9 Pounds of Love and Devotion.

Not since I was a child have I experienced the unconditional companionship, love and devotion that is the family dog.

We've only had Doodlebugz for just over 4 months now, and already I can't remember what it was like before her. We adopted our one year old Maltese Shih-tzu from a young woman who had placed an ad on Kijiji. 'JS' was clearly heartbroken when a promotion at work led to regular travel and therefore was not home to provide the love, care and attention that Doodlez so richly deserved.

She fit our family like a glove, is spoiled beyond words.

She's our own little "Lassie, come home" and has developed an internal clock with a silent alarm that lets her know when it's 3:30pm. Everyday at that time she can be found sitting proudly and not so patiently at the front door, awaiting everyone's return. She greets each one like they were the first to arrive, and waits there until everyone is home. On the nights the girls work, she won't come up to bed until everyone is home. We can eventually coax her upstairs to the bedroom, but she'll lie in the doorway until they're home. Once she knows her family is safe and together, she hop up on the bed and retire for the night.


We truly feel blessed to have her with us. We are thankful to 'JS' and often email her updates and pictures so she knows how much her baby is loved and cared for.

Tea with Donna

I learned today of the death of my late friend's father. No doubt he has been reunited in Heaven with his devoted daughter and loving wife - and together, over tea, they are watching over us all.

Rest in peace.

Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children and the younger generation. For they are us; our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life.

~Albert Einstein~

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

I've never understood this MMORPG thingy.

Peach plays a lot, and I find I get quite pi$$ed at the amount of time he spends online. Especially when there's laundry, dishes, kids ... basically life going on.

I'm a realist (read here: "I'm the adult.") I don't have time for games; for fantasy stuff. I've always prided myself for living in the real world. Peach, on the other hand, is everything I'm not. (Read here: "he's the child.") We are complete and total opposites. It's one of the things that he thinks makes us 'perfect' for each other.

However, this weekend I decided to try and understand - for peach's sake. And for the sake of peace in the house and my own sanity. Clearly, even though I don't understand it, it is something my husband has an interest in. I want to share his interests as much as he shares mine. He's always encouraging and supportive of me and my hobbies/interests.

I guess if I want to continue to refer to myself as the adult, I need to behave and respond as such.

We'll see how it goes. Wish me luck.

NaBloPoMo Themes Optional.

And it's a good thing.

Considering the August theme is Tomorrow and most of my posts are yester-year. Oh well. If you believe, as I do, that your future is created by what you do today, not tomorrow and where you are today depends largely on what you did with yesterday ... it's all good.

But I do want to make at least one theme-based post, so I will make this a 'my hope for tomorrow' post.

Tomorrow I hope to hear about a job at the hospital I applied for last week.

Tomorrow I hope my girls do their chores without a fight.

I hope tomorrow is not as hot as today.

Tomorrow I will continue to appreciate all the blessings I have in my life.

Tomorrow I will again say a prayer for all those I hold dear in my heart.

I hope to take advantage of the promise of tomorrow's opportunities.

Tomorrow I hope to have something worthwhile to blog about.

Happy today everyone. See you all tomorrow.

#53: Tell about learning to drive a car.

I couldn't wait to turn 16 and get my 365! (I know, Lou - now it's called a G1)

Driving meant freedom. Driving meant independence. And as Grampa was always quick to remind me, driving meant responsibility.

Grampa taught me how to drive, and that worried Gramma tremendously. She was against me learning to drive; insisting 16 was "far too young." Gramma, I believe, was in her early 30's when she first started to drive and has always been a nervous driver. She's a nervous passenger as well. It was no surprise she was a nervous parent of a newly licensed teenage driver.

I studied that driver's handbook more then anything I'd ever studied in school to date, or since. When the day of my 16th birthday arrived, I was nervously excited (and slightly nauseous) all day with anticipation of the written test after school. Grampa was waiting proudly out front when I got out of school that day, and I still remember climbing in the passenger seat and looking at him beaming with excitement as he asked if I was ready.

