Everything My Puppy Reveals about Me

I brought home another baby last week. After months of discussing it, we committed to becoming a family home with two dogs. Meet our puppy, Bear . . .

  

Going on little sleep and a lot of coffee, I’ve been thinking about the kind of influence Bear has had on me in the past eight days. In this puppy stage, she requires a great deal of work, however she’s a pure joy and worth every second I invest in her.

The following are a few reflections I’ve had as I take on the task of raising another puppy.

Bear has brought to light . . .

How I respond to inconveniences

Cleaning up accidents is not my idea of a relaxing summer task. It’s tedious, humbling, and no one ever feels like doing it. But I have a choice how I go about it. Complain with every squirt of Resolve or suck it up and just do it.

How well I function on little sleep

Ha! Let’s just say I’ve been freakishly forgetful lately. Naps are my best friend. I have to be mindful to keep my fogginess and my irritability in check. This is familiar ground. Babies put me through the same test.

My preferred method of teaching

I’m a researcher. My Google feed must have forty different puppy-type searches on it. I want to learn all I can, then adapt my style with what works. I’ve always believed in the philosophy there is no one way. For me there are forty ways squished into one workable, effective way that often adjusts in time.

How willing I am to admit when I’m wrong

I started off following an old school method of raising a pup, only to do a little fact-finding and quickly shift my application. I was wrong. I didn’t like the first way. So I changed.

My ability to trust a little one to learn—to let go of perfection and control

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told myself she’ll get it over the past week. She will though. I wouldn’t expect a baby to act like a young child. Growing up is hard work. It’s my job to guide Bear through that in a safe and loving environment. That’s the fun part, really—watching her get it and releasing control.

How well I’m able to step back and allow others to work out conflict resolution

We knew this transition could be interesting because we threw two dogs in the mix. They need time to figure out where they stand. There’ve been some dicey moments. 

Then again, there are times we catch them chilling out together like this . . .

  

Most of all Bear has shown me how much love I still have left to give.

The Power of Story

I’m a sucker for Olympic stories. I’ll root for you if you give me a moving piece about your past and what it’s taken to get you to this place.

That’s why I believe this story immediately piqued my interest.

It’s not of the Olympic variety, but one of memoirs, a shared bond, and a love written between the pages.

I adore memoirs. I read both WHEN BREATH BECOMES AIR and THE BRIGHT HOUR, struck by the bravery, eloquence, and insight that two memoirists exuded as they captured the equally tragic and poignant perspective of what it’s like to be dying.

Both memoirs were published posthumously.

The spouses were encouraged by their dying loved ones to enter a new relationship or remarry after they pass away. The article uses the words radical permission to emphasize this.

And so . . .

John Duberstein and Lucy Kalanithi came together.

I’ve read these books. I understand this union is the farthest thing from a fairy tale box office bond. I love how the article I linked detailed one of their first interactions as obscenely vulnerable. I’ve always happened to believe great things come when we risk being vulnerable.

Finally, the article concludes with this hopeful message. “For now they are relishing their time together, in all its complexity.”

Because doesn’t that just say it all? Relish through the complexity. Relish despite it. Amidst it. Relish the time we have.

Gone to the Dogs

I’m hurting for sleep right now. Between kid nightmares and the humidity, I’m a walking blur.

So, I thought what better to write about than…dogs?

I was following updates an old friend of mine posted on Facebook over the weekend about a missing dog. His family Beagle pup had scampered off and had been missing for five days. He’d taken his kids to different places where people had either heard a dog howling or where there’d been a sighting. My heart twisted when I read updates that after numerous search efforts the dog was still nowhere to be found.

I kept imagining how I’d feel if our dog was out there somewhere.

Which is why I cheered when I read that on Saturday a hiker found my friend’s dog. My family cracked up at how celebratory I was. The best was seeing pictures of the Beagle peacefully sleeping, nestled in his dog bed. Home again.

I’m a dog lover. The books Marley & Me and The Art of Racing in the Rain rank in my top ten list of favorites. It will come as no surprise I spent a good deal of time visiting with dogs at my daughter’s soccer game yesterday. Dogs belonging to the opponents (if that doesn’t explain the extent of my affection for dogs I’m not sure what will).  

I’ll never forget the aptly timed and poignant thing the vet said to me when I took our fourteen-year-old Samoyed to be put down. I was a bawling mess. When I finally calmed enough and stopped heaving, the vet looked at me and said, “I completely get it. Sometimes we love these guys more than people.”

Crazy, but true.

Any other dog lovers out there completely get it?

