Ginger

 

I've been trying to write an entry about the sweetest member of our family since I started this little blog in January.  I think I knew time was limited to document what a precious part of our crew she is before "something bad" happened.  Well, it's harder than I thought to describe someone so precious to me without writing an entire book or movie.  Thus, books like Marly and Me by John Grogan or The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein.  How do I describe Ginger and what she means to us with out going back in time and reliving our time-line a bit?

And so the following is probably boring to many.  But it's important for Jonathan and I to put our story into words so that we never forget how much we loved Ginger and how loved we were by her. 

This entry is for us.

Jonathan brought Ginger home to me at the end of our first year of marriage.  She was a gorgeous, happy, well-mannered, four year old Golden Retriever.  The effect on the two of us was immediate.  We were now a family.  Really!  In our 600 square foot house on Finn Hill, she made us complete!  She went everywhere with us.  Hiking, camping, visiting friends and family, BBQs, Home Depot (until they changed their policy)...everywhere.  She was part of us and we loved her like crazy. 

In the nine years following, a lot happened.  We added a cat, moved two times, re-modeled two houses, changed jobs, had two babies, eight roommates and constant gatherings at our house. Ginger was the constant.  She never changed or wavered.  We could count on her sweet golden body to greet us at the door, sidle up to us when she'd see us pull out her leash, get excited when she saw us packing up the car to go somewhere or plop down at our feet when we'd finally crash on the couch at the end of the day.  There were movements of hers that became so predictable.  Through each change, we could count on her to be our faithful girl.  Even through big changes.

I'll never forget bringing Sam home from the hospital when he was born.  She was so excited.  She couldn't stay away from him.  She just kept wagging the whole back end of her body and trying so hard to sniff her new boy in his little carseat.  I said something to her that I'll never forgive myself for.  Just thinking of it today puts such a horrible lump in my throat as tears stream down my cheeks.  I was so annoyed at her eagerness and her being in my way to get him out of the carseat.  "Ginger," I said, "I never thought I'd care so little to see you."  I regretted it the second it came out of my mouth.  But there began the first big change in our family.  Ginger dropped a notch in rank and we suddenly saw her as our dog.  Not our baby. 



Two guards to the stairs from Sam

 Of course, she moved right into the role.  I started calling her 'the other mother in the house'.  If Sam woke up and cried in his crib, she beat me there.  Wagging her tail furiously at his door and looking at me like there was a fire in his room.  She even stopped sleeping in our room for awhile and started sleeping in the hallway between us and Sam.  If a dog walked up to us on a walk, she stopped right between Sam and the dog and stood firm as a soldier.  As Sam learned to crawl and then walk, Ginger was right there making no movement as he pulled handfuls of hair out of her to steady himself.  She was perfect. 

Sam and Ginger watching the world

When Ben came, she was less enamored (which is why sadly, I can't find ONE picture of the two of them together) and just took the transition as gracefully as before.  She knew the drill.  Be good.  Be still when he crawls all over you.  Love on him.  Clean up the food that he drops.  Crash with us at the end of the day. 



Ben



Ginger's true love was the same as ours: Family.  And hiking.  There wasn't a hike that we went on without her.  In the days before the boys, we could count on her to complete the hike three times as she would run along ahead of us, then back to check on us and then ahead again.  Once we had the boys hiking along with us, she stayed pretty close to them.  No fail. 

Really, could we ask for a better dog? 

Four weeks ago, Jonathan and I had to make the worst choice we've ever had in front of us.  Of course, it wasn't really a choice.  Ginger had started coughing up blood and the X-rays told us that her lungs were filled with Cancer.  So, wait until her pain is unbearable?  Or end her pain and thus say goodbye to our sweet girl?  We cried for three days before we finally made the decision.  By then she had stopped eating and was pretty slow moving.  The two of us took her in together.  We sat with her on the ground sobbing as she licked us and loved on us until her very last breath.  I'd love to say that it was very peaceful and comforting.  But it was horrible.  It was absolutely horrible.  Enough said about that.

