Good Bye Good Dog

Not feeling good.

We had to let Morgan go today. She has been such a loving, wonderful force in our family but we knew around the holidays that she wasn't well. She was so, so skinny, sleeping a ton and developed a wheezing when she breathed and an epic cough when she'd move around. The vet confirmed our worse fears...the big C. She had a tumor in her lung that was inoperable. So we started figuring out how to make her life amazing, while at the same time absorbing the fact that she was going to be leaving us.

Twelve and a half years ago, we were blessed with a little 4-legged angel. It was 2001 and I had finally talked Scott into getting a dog. He just had a short list of requirements: no barking, short hair, not hyper, loves water, mellow (did I mention, not hyper?) and under 60 pounds. That's a pretty tough list. But I figured it out...the Rhodesian Ridgeback! Ridgebacks are African lion hunting dogs who have a mohawk down their back, and they fit all of those qualifications.

She had a great month of love and all she could eat and I hope that was the cherry on a really great life. We knew it was time: she was sleeping constantly, would not eat anything,  and even a good butt scratch didn't get her to lift her head. So we let her go to dog heaven today. It was peaceful and right and loving. But I can't remember the last time I cried so much or was so emotional. It's so hard to let this sweet love that gave so much to us go away. I know we will miss her miss forever.  I guess that's not unusual but it is so, so hard.

Baby Morgan with her namesake. I picked the dog, Scott picked the name.

For those who don't know, at the time I had just been diagnosed with colon cancer and we were newly married. Like new-new. But Scott and my parents figured a dog would help with the healing process and so they found this cute little puppy in southern Missouri. She was supposed to fly to SLC on September 11th at the ripe old age of 8 weeks. I ended up in the hospital on the morning of 9/11 with what turned out to an abscess. And because of all the crazy flight restrictions after the 9/11 tragedy, our new puppy could not make her journey to Utah.

Little puppy traveling to the Wasatch Marine service center where she hung out during the days.

Luckily, Becky was a Delta flight attendant at the time and she pulled some strings and flew to Arkansas to pick Morgan up. Her puppy parents got up at 2am and drove her for hours to make the flight and then Becky brought her to her new home, not quite first class but pretty close. I was completely surprised and Morgan was just a love from day one. She would snuggle on my chest and sleep with me, and lick my face with her little puppy breath. Unfortunately over the next couple of months I was in the hospital more than I was home and Scott was always with me there, or at work, so Morgan had a life on the road, staying with grandparents, friends, our roomie, hanging with Scott at work, or sneaking into the hospital in a duffel bag to visit.

Me and Aunt Tiff with our girls. Never under-rate couch snuggling with your dog.

All of that traveling made her a little nervous about being mobile. She HATED car rides and every time we took her to Lake Powell we had to give her "sleepy cheese" - sedatives tucked into string cheese -  to calm her nerves. Sometimes 2, 3 or 4 times the dosage because she was just so nervous, shaking and panting. Once we got to the lake, she loved to play in the water and the waves. She would swim after ducks until we thought she'd drown, so we got her a life jacket. She would chase kids playing in the lake, barking like crazy. She almost always slept on the bed or the couch and she loved to bake in the sun. She loved to have her butt scratched, in kind of a weird, creepy way where she'd back right up on your knee with this look of ecstasy on her face, almost like a cat.

Dad loves!

Morgan was about 3 when she met her new best friend, Alice - Tiff's dog. They were such great friends and loved to romp around, race around and wrestle. I almost can't bear to think about the next time Alice comes over looking for her and she's not here.

Morgan and Alice playing the chase game. They were tied at last count.

And then they slept. On the bed. The white bed.

Sun bathing.

Morgan and Alice in their last joint photo.