When I passed the written test without a single error, I thought the hardest part was over. Grampa and I headed towards the long line to book my road test. It was November and the next available road test date was December 4th. I laughed. December 4th? Are you serious? You do know this is only November, right? Grampa looked at me confused, and asked what the problem was.

"I'll never be ready by December 4th!" I insisted.

"Yes you will," he said calmly and confidently.

"No way," I again insisted - this time with the angry defiance that teenager's tend to sometimes have.

The clerk stood patiently while Grampa and I bantered back and forth and then he informed us that the next available date after December 4th was February 4th. This time Grampa was able to convince me to book it, telling me that if worse came to worse and I didn't feel I was ready then he would bring me back to the exam centre to reschedule. That made me feel better and February 4th it was.

We walked out to car and Grampa proceeded to walk around to the passenger's side. I looked at him with one of those what the hell are you doing kind of looks, and he shot one right back at me. "You're driving," he said as he tossed me the keys to the family's Aries K-car station wagon.

And I drove everywhere and anywhere from that point on. If someone had to go somewhere - Grampa made sure I drove. If the car needed gas, oil, air in the tires - Grampa made sure I did it. Even getting me out of bed on a Saturday at some unreasonable hour to go gas up. If we needed milk, had shopping to do ... anything. And everyday we was waiting for me outside of school at 3:15, and he'd be offering all my friends rides home. All so I could get the driving experience I needed.

He taught me the responsibilities that accompanied the privilege of driving and I learned how to put gas in the car; check the oil, brake fluid, steering fluid; change the air filters and spark plugs; wash and vacuum the car. He even had me pull over one night and said "you're going to learn to change a tire." We spent hours and hours and hours practicing parking. There was no such thing as Sunday shopping back then, so the mall parking lots were a perfect place to practice and I spent most Sunday mornings doing just that. Grampa made sure I could pull in, back in, do 3 point turns and most importantly (in his words) learn to parallel park. I learned to drive on the highway and he made sure I understood the importance of merging on and off and lane changes. Even know at 40, there are so many times while driving that I still remember and hear his teachings and words of encouragement to me as if he was sitting in the passenger's seat beside me.

I learned to drive over the winter months and there was many an argument at our house with Gramma. She didn't want me to drive when the weather was sunny and the roads were clear so just imagine how she felt about her 16 year old daughter out on the roads in ice and snow. Grampa said "if you can drive in the winter, you can drive in anything." He was adamant that I had to learn to drive under all conditions that our wonderful seasons had to offer.

I'm not exactly sure who was more proud the day I passed my road test. He was right - I would have been ready in December ... and he still reminds me of that to this day. But I credit my success to Grampa. He made the time for me. He made my interests and goals his interests and goals. He stood up for me with my mom and tried (mostly in vain) to get her to understand that this was something that was important to me. He refused to let mom instill her fears in me. He made it fun. He believed in me, and never let me stop believing in myself.

I hope he enjoyed our time and accomplishment together as much as I did. I hope he knows how special the experience was to me.

Grampa has already taught bg how to drive, and my hope is that each of you girls will get to share that same experience with Grampa.

#73: Write about the best day you ever spent with your mom.

Wow. This one's a tough one.

Having never been close to Gramma growing up, we didn't spend a lot of time together. It's only been in the last few years as you guys have gotten older that Gramma and I have what could actually be called "a relationship."

I guess if I had to pick a day, it would be the first day I really started to understand her. The day I became a mother. When I became pregnant at 18, Gramma was, to say the least, upset. She became pregnant with me at a young age and of course had hoped I would learn from her mistakes. I, on the other hand, liked to challenge authority and prove it was "my life; my choice." However, as someone told me early in my pregnancy, a baby brings it's own love - and sure enough, by the time I was ready to give birth Gramma was excited at the arrival of the new baby.