These past weeks have been...weird.  Each one of us have mistakenly expected Ginger to be at the front door when we walk in, (Ben has actually yelled, "Hi Ging!" more than once) or to hustle over to us when we drop a piece of food on the floor, or to accompany us on a walk or hike. 

A week ago the boys and I were on a trail and a big goofy dog ran up and basically tackled both of them.  They were hysterical.  I was calming them down while telling the dog owner it was fine and to JUST GO so that I could take care of them with out her stupid dog taking them down again.  Why hadn't that ever happened to them before?  There are always dogs on the trails.  As we got back on the trail, Ben said to me,  "If Ginger was here she would say 'BACK OFF!' to that dog."  He's right!  That's why they've never been harassed by a dog before.  She was always there in between them. 

Things are different now...and none of us like it. 

We're moving on and forward without our golden girl.  I don't expect to ever feel the same way about another dog.  We've had our good one.  She was the best and we miss her terribly.  But I will always be so thankful for the nine years we loved and were loved well by such a perfect, beautiful friend.

Goodbye sweet girl.  We love you.

Becoming Real

When we were expecting with Samuel we were in love with this quote from The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams:

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse.  "It's a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." 
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.  "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"Real...doesn't happen all at once, " said the Skin Horse.  "You become.  It takes a long time.  That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.  But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real, you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

We were so enamored by this quote that we had a very talented friend paint this scene for our nursery.  It was also read at Sam's baby dedication that we hosted in our back yard. 

Our hopes for our children involve big things.  We hope for them to be genuine people who love with wild abandon.  We hope for them to be brave in matters that bring life and truth to their lives and to this world.  We hope that they will have authentic personal faith that has been tried and found true in their own lives and not just in ours.  We hope that they will teach us as they explore and grow and believe. 

We hope for big things.  As we hope, we realize that if just one of these dreams becomes true for our children, some degree of suffering will very well be a part of their lives as well. 

So this quote was very romantic to us as we were expecting our first and even shortly after he was born.  We thought we were so wise and discerning to have arrived at the idea that our children will endure trials and sometimes suffering in order to someday be strong and genuine individuals.  We prayed that we would have the wisdom and self-restraint to allow them their struggles rather than to swoop in and rescue them at every turn.  We knew so well back then that for them to become Real, they would have a long road ahead of them.  We were honored to get to walk their roads along side of them but not for them. 

Then they started growing...
Not very long ago, Sam confided in me a feeling he had of being excluded by a friend.  It wasn't a huge deal, but something that left him with pretty hurt feelings.  I thought I might crack and shatter the way a window does when hit by a small object.  Hearing from him about how it made him feel felt like someone was squeezing my heart through their fingers.  Our conversation was absolutely precious to me.  It really was.  I did everything I thought John Gottman of Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child would want me to do.   I listened.  We snuggled.  I affirmed his feelings.  We talked about what he might want to do if he feels like that again.  It was a great connecting moment.  But oh my heart hurt.  I want to protect him from these days.  I picture myself covering him with one arm while I carry him through the gauntlet of boyhood with the other.  

Becoming Real.  We believe the description in the story with all of our hearts.  Becoming Real means that our hair isn't always going to be cute.  We might come out pretty shabby and loose in the joints.  It will hurt.  People who don't understand might find us ugly.  I can handle all of this for myself.  Let's just be honest, "shabby" at least rhymes with the word I frequently use for myself!  But it is another undertaking altogether as we fling our children out into the world to become Real.  It hurts us worse!  If I were to describe the fears I wrestle with for my boys I'd be committed to a hospital. 

BUT!  At the end of the day, I desperately want my boys to become Real.  I do call it an honor to be the woman behind them as they encounter suffering on the road to Real.  I welcome the conversations someday that will take all of my power not to lead but to listen as they share with me their latest take on the world.  I pray for discernment as they grow into childhood issues that we did not have as children before cell phones, YouTube or Red Bull!  I hope for them to look back and feel that their hearts have been encouraged by their parents and not defined. 

Pray for us!  Oh please pray for us! 