Morgan was always independent. If we didn't have time to take her for a walk, she'd take herself. She would sneak right out the door and head out for a little jaunt around the neighborhood, pretending like she couldn't hear us hollering her name. I remember one of the first times we took her for walk and some ladies said very loudly, "I can't believe someone would do that to a dog." I think she thought we shaved the mohawk in on purpose or something.

Morgan loves her dad. Kisses, kisses.

Me and Morgan at Lake Powell, one of our favorite places to hang out and just be "dogs."

Morgan was a trooper when the kids invaded her life. She was so patient with them picking at her face, taking her food, sitting on her, crawling on her, and generally bugging the crap out of her. She didn't get quite as much love and attention once the 2-legged children joined the family but as always she was patient and loving and fabulous. And she would always get them back by sleeping on their beds, or sneaking their treats. We told them she's now in dog heaven and read them a great book about it. I'm not sure they totally get what happened and that's probably okay.

Hanging on the bow with the new baby.

Tagg loved to hug Morgan. He also like to sit on her. And Sloane loved to give her treats.

Morgan snuggling up on Sloane's new princess bed. She does love these kids.

She wasn't always sure what to thing about these new additions but she loved and protected them, and never snapped once.

I miss Morgan so much it hurts. I know she had a great life, and she was more than ready to go. But that doesn't make it any easier. We loved her and hugged her and kissed her head as she pulled her last breath...and now she can rest and enjoy the dog heaven we read about where she can run and chase ducks and eat treats and play with the kids and nap in the sun. I know she'll be watching over us. And I know we'll always have her with us.

Her favorite to way to ride on the big boat. Better if Scott was sitting in the driver's seat.

We had to dress her up at least once. Tagg's first birthday and she got the crown. For surviving.

Yeah, we made her tube with us. She was not a fan.

dr. mom to the rescue

As a parent, I'm finding that you also have to be a bit of a doctor-slash-private investigator to keep your kids healthy. Every so often I *know* something is not quite right with my kids. It takes me awhile to figure it out but thanks to my mom-friends, the inter-webs, and the teachers at our school I FINALLY put all the pieces together and figure out what's wrong. Today was a great case in point. 

Sloane has had a runny nose since November. We thought it was a cold, although she didn't have a fever or any other symptoms. It was cold season, after all, so that seemed obvious. Around this time, she also developed a weird bad-breath thing. No matter how much we brushed her teeth, she had this sweet yet stanky quality to her breath. I did a bunch of online research so when we took her to the pediatrician the first time, we mentioned the symptoms and asked them to test her for early onset diabetes. Test, negative. Antibiotics, prescribed. And things seemed to get better. 

A few weeks later, the runny nose was back with the congestion. The bad breath, back. Maybe worse. Back to the doctor. More antibiotics. Symptoms went away again, and as soon as the antibiotics were done, the symptoms came right back. Off we went to the pediatrician... again. He suggests nasal steroids since we don't want to overdose on the antibiotics, so we squirted stuff up Sloane's nose twice a day and brushed her teeth like 5 times a day to get rid of the epic bad breath. And things got better, for awhile. But a few days after her treatment was over, the toddler bad breath was back along with the stuffy nose and congestion. And we were stumped...At this point we were thinking allergies, chronic halitosis, or diabetes, or worse

On Friday, Sloane's teacher mentioned the 800lb stinky gorilla in the room. Sloane's breath is now the brunt of mockery in the class. Sloane is the "stinky girl." Luckily, our teacher had a relative whose daughter had similar symptoms. The diagnosis? She had shoved something up her nose. Foreign object in the nose = infected = sweet stinky breath = DUH!!! 

After a little online research and a 2-hour visit to Instacare today, yep...little miss Sloane had a "foreign object" lodged WAY up her nose. It was the size of an olive. A really stinky, bloody, gross and disgusting olive. The doctor thought it was some kind of styrofoam thing. Later, Tagg piped up and said it was Playdoh. Really?! This would have been good information to have while we were at the doctor's office instead of his running commentary about how much blood they were sucking out of Sloane's nose.