Mid way through my pregnancy, bg's father and I had already parted and gone our separate ways. My best friend's mother had been very supportive to both me and Gramma during this time and had graciously accepted my request to be my labour coach. She went to the birthing classes with me and arrived at the hospital ready to do her job when the big moment arrived. Gramma didn't leave my side during the entire labour and when it came time to be taken to the delivery room, Marianne leaned down and gave me a hug. She told me she would absolutely follow through with what she had agreed to do 6 months prior .... but told me that my mom really wanted to be there with me. She asked me if that was ok, and to be honest at that particular moment I really didn't care. I was in too much pain to worry about who came into the delivery room and who waited outside.

I just wanted that baby out!

Gramma did come in with me, and we cried together after the birth of my first born.

For as much as I had been warned, my life really did change on March 14th, 1988. Slowly, and with a lot of resistance at times, I started to see Gramma differently from that day forward. Understand her a little more.

Respect her a lot more. Love her, for perhaps, the first time.

The best day ever spent with my mom.

Memory Jar Moments

Lou brought home a Journal Jar from Sunday School, some 8 or 9 years ago. Nothing fancy. Just a Mason jar with a plain white label and Journal Jar scribbled in crayon. Inside, skinny strips of white paper.

Not much to look at.

And for years, I didn't.

Then one day, I took the jar down from the top of the filing cabinet where it had been collecting dust. Opened it up and started reading the skinny strips of white paper. I'm a little slow (yes, just a little), so it took a few strips to realize what it was all about; this Journal Jar.

Well, I've renamed it; it's a Memory Jar. And from what I can tell, there are just over one hundred different questions. I started to answer the questions one day, in a binder, and wanted hubbz to do the same. I answer the question with my history, then he answers the same question with his.

Now, instead of the binder I'm going to randomly choose and answer a question here.

Between the two of us, our kids will have a taste of where they come from.

Lucille may have left you with a crop in the field, but she brought my Gramma back to me.

Even if just for one song.

I don't have many memories of my Gramma Rogers growing up. But the ones I do have are very vivid. I've always credited her for my love of country music. Classic country specifically. I have early memories of being in her kitchen, with the comforting warm smell of delicious in the air and the sweet sound of her singing Patsy, Kitty, Loretta, Hank et al.

I remember picnics in the park and breakfasts with Santa. Falling asleep on the living room couch watching tv at night. Being allowed to go to the corner store by myself, like a big girl. Travelling on the street car. Feeling special.

Gramma was never a big part of our childhood - there was tension and conflict between her and Mom. Mom has told me she's not even sure where my memories come from since we didn't spend much time with her.

The fact that we spent such apparently little time yet the memories are so vivid just speaks volumes of how special the time we did spend was to me.

As we grew up, the distance between Mom and Gramma and the stage that teenagers go through of it not being cool to hang out with your family led to spending even less time with Gramma over the years.

I'm not exactly sure when Gramma started to "get sick." Gradually robbed of her memories and her life, first by dementia then later Alzheimer's. For a long time I would hear of her difficulties but not see them first hand. I don't even know for sure when Mom and Gramma resolved their issues. Perhaps they didn't; perhaps Mom just worked through them on her own and learned to let go of years grudges as she dealt with watching her own mother deteriorate.

What I do know, is that Mom and Aunt Lynda were taking care of Gramma more and more and before I knew it my own children were spending Saturdays at Gramma Rogers' with them helping with shopping and household chores. I was proud that they had that opportunity. Not many children have the luxury of having a great-grandparent around. My children were blessed with several great-grandparents on both sides of the family and it was important to me that they knew how special that was. Many conversations with Mom brought up the question "do you really want the kids to see Gramma this way?"

Yes. Yes I did. I certainly wouldn't have chosen to inflict this struggle on Gramma, but this is who she was now. Her illness didn't make her any less 'Gramma Rogers'. It didn't remove her from the family. To keep my children from seeing her "this way" would have meant keep them from seeing "her." Life can unfairly take those we love far too soon, far too often. I didn't want take Gramma away any faster then she was already slipping away from us. I also didn't think I would be doing my kids a favour by "protecting" them from the sad realities of ageing and illness.

Mom has recently become Gramma's primary care giver and Gramma has made the transition into living at Mom's permanently now. I've enjoyed spending time with Gramma again, and as I watch her slip further away I'm saddened and guilt ridden that I let all those years pass by in the middle. I may not be able to change the past, but I have complete control over the present.