*picture is of our almost three-year-old Samoyed making her Happy Monday face. ;-)

This Is 40

Over the weekend I had the rare opportunity to gather with friends to celebrate my fortieth birthday. It was a low-drama, rock-out, memorable night. I realize I’m in the midst of promoting my most recent work, The Short & Sincere Life of Ellory James and I do hope you’ll check it out. But I wanted to take a brief break from promoting in order to express gratitude for the people in my life who’ve encouraged me, inspired me, and allowed me to be fully who I am (which trust me can be scary sometimes...on all levels).

Your friendship, your love matters to me. It changes me.

Thank you.

“She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.”

~ Toni Morrison, Beloved

Reflections on Love

For years, my blog bio has stated that I’m trying to “figure out this thing called life and the best way I

know how to do that is to write and to love.” I’ve shared a decent amount about writing over the past 800+ posts.

But what of love?

Every day I learn more about how love can’t be packaged as a feeling. It’s rooted in surrender, service, sacrifice, and supplication. For me, it’s anything but simple.

Here are a few glimpses of how love manifests itself in my life…

Forcing myself to stay awake to chat with my oldest daughter because even though I’m a morning bird, my night owl gets her second wind at 10pm, right when I’m desperate to crawl under the covers and sleep.

Apologizing first.

Letting go.

Committing to the hard path of parenting when it’s tempting to choose the easy route.

Seeking to understand.

Listening when I want to talk.

Driving my kids to activities, taking out the trash, risking intimacy, walking the dog . . .

Noticing—truly noticing and appreciating the season I’m in.

Grasping a vision and affection for all things deemed unlovable or discarded.

Delighting in nature.

Laughing hard.

Experiencing gratitude so deeply it ultimately serves as a motivator.

Responding when a response is called for.

Remaining silent.

Encouraging.

Praying.

Sometimes I do a bang up job when it comes to loving people. Other times, I whiff big time. As with all things, I hope to be forever improving, forever learning.

I’m largely who I am because of how I’ve been loved. My memory is long for those for those who’ve chosen to pour into me. And my life is full.

~ Love quotes that are speaking to me right now ~

“Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.” ~ Zora Neale Hurston

“If a thing loves, it is infinite.” ~ William Blake

“Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.” ~ C. S. Lewis

I Had This List of Rules

I shot myself in the foot for years as a mother. I didn’t know I was doing it. It was as though I were running around crazy trying to be the best mom I could be while unknowingly firing arrows into the Achilles heel of my undoing.

I had this list of rules in my head.

You know…a good mom _______________. 

A bad mom...________________.

Sound vaguely familiar?

I work really hard not to pass judgment on others, but I spent a lot of time not only peering at the wooden plank in my eye but hammering nails in as I constructed a gargantuan tree house of lies, one mistaken truth impaling me at a time.

Here are some doosey misconceptions that made my list…

A good mom…has Band-Aids in her purse at all times.

A good mom…joins the PTO and attends every meeting.

A good mom…never has laundry stacked in piles that rival architectural wonders.

A good mom…doesn’t yell…ever.

A good mom…bakes realistic-looking animal and caricature cakes she found on Pinterest for her children’s birthday parties.

And then there’s the other pesky side of this list…

A bad mom…doesn’t know the lyrics to the shanty Sponge Bob Square Pants because why would she let her kids watch that show?

A bad mom…doesn’t stab herself in the finger, creating a blood-spurting hole while trying to separate Lego guy’s hair from his mini-Lego head with tweezers.

A bad mom…would never shove a bunch of pennies and loose change in an envelope when sending in money to her child’s class for end of the year teacher gifts.

A bad mom…wouldn’t be caught dead sprinting to slather coconut oil on a patch of psoriasis on her child’s leg, delaying the bus.

A bad mom…cannot for the life of her recount the names of the other students in her child’s class.

I had this list.

And if, by some fluke, I ever caught you doing or not doing one of the above, it might surprise you that I refrained from judgment. At least I didn’t judge in the way you’re thinking. I liked you—instantly. Inside I smiled because I just became a little more normal—more human. And you, in all your you-glory, helped me believe in grace again. Helped me to believe every time one of these tweezed out ideas flashed like a neon sign in my head that lists like these are pure malarkey.

I eventually found my way to the end of the list maze.

Know where I landed?

Here:

A good mom…loves her kids.

A bad mom…withholds love from her kids.

Want to know what I did with those other cockamamie lists?

I mixed the ingredients of a boxed Betty Crocker cake, baked it, shoved the little particles of good mom/bad mom thoughts between the spongy goodness, slapped some icing on the top, devoured the whole whopping ooey gooey cake pan, then I let it pass through me.

And now those lists are gone.

And I’m not about to go looking for them.

Have you ever done yourself a disservice by believing in a fabricated and skewed list as you tried to live well in a specific role in your life?