Our Chaotic Life and Yours

Mum did not write this and it is very long, but we felt it is worth reading. It reminds us we don't have to be perfect. Of course I am but for the rest of you, it is a good read. (Mum threw in pictures to keep your interest up).

Last week on the freeway, a car did a 360 and crashed into the shoulder, right in front of me. I pulled over and called 911, then got out of my car and walked back along the road to make sure the driver was okay. No one else had stopped.

A woman in her late 20s with dust all over her face was standing by her car, crying and shaking. I led her to my Honda, gave her a Handi Wipe for her face, and listened as a torrent of panicked words flowed from her mouth -- she was unemployed, she didn't have insurance, she shouldn't have been driving at all, people were so crazy on the freeway. I agreed that people were crazy.

I told her that I'd seen the guy in the pickup cut right into her lane. I told her that it wasn't her fault, that she was lucky she wasn't hurt, that the cops would come and fine her, not arrest her, for driving without insurance. When the tow truck arrived, I handed her my number in case she needed a witness. I gave her a hug and told her "Good luck."

The next day, when she found my number in her wallet, she would remember me as the lady who stopped and remained calm at the scene of the accident. To her, I would be the woman with the two kids' car seats in back, the kind of mature adult who stays clearheaded and calls 911 and offers hugs and empathizes and has a travel pack of Handi Wipes in her glove compartment.

What the hell has happened to me?

Right before the accident, I was listening to Eckhart Tolle on my car stereo. He's the guy who tells you to live in the now -- sort of like the guru Ram Dass but more clean-cut, and with a German accent.
"Please pay attention not just to the words, but to the silent spaces between the words," he was telling me as I hurtled down the freeway at 70 miles an hour. "That's where the shift happens."

I was trying to focus on the silent spaces between the words as a means of putting my worries and neurotic thoughts aside. I wanted to shake off the frustrations of my workday before I picked up my daughter from daycare. I wanted to be relaxed and present, not harried and distracted and bossy. I wanted to be living in the now.

I've never exactly been an expert at now-living. In fact, I had Eckhart Tolle on in my car to begin with because five years earlier, when I was trying to gather the will to dump the last of a string of freewheeling, noncommittal stoner boyfriends, I was given the CD by a Reiki healer recommended by a friend who was having so much trouble living in the now that she could barely sleep at night.

I was skeptical, but the Reiki healer, despite having a job title that sounds like an exotic dog breed, was a very good listener. Sure, she would conjure the spirits of the universe occasionally, rallying them to aid me in my quest to find myself and, if necessary, ditch the man whose childlike sense of wonder seemed to require him to remain unemployed indefinitely. But the universe did appear to be on my side more often during that time, plus the healer gave very pragmatic advice: Exercise. Get more sleep. Read this book. Stop thinking that way.

Mostly she encouraged me to open myself up to the unknown, to stop hiding from the world. She quickly recognized that I was a creature of habit, interested in safety above all else, and she could see how it compromised my enjoyment of life. She told me to try new things for a change, drive to new places, stop and eat at random Chinese restaurants and taco trucks, wander through the world with open eyes, dare to be vulnerable in the face of life's unpredictable twists and turns.

I ate some really bad Chinese food during that time, but something shifted inside me. I became more courageous. I listened to the Eckhart Tolle CD she gave me only twice before I resolved to dump the stoner and move on.

I threw a big party. I lost ten pounds. I bought a really nice king-size bed and mattress for me and my dog, Potus, to share. And as I was painting the room that was once my boyfriend's office a defiantly girlie shade of lavender pink, I thought: "This is the start of my new life! Everything will make sense from this point forward. I won't need therapists or healers or New Age CDs ever again. I am open to the world, I am vulnerable, I am confident and strong. I will take whatever comes. I will live with the dangers of the world, I will lean into the chaos!"

That was then. Today, five years later, the baby is crying. The 2-year-old won't put on her underwear. My husband left for an early meeting, so it's all up to me. The dogs need to be fed. The sink is filled with dirty dishes. And before he left for school, my 13-year-old stepson told us that if he has to spend another day in a room that's painted lavender pink, he's going to lose his mind.

The world is one big blaring alarm clock going off in my ear, but I'm staring blankly at myself in the mirror. My hair is pulled back in a knot -- not the carefree knot of a younger woman who hit the bars last night but the perpetually frazzled-looking knot of a 39-year-old mother who spends her free minutes (what free minutes?) staring into the middle distance like a ghost, fantasizing about central air-conditioning. I look haggard and confused.

