Be Kind
Forgive
Show Empathy
Be Honest
Be Patient

Max and I talked about these things and he told me the ones he felt like he needed to work on most (persevere, be confident, be patient). In turn, I shared with him the ones I needed to work on (forgive, be confident). Max said, “You’re an adult, Mom, and you know this stuff already.” True, but even adults forget and need to be reminded, I explained. I also told him that being an adult doesn’t always guarantee that you do everything right. Oh how I know that.

I typed the list and put it on our refrigerator for both of us to see. As we’re beginning the routine of a new school year, complete with homework and projects and lots of new challenges, we’ve referred to the list a few times—especially when Max gets frustrated that homework comes before Legos, Wii or the computer. And especially when he needs that extra push to do something that doesn’t come easy.

And for me, I looked right at the list when the dog—for the 10th time—broke into the pantry and ate 10 packages of pretzels (patience) and when a family member did something that really hurt me (forgive) and realized that even as an adult, you can learn a lot from third grade.

To Save or Not to Save

Lately I have been in a cleaning/organizing mood. This hits me every so often and I actually enjoy it. It makes me feel in control (which I love) and less scattered.

With my recent organizational frenzy, I have discovered 5-6, OK maybe 7 plastic tubs with collections of papers, artwork, scribbles, handprints “What we did today” sheets from preschool, kindergarten work, second grade work, letters and much more. I have one child. Seriously….when did I become a pack rat?

Actually, I am just sentimental. Max’s first time to scribble with a marker? I must save it! A Thanksgiving placemat with his handprint from preschool? I’ve got it. His first construction paper valentine? It’s in there. And the cute drawing above? I will show it to him the first time he says he hates me.

Before long, 7 plastic tubs will be 10, then 12 and then an entire room of plastic boxes and papers. YIKES! So how do I decide what to save? My friend Stacy, mother of two, says she saves 20 – 30 things from each year—the things that are most meaningful or special. Another friend puts her children’s artwork on the walls of her garage. An article I read suggested taking photographs of pieces of artwork or items that might be too hard to save…like the cow head Max wore in a second grade play. But to me, the photos create yet another issue that falls in line with the guilt I have over the unfinished scrapbooks stacked in a closet. Rome wasn’t built in a day, my mother says, so organizing scrapbooks will have to wait.

Anyway, I watch some of the organize your home shows on TLC & HGTV and can completely get behind the mini-therapy sessions that occur with conversations like “It isn’t the things that matter, it is the memories” and “You don’t need paper (or trophies or doll collections or moose heads) to remember what a person meant to you.” I will need to remind myself of that as I sort through my boxes, a task I find a bit overwhelming.

My goal is to work on the boxes a little each week and finish before the end of September. Or October. Or maybe, I will just hold on to it all a little while longer. Isn't that what under the bed boxes are for?

(One more thing... I am now blogging for www.405moms.com, a site for Oklahoma City moms with lots of great resources, ideas, blogs and more. If you're a mom, or even if you're not, stop by and check it out.)

"You Know, Mom, Independence Means Freedom"

Max: Happy July 4th, Mom.

Me: Happy July 4th to you too, baby.

Max: So what are we going to do today?

Me: Well, I hope it the sun comes out so we can go to the pool. We could also go to our neighborhood parade.

Max: Would we have to change out of our pajamas? (My thoughts exactly. He is so my child.)

Me: Yes, I think we would. But the parade is fun.

Max: Do we always go?

Me: Yes, I can show you pictures of every year.

So I go to the computer and pull up 2002, where this sweet little photo was taken.

We scroll through photos and he reminds me of how young I was in 2002 (Gee, thanks Max) and asks why he was sleeping at the parade (because that is what babies do) and then remarks that he was also really young in 2002 because he didn't even have hair yet.

Then I asked him what he thought 4th of July means. "It means independence, Mom. You know, like freedom. And we can thank God and the soldiers for that."

Couldn't have said it better myself. Happy 4th, friends!

Father's Day: Pancakes, Golf and Learning to Cook

This picture was taken on Father's Day 2002. Max was 4 months old and with him is his Grandpa Doug.

Doug came into my life when I was 14. I was a typical teenager and all I really cared about was talking on the phone. And boys. And I was probably a little obnoxious. Doug was dating my mom and she really liked him. Eventually, they decided to get married. I wanted my mom to be happy and he made her happy so I was as supportive as a 14 year old could be. The night they got married Doug told me something I'll never forget: "I love your mother and I love you. I realize you have a father and I will not try to take his place. I will be your friend, earn your respect and support you in any way I can."

Over the years, Doug did everything from help me buy my first car to teach me to drive a stick shift. He taught me to play golf and how to play Keno in Vegas. He made the best pancakes, didn't yell when I brought home another stray animal and he helped load and unload the truck when I went to college. He applauded my achievements, worried I would never learn to cook and came to the rescue when a high school friend drove his car through a large plate glass window at our house. He saw me graduate from college, start my first job, inspected every car/apartment/condo and was there the night Max was born. But most of all, he kept his promise of supporting me. He absolutely earned my respect. And he loved me like his own.

Doug got sick in November 2002 and was given 6 months to live. I was crushed that Max would never know him. During that time, even when I wasn't sure he could hear me, I told him all the things he had done to impact my life. I promised I would make sure Max knew all about him and he would certainly know where his first fishing pole and golf clubs came from.

Today, I visited Doug at the cemetery. I visit often but always go on Father's Day. I took along someone special today, who occasionally says or does something that reminds me of Doug and makes me laugh out loud.

I miss Doug every day and often find myself thinking of things I would tell him if he were here, like the fact that I did learn to cook but I still stink at golf. If you're a step-dad or if you become one someday, never underestimate the impact you have.

Happy Father's Day, Doug!