And I'm taking advantage of that.

Last weekend I got to spend a brief moment with the old Gramma; the one I remember so lovingly as a child. Mom, Wee, Gramma and I were sitting in the gazebo as we have so often done this summer. The three of us gabbing and gossiping while Gramma sits quietly. I had my ipod playing, which was different - usually it's Wee's music. As some of my classic country tunes started playing Gramma started first to tap her foot, then clap her hands. It was nice to see her enjoying the music and I enjoyed quietly watching her. As Kenny Rogers' Lucille came on Gramma sat forward a little bit in her chair .... and I almost fell off mine when she sang - word for word, in perfect tune - the chorus:

"you picked a fine time to leave me Lucille.
with 4 hungry children and a crop in the field.
I've had some bad times, lived through some sad times,
but this time your hurtin' won't heal.
you picked a fine time to leave me Lucille."

Most of the time Gramma doesn't know who we are. She'll think I'm Mom and my kids are my sister and I when we were little. That's if we're lucky and it's a time when she's familiar with us at all. She dips her kleenex in her eggs like it was toast and eats it. She puts the phone in the fridge. Tries to walk around the house naked in front of others. Thinks she's lived at Mom's for 30 years. Screams and thinks Mom is trying to hurt her when she's getting her pyjamas on. Doesn't remember being married. Tells Mom she's not her daughter; says she doesn't have any children. Garbles sentences when she tries to answer questions so she's stopped even trying.

Somehow, for some reason, that song brought her back to us.

Even if just for that brief chorus. The most beautiful chorus I've ever heard.

It brought tears to my eyes, and another moment with Gramma Rogers that I'll treasure forever.

Who vacuums in the nude, anyway?

My most embarrassing moment to date.

You'll know where this is going as soon as I begin, but I'll walk you through the horribly dreadfully embarrassing details step by step.

Sunday. August 9, 2009. A scorcher of a day outside, and without a/c in the house the temperatures inside were registering 29 degrees Celsius. And that was on the main floor; the third floor noticeably hotter.

After giving doodlebugz a bath and brushing her out in the yard, I decided to have a shower. A nice, cool, refreshing shower. Walking past the laundry room on my way through the house I undressed and sorted my clothes with the rest of the laundry to be done. Walking to the top of the basement stairs I could see the front door was open and hollered down to hubby to please come up and close the door - joking that I didn't think the neighbours were ready to see me in all my glory, wearing nothing but my crocs.

I guess I could blame this on my husband. Had he come up right away when I asked, I wouldn't have had the time to think of the vacuuming. The stairs and the third floor hallway were yet to be done and so I decided that I would vacuum my way up to the bathroom for my shower and that way I wouldn't have to get all sweaty again after the anticipated nice, cool, refreshing shower.

I didn't even hear the door. Holding the canister with one hand and using the hand tool with the other, I was bent right over and about half way up the stairs. Now, you have to understand the layout of my house to really understand the severity of the situation. When you walk in my front door, the stairs leading to the third floor are immediately to your left and you have a clear view right to the landing.

Anyways, I didn't hear the door. I did however, feel the slightest hint of cool-ish breeze gently kiss my behind. Excited about where this breezy relief had just come from, I stood and turned towards the front door.

Just in time to see my daughter and her now damaged-for-life boyfriend walk in the house.

Angrily, I screamed a pitch much higher than I thought possible as I curled - or should I say, tried to curl - into the smallest ball possible while using the hose of the vacuum as a shield. As George turned to shove her boyfriend out the door, he was repeatedly screaming "Oh God, I'm sorry ...."

No. I'm sorry George. I'm sorry Nyck.

Family dinners will just never be the same. In response to your question, "who vacuums in the nude anyways?" Obviously someone who thinks it's safe to do so in the comfort and safety of her own home.

Someone who now also has to decide if the boyfriend must marry the daughter, or never see her again.

Happy Birthday Grampa

On the eve of what would have been your 82nd birthday .... I'm thinking of you, and I miss you.