Why am I getting it all wrong? Why can't I be the kind of mom who gets up early to work out, then showers and styles her hair and gets dressed, the kind of smooth professional who can jiggle the baby while coaxing the 2-year-old into her underwear? Why can't I be the relaxed, organized career mom instead of some harried, slovenly zombie?

But I know the answer to that: I am not and was never going to be the relaxed, organized, manicured career mom, any more than I was going to be the shiny, effusive cheerleader or the diligent Gap employee or the virginal good girl or the wise young lady who dates only responsible, emotionally available guys.

I am a disorganized, melancholy second-guesser who rhapsodizes a little too loudly over the pleasures of a cold beer at the end of a long day. I am enthusiastic, yes, and passionate, sure, but I'm also fundamentally ambivalent, angst ridden, and conflicted. I am distracted, overwhelmed, and mostly unprepared for whatever lies ahead.

Sure, I was the lady with the Handi Wipes who stayed calm and called 911, but tomorrow it's just as likely that I will be the one with dust on her face, crying and panicking.

Most of the time, I am the messy disaster, the daydreamer, the disheveled, self-deprecating deep sigher. I am the one who complains bitterly about twisted car-seat straps and an ungodly tide of dirty laundry that never seems to subside. I'm the one who snickers mirthlessly when a moth flies into the baby's milk and it all has to get poured down the sink.

What I want to know is how other people my age with my responsibilities get by. I want to know how they try and fail, and I want to know exactly how they feel and act and what they say when they're failing.

"This is a f***ing clown show!" is what one friend tells me he says when everything is going wrong. "What's a clown show?" I asked. He wasn't sure, but I think I know from my own experience: It's loud, stuff is spilling on the floor, and you can't all fit into the car.

But you could never fit into the car in the first place -- that was only an illusion. All you can hope for is to accept your flaws and get a reasonable hold on your circumstances. No one wakes up one day and suddenly they're living in the now -- even the Reiki healer and Eckhart Tolle and the spiritual masters of the universe agree on that.

You're never fully prepared. You never really arrive. The best you can do is to keep painting the walls to suit your new circumstances.

And then, just when I decide that I'll never get a handle on anything, it all comes together: I get a good haircut on Friday, and on Saturday I wake up early and run the dogs for three miles straight. I shower and put on earrings. I sit and read the paper while the baby is napping. I play in the baby pool with my 2-year-old while my husband makes us all dinner, then I have a beer and watch Suze Orman yell at people who are far less financially responsible than I am, while the baby yells along from her play chair.
"That's it!" I think. "I've finally turned the corner! Everything is right. I've arrived at last. Everything will be perfect from now on!"

Of course, that's not true. But this is: I love this f***ing clown show of mine. The unruly dogs, the distracted husband, the alternately sweet and enraged 2-year-old, the enormous baby who still wakes up at 4 a.m. even though she clearly has the fat stores to hibernate through a long winter.

I love them all, along with my overwrought teenage stepson and my little, overheated house and my hairy rugs and my smudged windows and my scrappy, overgrown yard, and all of the imperfect manifestations of this imperfect life. I am flawed, flawed, flawed, and I will rarely feel shiny and complete and utterly calm and prepared.

But look how hard we try, you and me, us and them, everyone. Isn't it sort of sweet, to see how determined we are to do better, to be stronger, to make sure our kids and our mothers and our partners and even our dogs know that they're loved?

Sometimes, even as my world is in chaos, I see myself braiding my daughter's hair, drinking my tea, blending up a fruit smoothie and singing and dancing crazily to distract the baby from the blender's scary, grinding sound, and I think: "That woman is weird, but she does seem to be enjoying herself."

By Heather Havrilesky, Oprah.com

We Sleep- Because We Can

The rain continues. The backyard is a mud pit. We got sent to the vet's office for two days so Mum and Dad could have new flooring put in the house - apparently we are not considered helpful when they have strangers in the house. We came home exhausted (and I mean tired). So we napped. And then we napped a bit more.

Check out the drool pool by Cooper's mouth...he's got a major flood going on there! BOL!

Godzilla Wins

It is incredibly tiring fighting dinosaurs first thing in the morning.

Enforced rest weighs heavily

Mum went and left us for an entire night to go see her friend Delight in Portland and then go to the dentist. We stayed home with Dad but we should have been allowed to go on the trip. Even though my leg is ever so slightly better, I have so much pent up energy I am about to go bonkers.