So, note to all you parents out there. If your kid has a runny nose, bloody nose, stuffy nose, congestion with no cold symptoms plus bad, stinky breath, take them to doctor and ask them to look for a foreign object shoved up their nose! There is probably corn or a cotton ball or a Lego stuck up in there. Or Playdoh.

The least gross, painful, sad, awful photo from our Doctor extraction extravaganza. She was such a brave, courageous littletrooper. But, yeah, this sucked (pun intended). Big time!

So what I'm saying is...this parenting thing is confusing! And hard. And kind of technical. And sometimes you don't figure it out right away and then you feel like an ass for not figuring it out sooner. But I think as long as you're trying and caring and doing your best, you're alright. And I hope nobody else has to see that nasty, gross nasal olive. Ever. So good luck, mamas and dadas everywhere! We'll figure this out.

out of sight, out of mind? the zion curtain...

If you live in Utah, you get used to some pretty weird shit. Especially when it comes to drinking laws. That probably comes from the fact that the liquor commission and our state legislature is comprised of a bunch of uber-conservative Mormon guys who don't actually drink and most likely think that everyone who does drink is one of Satan's minions.

So after years of one ridiculous law after another (remember the mini-bottles? where they thought they were controlling our alcohol intake but actually they were giving us double the shots. That was a good one. Plus I loved the little bitty Barbie bottles. So cute. And you've all heard about the Club memberships, right?), they've come up with a doozie.

We call it "the Zion curtain." Apparently if people, especially little underage people, see a bartender opening a beer or see bottles of alcohol sitting behind a bar, they will instantly transform into shot-swigging, beer-bonging alcoholics. Yep, that's all it takes. Never you mind about the good family values instilled by their parochial, upstanding, non-drinking parents and the church community and all the don't-drink PSAs and gory drunk driving videos in school. One glance at those fancy bottles and, poof! you're done for. Man, if it was that easy, marketing people would have been dancing in the streets.

So rather than have that devilish bartender whipping up margaritas or popping a beer right there in the middle of a nice upstanding family restaurant, our brilliant legislators and their cronies over at the DABC have devised this plan: Put up an opaque "wall" between the public and the evil booze man. No. I'm not shitting you. A partition to "hide" the alcohol from those innocent little children and, I'm assuming, those Sunday church-goers who must be DYING for a drink.

Leatherheads, a new sports bar which has been "Zion-curtained."
Decent bar, but when your bartender is running laps to the
back room, sweating, something just ain't right. See how clever they are
though? Blow up booze bottles so you know you're at a bar.

The other option for our beleaguered restaurant and bar-owners: you can keep your icky liquor hidden in the back room. To the customers, it will magically appear on a tray nicely delivered by your slightly sweaty, out-of-breath server who is now having to run triple-time to deliver adult beverages with adult meals.

Cuckoo? Right? One of the legislators, Senator Valentine, was on X96 the other day and he actually said that this was the only way people would be able to tell if they were at a bar or at a restaurant. Really? Really. So people are so stupid they can't tell the difference between a bar and a restaurant. For most Utahans, if it doesn't have a drive up window it doesn't count as a restaurant anyway, so that's one obvious tell. And when you try to walk into a bar with your five kids and their fake IDs don't pass the eagle-eyed bouncer, you might just might realize you're not at the family diner-slash-chain restaurant.

I love restaurants. The ambiance. The vibe. The buzz (not the alcohol one). I love that people who do this for a living spend hours agonizing over the details to make sure that the overall visual experience and flow and energy are just perfect as the menu and the service. Why a bunch of judgmental yodleheads make stupid decisions like this that screw up the experience for the 98% of people who are competent enough to manage their children's understanding of and experience with potential dangers in the world is completely beyond me. Not to mention the fact that every single person we entertain from outside the state walls thinks we are INSANE (we are a tourism state, people!). Come on! Factor in the irony that these are the same guys who passionately want government OUT of our personal business. My advice? Be careful what you wish for, boys. The Zion curtain may not stop with a nice glass of wine with dinner.

the guessing game

Tagg: That word is "the." It has my nickles in it.
Me: Your nickles? (thinking he want some monetary reward for reading)
Tagg: Yeah...my nickles. T and H.
Me: [processing]
Me: Your initials?
Tagg: Yep.