All of this reflection comes from a funny little thing that happened last week.  Ben carries around a friend named "Bunny".  He goes everywhere w/ Ben.  Bunny has all of our hearts.  He's precious.  Well last week while staying at the Grandparents' house, Bunny got his ear and tail chewed off by a puppy.  Hearing about it over the phone from the boys was traumatic... for me.  How could Ben not have his Bunny anymore?  It was replaced by a BLUE BUNNY???  You can't just replace Bunny! 
Well, it was a great lesson for me.  One of the first things Ben told me was that he didn't cry about it.  I got control of myself, wiped my face and told Ben how glad I was that he was okay about it.  Then he told me that he still has Bunny but that he just has a new bunny too.  Fine.  Whatever.

Well Gramma sewed Bunny's head up without his ear and his butt up without his tail and he is a sight to see.  But guess what.  He's Real.  Ben still carries him everywhere he goes, sleeps with him every night and loves on him like he's the most beautiful bunny he's ever seen.  He's shabby to say the least.  He's been hurt.  He might be ugly to people who don't understand.  But he's Real to us.  And we're so thankful to have him as part of our family. 

I'm Just Not that Kind of Girl

It's always a little bit awkward when someone asks me what I enjoy as a "hobby".  If Jonathan is in the room we kind of look at each other and laugh.  I'm just not that kind of girl.  I'm not saying I don't want to be.  I really would love to be absolutely great at something.  Anything.  But....

You are never going to see a really great craft idea on my blog.  I wish I had something like that to share.  Not gonna happen.
I don't take pictures of anything other than my boys.  Most of the time I forget the camera anyway.
I don't sew, knit, crochet, quilt, scrapbook...or anything else that takes vision and follow through. 
I love to bake, but that's only because I like cookie dough and not because I'm particularly great at creating any dessert. 
More often than not, Jonathan comes home from a long day at work and only then do I think about what we could throw together for dinner.  I don't meet him at the door in an apron and a house that smells like the next Southern Cook-Off entry. 
I use to have an immaculate house.  Enough said.

There are days that I feel like I'm drowning by the regular day in and day out activities.  I don't know how the supermoms I know have energy (or brain space for that matter) to also take on and be the crafty little devils that they are.  And sometimes...I do think they are the devil. 
Not REALLY the devil of course.  But they definitely add to the sick inner voice that says, "How are you possibly going to do this for the rest of your kids' childhoods when you are hardly hitting the bar today?"  And I'm calling that voice out.  It is the devil.  He hates me.  He wants me to fail at this job. 

I know that it's important that I only take on what I know I can do.  And still...that seems like so little when at the end of the day I take inventory.  Are my kids alive?  Yes.  Yes they are.  But oh it would be wonderful to say, "Yes they are and they are wearing clothes that I myself manufactured, they are eating food that I picked right out of the organic garden in our immaculate back yard and I have documented this in a beautiful scrapbook that they will someday cherish and know that their mother loved them with every last drop of her blood."
Okay, I know this is totally unrealistic.  But there are OOOODLES of women who have as many things to do as I do and still manage to be amazing at something other than breaking up fights and changing urine soaked sheets.  I'd like to be amazing at one thing that doesn't have to do with keeping children alive. 

Here's something pathetic.  I don't even like to write cards to people because instead of opening it and saying, "Oh that's so nice of her to think of me,"  I imagine them saying, "Geez!  Did a serial killer write this note?  Thanks for the thought but grow up and learn how to write for crying out loud."  Yeah, I don't even write like a pretty grown up girl.  It looks like I'm writing while driving on the road to Hana. 

What I'm not asking for is a compliment.  I really don't need it.  I'm just venting on one of those days when I feel like things are spinning out of control and I don't have the first notion as to how to stop it.  And I see moms around me who are doing it with a smile and a sweet homemade accessory in their hair and I can't for the life of me figure out how they are doing it!  Is their house a wreck while they put together an amazing quilt for orphans in Africa?  No.  I've been there.  It's not.  Are their kids malnourished while they gallivant around taking brilliant pictures at glamorous weddings?  Nope.  Kids are thriving and healthy.  Do they skip showers in order to have fresh baked muffins for breakfast and home cooked...whatever on the table for dinner?  Again... no. 