Cooper suggested we keep watch for Mum all night, in case she came to her senses and came home to tuck us into bed. But she did not. So I was both sad and bonkers.

Mum is home now and we can leave our sentry duty. But this enforced rest is still so boring...

Update on the Patient

Someone brought their woobie toy, a ball and their flannel pull toy and offered each in the hopes someone else would throw them down the hall for a game of fetch. The patient is not limping as much today but there will be no fetch for the foreseeable future. We are, however, most pleased at this improvement of the patient's malady. In an effort to keep the patient comfortable and occupied, numerous chewies have been proffered and consumed.

There is nothing quite so demanding as a bored Corgi who desires a game of fetch..

(Big Sigh) Sad Face

Dozer Dog is limping. We are not sure why. He is favoring his left hind leg. The one we had surgery on three years ago to rebuild. We are going to watch him for a another day and see if rest and pain meds help. Please let this be a momentary glitch in his get-along. Love is immeasurable..what price can we put on this face?

Dozer, our Little Butt Nugget, Senor Puppy Pants, and our Hopalong Corgi. Cross your fingers that this is just a sprain!

My Beautiful Face!

Mum has forever altered my good looks. Whilst I attempted to eat a dead mouse out upon our walk a few days ago, she pulled my leash with abandon. I put my head down and scraped my nose on the sidewalk. There were gallons pints was a bit of blood.

I can never be a show dog (Mum says for a variety of reasons, not the least of which I have no jesticals) with this HUGE scar on my nose. I feel I am due some compensation in the form of nibbles and treats. Mum says no.

* Note from Mum: Last night Dozer and Cooper lied when I asked them if their father had fed them. "Oh no!" they said when, in fact, they had just finished their dinner from their father. So they had a second dinner and continued to deny the first entree they had consumed a half hour earlier. (big sigh) This can only wreak havoc on their diets!

Welcome Monday, We've Been Waiting for You!

It's been a long rainy weekend. We have waited patiently, looking and waiting for Monday to arrive! We aren't sure if the days on the calendar arrive by car or if they arrive on the wind.

 This is me, Dozer. I kept watch best. I didn't just keep watch for Monday, I kept my eye on that dang cat from across the street.

Dis here is Cooper. He didn't keep watch very well, in fact you can see he has his eyes closed...he took numerous naps. Monday could have sneaked in and moved in without us knowing when he was on "watch".

Words Cannot Describe This Sleep Position

Sadly, you cannot hear the snoring or the little pfffftt's coming out...well, you know where

It's Chilly Out Here - But We're Walking!

Mum made sure we had our regular evening walk even with the snowy weather and cold temperatures!

 This is us checking out pee-mail. I tried to roll in something and that made Mum start yelling something about "Nooooooo!". Honestly, the woman goes to pieces over the least little thing.

 Yeah, yea, Cooper and I are touching. Get over it.

 Creeks and streams are almost over their banks! Too cold to play in the water though.

 Snowy afternoon/evening at the park.

But in the midst of winter, there is still a touch of spring - crocus'.

Time for hot tea and a morning nap, so says Cooper.

Snowing here - yes, in Oregon!

"Let's keep watch from inside, my paws are getting cold!"

No Idea at All....

I have absolutely no idea how that toilet paper ended up in the hallway, torn to bits and wet with slobber. Call my attorney if you have any more questions. ~ Cooper

Pet Museum

Mum found a new website called the Pet Museum that has darling pictures of dogs (and kats). She thinks she might go through my puppy pictures and see what is newsworthy for our blog. (All my pictures are newsworthy). Cooper doesn't have any puppy pictures because his suitcase was empty when he arrived and he was 9 years old. So, that blog entry will be all about ME!

This picture is from the Pet Museum website/blog.

Sleepy Sunday on the Chair and Bed

 There's always room for a corgi on a Laz-E-Boy.

Cooper enchants me with his little legs and cute butt.

Dozer is Mr. February!

Thank you to Corgi Butts for making Dozer Mr. February in your yearly calendar!

If you haven't visited Corgi Butts, please click here to visit this great blog!

Mangominister - the Drama Continues

Dozer's Mum here: Not content to eat rat poison last Saturday, this Saturday Dozer ate almost a pound of almonds flavored by wasabi mustard. (Yes, that hot little green mustard that garnishes sushi). Made by a well known American almond company I checked the bag and it had no definitive warnings aimed towards dogs. Called the veterinarian, who after their eyes stopped rolling, said she did not think Dozer would be in danger from consuming so many almonds. The vet suggested I call the Poison Control Line and not tell them it was a dog, just a person that weighs 34 pounds. Of course I told them the truth, I had a 34 pound wayward corgi had consumed almost a pound of almonds. The folks at Poison Control stated that the almonds would act like fiber so just stand back and all would be well.