Mommy Interpretation Game. I win. This time. Teaching kids to read is harder than I thought it would be. Much like most parenting!

star wars birthday

Star Wars. Light sabers. Jedis and Jedi princesses and aliens and starships. An awesome 4th birthday party for my Star Wars-obsessed son is a vision in my head. Now how do I make that work, without a mylar balloon and plastic tablecloths and a grocery store cake? Pinterest, of course!

  

I wanted to throw Tagg a 4th birthday party he would LOVE. Star Wars. Water. All his friends hopped up on sugar, sugar, sugar. Maybe a battle of sorts. General insanity.

Mission accomplished! Thanks to Pinterest, and the big giant blow-up waterslide we bought (WAY more cost-effective than renting, FYI).

Step 1. The Vision.

Search for "Star Wars Birthday" on Pinterest. AMAZING what you can find. People are so creative. And I can copy! 

Step 2. The Cake.

First on the list...cake. I do not bake. My amazing sister found this local, just-starting-out cake lady (let me know if you want her name) and she was inspired to create the PERFECT R2D2 cake - legs made of Rice Krispie treats. Genius! It was a super cool, shockingly tasty chocolate cake, and...heavy! That was some serious fondant and gooey chocolate cake!

Our niece was born the day after Tagg, 2 years later, so we had cake-lady make her a special cake too. And Princess Leia Cake was born. The buns? Chocolate donuts. Seriously!!! How cute is that?! And she did it with just two days notice.

 

Tagg LOVED the cake(s)! He literally could not keep his hands off them.

 

Step 3. The Star Wars Ice Cream Bar.

What an amazing idea to theme all of the sundae toppings with Star Wars references.

Wookie Cookie Crumbles = crunched up Oreos. 

Cloud City Puffs = little marshmallows.
Gummy Ewoks = gummy bears. 
Han Rolos = rolos.
Asteroid Chunks = chocolate chunks,
in the grocery store near the chocolate chips.

Scooped the ice cream into cups before the party. Put them on a tray in the freezer and then just pulled the cups out when it was time to serve the cake. Super easy and such a time saver. Bonus...these cups were a dollar each at WalMart. Bingo! Nice not to have to chuck more plastic bowls.

The dudes attacking the sundae bar.

Step 4: The Treats.

Creepy Star Wars drinks...unfiltered, organic apple juice with gummy worms. Also known as Degoba Swamp Drinks. Kids loved them...or maybe that was just Sloane. Or the gummy worms.

Step 4: The Uniforms.

For the Leia's: Cut a piece of white diaper fabric (or some white, cheap fabric)into a 2' x 4' piece and cut a hole for the head. Then wrap some gold braid (cheaper is better than than the drapery braid I bought!) around it and you have a little Princess Leia, or 6.  

For the Jedi's: Do not get "authentic" burlap for the Jedi boys. It is itchy. They will NOT wear it. Something soft and brown would have been good, with a cheap cream or light brown twine or cord. It looks awesome with their swimsuits.

Harper modeling her Princess Leia outfit
with her pink light saber. 

The Light Sabers:

Jedi Masters in training.

Take some pool noodles cut in half, some duct tape (shiny silver and regular versions, if you want to be a little fancy. We did.) plus some black electrical tape and...you have waterproof light sabers!

Tagg was a great helper in making the light sabers and every one was a little different. We actually had a ball making them. And, happily, no children were harmed in the ensuing light saber battle. Scott might not be able to say the same...