So what gives?  I don't know.  I'm just not that kind of girl and probably never will be.  It is time for me to move on. 

What I can say for myself is this: 
a. My husband knows that I'm madly in love with him.  Madly.  Maybe pathetically...
b. My boys know that I would drink poison and be skinned alive for them.  (Though I hope it never comes to that.)
c.  And hopefully at the end of the day, even though they'll never have a scrapbook to prove it, they will all know that I desperately enjoy being the wife and mom that I am to them. 

I am grateful for this precious role and for these days that I am reminded all to often... are numbered.

Supermoms:  I know this is true for you as well, but I need to be content with these things until I have somehow cracked your secret and arrived at the next level. 

Big Love

"Mom I wonder if God's love is even bigger than HE is!" 

Sam actually said this to me the other day. 

We were hugging and competing over how big our love is for each other. 

So it sounds like this: I love you bigger than the highest mountain.  I love you bigger than the ocean.  I love you bigger than the whole world.  I love you bigger than anything ever! 

Sam always throws in, "I love you bigger than God and Jesus and Heaven!" 

I always laugh and say, "Wow that is REALLY big!" 

This time, with his arms still around my neck he comes out with,

"I wonder if God's love is even bigger than HE is!" 

These are the moments I just stop and stare at him like he was just born to me and I'm holding him in my arms for the first time. 

In absolute awe of him.  What a wonder! 

What a wonderful, beautiful truth that Sam already knows. 

God's love is BIG.  

Amen.



Battles

As with any family...we have a bizillion battles a day.

Let me just list some of our daily ones:

Morning Milk Cup Battle
Placemat Battle
Short-sleeves vs. Long-sleeves Battle
Counter vs. Toilet to Brush Teeth Battle
Boots vs. Sneakers Battle
JUST EAT YOUR FREAKING LUNCH Battle
Please Just Get in the Car Battle
He's Looking at Me Battle
He's Laughing at Me Battle
He's Roaring at Me Battle
I Wanted that First Battle
JUST EAT YOUR BLASTED DINNER Battle
I Don't Want Those Pajamas Battle
I Wanted to Turn Out the Light Battle
You Snuggled Him First LAST Night Battle

Do I really need to go on?  It is absolutely exhausting.  Today I actually had to give myself a timeout in my room where I begged God to help me find some self-control before I trashed the whole house and ran for a Dairy Queen. 

I tell myself every day to choose each battle wisely.  I think that was a lot easier though when there was just one little warrior to go toe-to-toe with every day.  Of course it's even more important to choose wisely when there are more bruisers in the ring.  I get it.  But oh some days it feels like they wake up to fight. 

Yesterday at lunch Sam and I were in the ring.  He wasn't eating.  We had to get to preschool for his Valentine's Day party and it was taking him forever to eat the smallest requirement.  I was sure that there was going to be pounds of sugar at the party and he was already suffering from a birthday weekend from refined sugar hell.  I threatened him that if he didn't finish his lunch by a certain time, he wasn't going to make it to school at all.  Do you know what he said to me?  He said, "I think you'll change your mind."  And he was SMILING!!!   
Here is why this was so maddening to me.  I don't change my mind.  I almost always stick to my guns.  And when I do change my mind, it is usually attached to an apology for giving a consequence that isn't fitting for an offense and then I follow it up with a more appropriate one.  I work hard to be consistent. 
I was even more mad because I really didn't want him to miss school yesterday.  For his sake.  He needed to be there.  My two desires of not wanting him to miss out and yet wanting him to suffer appropriate consequences were battling it out inside of me.  It was torture.  I even had back-up.  Jonathan's mom was here encouraging me and affirming me in how hard the decision was and whatever decision I made.  
I want so badly to say that I won.  I want to say that he had to stay home and miss the party because it took him an hour and a half to eat one piece of sandwich meat and one slice of cheese.  But in the nick of time, I got the last bite into his mouth and he got to go to school.  I fed him the entire lunch.  I bartered every single bite he took.  It should have been his deal.  It should have been his choice.  And therefore his consequence.  But I did it for him so that he could go.  I felt like such a failure.  