Cooper remains nonplussed about the entire situation.

We did receive the following, again from the Judicial Branch of Mangominister...

Jed and Abby in MerryLand has left a new comment on your post "Unwanted Attention from the Judicial Committee":

Someone's been watching CSI; latex gloves, indeed. We did read the earlier post in which your mom clearly set out the circumstances of Dozer's Unfortunate Event [happily, not a Series of Unfortunate Events], so we know Cooper was not guilty of trying to poison his brother. He merely tried to make use of the event, although whether he intended to benefit himself or his brother in the Mango Minster competition is not quite clear. And while Abby does have a sense of humor, Cooper, we assure you The Law does not. We understand from a private communication from your staff that the problem is being dealt with medically, which demonstrates discretion and contrition. We wish you well, Cooper, in your recovery. Dozer, too.

Jed & Abby, L.B.E., Official Guardian of Judicial Ethics for Mango Minster 2011

PeeEss: our verification word was "ecrim." Coincidence? Cooper, are you an e-criminal? 

We continue to feel that Dozer is simply making unwise decisions in his eating choices but that Cooper is reveling in these emergency phone calls and visits to vets. We can only hope Mangominster ends soon before Mum's sanity deteriorates any further.

Unwanted Attention from the Judicial Committee

I told Cooper that we are totally in trouble now. We received this from one of the Judicial Judge types of Mango Minster 2011.

Abby is SHOCKED to read about this behavior. [Jed, too]. We've gotten a bit behind, as Abby is busy trying to monitor so many judges and contestants in Mango Minster, in her capacity as Official Guardian of Judicial Ethics for Mango Minster 2011. So we just read about Dozer's near death experience. We are so very glad that, thanks to your mom's quick action, he was quickly and effectively treated.



As this was not an attempt to bribe the judge [although it was certainly an attempt to deceive the judge], Cooper's offense does not technically fall under Abby's jurisdiction as Guardian of Judicial Ethics. However, Cooper, Abby strongly suggests that you look deep within your inherently good sportsman Cocker soul and then apologize to your brother. We prefer to hope this was a momentary abberation, perhaps brought on by a little jealousy at all the extra attention Dozer received following his Narrow Escape.

Jed & Abby, L.B.E., Official Guardian of Judicial Ethics for Mango Minster 2011

 

Does this look like the face of a trouble-maker, I ask you. No seriously. I am asking you. Well of course not. Just a 13 year old Cocker Spaniel with a little spit fire in their soul and a sense of humor. And the rumors that I actually fed Dozer the rat poison are totally untrue. And even if you think I did...well I would have worn latex gloves on my paws to keep my identity secret.

Disaster Averted in Mango Minister Competition!

We regret to inform our readers that Cooper was caught on the computer last night attempting to send the judges of Mango Minister a missive stating that his brother, Dozer, had consumed rat poison over the weekend in an attempt as a grandstanding as a ploy to garner the sympathy vote in his class in Mango Minister!

I would like to state categorically that Dozer did not eat rat poison to ingratiate himself with the judges of Mango Minster. This type of behavior is uncharacteristic of Cooper and was met with complete shock and dismay.

Cooper has been put on short rations when it comes to treats and has had a stern, yet gentle, talking to about this sort of behavior.

Dozer was completely overcome with a justifiable desire to commit homicide and had to be reminded that being "crackers" does not include a need for an anger management course.

"Yeah whatever...I need a beauty nap for the Diva division."

Sleepy Sunday - Diva Style

That was a close one!

Dozer was visiting a friend with me and found some rat poison hidden under a staircase (who has rat poison for Norwegian wharf rats in Oregon?). By the time we got to him, Dozer had consumed it all. I threw him (not literally of course) into the car and we were down to the emergency vet in under five minutes. He was whisked into the back, given an injection to induce vomiting and he produced the poison pellets. I brought a packet of the rat poison with me so the vets knew exactly what he had ingested.

He is home now sleeping due to the medication they gave him. He will be on Vitamin K for two weeks to help with his blood clotting. This is all precautionary, the vet felt they had gotten most of the poison out of his system.

Trip to emergency vet: $189.00

Grey hair on Mum: More than this morning

Taking baby boy dog home: Ecstasy

Peace of mind: Priceless