The Jedis chasing Scott around the yard.
Not sure he's going to win this one.

See...girls like Star Wars too!

Even a Jedi princess needs a kiss from mom every once in awhile.

Little talking Yoda from WalMart made a great centerpiece
with star confetti and a black tablecloth.

something fishy

In an attempt to be healthy, drop some poundage, and get in summer shape, we've been cooking more fish lately. It's just barely getting warm enough to grill outside, so we cook indoors. Well, the reality check here is that Scott is also petrified of grilling fish. It sticks, it burns, it cooks fast, it falls apart. Let's face it. Fish is tricky.

And it smells.

We cooked cod last night, "fresh" from the meat counter. I get it. We live in Utah. No fish, other than trout or catfish, is probably truly "fresh." But you make do. The fish I got was not cheap. Purportedly not frozen. I smelled it, rinsed it, rinsed it again, smelled it again, and then I cooked it. In a pan. In. Side. My. House. Damn fool!

IT SMELLS!!!

It tasted great. But...The stench has lingered all night. After dishes were done. After garbage was out. After Lysol was sprayed and candles burned. After windows were opened and fans were set to high. It has kept me up all night. I will smell like fish tomorrow, I am sure of it. We may smell like fish forever.

So I finally turned to Google to help find some miracle cure for my stinky fish house. Tah-dah! Thanks, Chowhound.

I currently have a saucepan of cloves, oranges, lemon juice and cinnamon on the stove. And there's a bowl of white vinegar on the counter. If that doesn't work, I'm making cookies tomorrow, buying Oust, and getting a clothespin for my nose.

26 acts of kindness

Like everyone, I was devastated by the Newtown shooting in December. So shocking and unimaginable and horrific. As a parent, my layers of catastrophic thinking went into overdrive. I couldn't walk into the mall without suspiciously checking out everyone in a hoodie or with an oversized coat or a big bag in hand. That kept me very busy given that it was Christmas. In the winter. At the mall. 

At any rate, I happened to see this article about 26 Acts of Kindness where people are doing 26 randomly nice things for strangers in honor of those people who died so tragically at Newtown. I love that. Love, love, love. So for the next month or so I did what I hope are kind and generous things for strangers...leaving an extra large tip, paying for someone's dinner at a restaurant, buying a tank of gas for someone, shoveling the neighbor's driveway. It made me feel better. For a change, I was thinking about how to help people, how to make the world a better place. I was so aware of how very, very lucky we are and how little bits of money or love or goodwill are so easy to share. And how those small, easy things might make so much of a difference to other people. 

Tagg and Sloane would help me choose who to be nice to, and think of ways we could be kind to other people. They picked out toys to donate to the shelter, toys they wanted for themselves. Picked out candy and food for the food bank. I like that they thought about it because they have so much and are so used to getting anything and everything they need. I stole some ideas from the 26 Acts Facebook page. There were so many creative ways that people were sharing love within their communities. It was really inspirational and heartwarming.

But then my 26 Acts were complete and the tragedy of Newtown and those 26 innocent faces started to fade under the bright spotlight of new tragedies, raging debates, international drama, and the day to day chaos of life. Until today.

I pulled into Starbucks to grab a coffee and when I went to pay, the barista (cashier) told me that the woman ahead of me had paid for my order. Including my veggie breakfast sandwich. I was shocked. See, it's still paying forward, all that goodwill. I may have ebbed in my efforts but people are still doing little things to prove to ourselves, our children and each other that there is a lot of beauty, love and kindness in the world. That is what we need to foster, so IT festers instead of the ugly, the hate, and the violence. If we're all just a little bit nicer, a little bit more generous, a little bit more aware, a little bit more caring, think what a difference we could make.

To the woman in the minivan, I thank you for the refreshing reminder. You made my day. You made me smile. You made me remember to be kind. I paid for the car behind me. The first act in my next 26 acts.