More defeating than the lunch battle, was my behavior afterwards.  Getting Sam's teeth brushed to go, socks, shoes, backpack, carseat...I was so ridiculous.  I was so mad at Sam and at myself that I couldn't move on and actually set my 5 year old up for a great day at school.  My face and body language were downright childish.  By the time I got Sam buckled, he was crying because I was mad at him.  Really Beck?  Really?  So now we are skating into preschool late not because of Sam's lunch, but because I needed to take a breather, look my son in the eyes and apologize for MY bad choices.  Disappointing.  Humbling.  More disappointing. 

I'm actually hoping like crazy for yesterday's lunch battle to occur again on a day where he doesn't have a party.  I want a re-match.   

Sam-1, Beck-0

Sir Samuel's 5th Birthday

Sam has been looking forward to this day for a very long time. 

His first friend birthday party!   

He decided about three months ago that he wanted a "Knight Party". 

Now, can I just be honest?  I am not a huge fan of the Medieval times.  When I read a book or see a movie about those times, I thank God that I was not born in them.  I mean really.  I imagine cold, darkness, cruelty and painful death.  Lots of painful death. 

So it took some research for me to wrap my head around a happy five-year-old birthday party all about... knights.  

Here's another side note: Sam doesn't really know anything about knights except that they are on the movie Shrek 2.  And swords and shields are great but we aren't a big "weapon family" per se, so this is pretty new to all of us.  That being said, each kid went home with a sword and a shield.  They all participated in a sword fight and they slayed a teenage dragon at the neighbors' house across the street.  (The famous Flemwads)  Our non-violent home became a regular medieval battle scene.  See?  I'm flexible. 

Now, if you know Sam, you know that impressing him isn't particularly easy.  Especially if it has to involve a lot of others.  He was very clear with us while planning this party that he didn't want there to be too many people.  When I had suggested more friends he told me very seriously, "Mom, I cannot have everybody I like there."  The kid knows himself better than any kid I've ever heard of.  So we eliminated younger siblings and even told parents to feel free to drop their knights and princesses off in order to have the least amount of chaos on the scene. 

I made a castle cake for the party.  You wouldn't believe how many castle cakes you can find on the internet.  I found the one that looked the easiest and went for it.  I'm pretty proud of it as it is my very first creative endeavor.  When you look at the picture, look quickly and not closely.  Frosting and candy cover a multitude of imperfections.  By the way, I've never seen a blue castle either, but Sam wanted it blue.  So it was blue. 

Boys entered wearing their knightly armor and girls arrived in their gowns.  I of course was the queen and Jonathan was the king.  So I wore the dress Sam chose and Jonathan borrowed clothes from a friend.  

The kids decorated shields and tiaras, rescued the princesses, had a sword fight, beat down the teenage dragon at our neighbor's house, ate mac 'n cheese and then totally demolished my cake.

The party was a success.  Sam had a blast.  He was beaming and so at ease.  He felt great as the host of this festivity and I'm postitive that he was impressed.  AMEN!  I was so proud of him and so happy for him.

The Castle Cake

  We bought the knight figurines at Michael's Craft Store. 

The were the only things on the cake that weren't edible. 

 

I'd say we were a pretty royal looking family. 



Disclaimer:  Mom's if you are reading this:  Blue frosting makes for interesting colored....waste.  So don't freak out. Your kids aren't sick. 

Samuel

Five years ago today, you came Sam.

You turned my heart upside down and you continue to do it every single day of your life.

 

When I tell you that I am crazy about you, I mean that literally. 

I am crazy. 

The love I have for you makes me crazy. 

The worry I have for you makes me crazy.

 

The dreams I have for you might be crazy.

 

I would do crazy things for you. 

Samuel, I am crazy about you. 

Happy Birthday Sweet Sam. 

Thank you for turning my life upside down.