I'm not an anti-dentite, but like most people, the dentist's office is one of my least favorite places to spend time. I've been there many, many times over the years, and if I could go back and do it all over again, one of my top five changes would be to heed the advice of the wise and FLOSS. Every day. Or if not every day, at least a few times a week. This would have saved me many problems (and money) over the years.
So, one of the lessons I've learned by this point is to go to the dentist regularly. Every six months and it's time for another cleaning. The flossing thing, however, still eluded me. At most visits, I've come to expect a lot of picking and poking, and usually, as happens by this TIME in my life (ahem) I receive the news that one or two cavities need to be replaced. It's always something, and I wish that once, just once, I could bid farewell to the dentist with a "Bye, see you in six months!" But no. It's always something.
And so, recently, for the first time, I received the news that I did NOT need an old cavity to be replaced. WOO HOO! Finally!! I've been waiting so long for this. Instead... I have new cavities. That's right, that's plural. FOUR new cavities! And on my front teeth no less! How did this happen? I haven't had new cavities in years, pretty much since I began sticking to the six-month regimen. And what the hell have I been doing with my front teeth, exactly?!
I made my appointment at their earliest appointment, a few weeks away, and when the day came, with some mild trepidation I arrived for my appointment. At 11:40 am in the morning, which would release me at approximately 12:30 in the afternoon, or more precisely, LUNCHTIME. When I'm unable to eat. Great. "Well, at least it's your front teeth, and not your back chewing teeth," the receptionist tried to cheer me up. A good point, although I still wasn't thrilled with the time slot.
At my dentist's office, they have TV screens built into the ceiling above the exam chair. Awesome! Two of the three work, and of course I was escorted to the one chair whose TV screen remained dark. "Those TVs are on," I said hopefully, pointing to the next station over. "I know," the dental hygienist answered. "There's a problem with the wire or something with this one. Sorry!"
I knew this TV had a problem because every time I have to have work done, they take me to the same station, and every time, the TV is off. So I knew today would be no different. However, the other screens are not usually turned on at the time. Especially since both of the other chairs were EMPTY and would remain that way the whole time I was there. Could I request to be moved? Is it like a restaurant where you'd rather a window seat or one not in the line of the kitchen traffic? Since she didn't offer, I glumly sat down in my seat.
Probably the worst part of having a cavity (or FOUR) filled is the novocaine shot. Granted, the whole appointment would probably be hell if it weren't for the novocaine shot, but still, let's face it, that shot sucks. And since I was lucky enough to have my fillings in a couple of my front teeth, I got the shots right in the front of the gums above my teeth. After about 15 minutes had gone by, I felt like I had buck teeth and a clown's nose on. I decided to share this with the dental hygienist, who laughed. "When you talk, your top lip doesn't even move," she marveled in a way that made me nervously think that maybe she had never witnessed this before. "He got you GOOD!"
This statement led me to believe that if I were lucky, I might be able to eat lunch by sometime tomorrow.
Anyway, he put the chair so far back that I felt I might slide right off the back and onto the floor. I wonder if that had ever happened before? All of the slippery plastic covering the head part makes it seem possible. Well, there's always a first time, and it most likely would be with me. I find it so funny that when you're in that chair, for some reason it's taboo to make eye contact with the dentist or hygienist. That would be weird. And unfortunately, they have to get SO CLOSE to your face that it's nearly impossible to see anything else. Not that there's anything else to look at. (More on this later.) The only doctor who gets closer to your face is the optometrist, and with that one you're FORCED to keep your eyes open, so it might be even weirder. Still, in that case you're required to stare straight ahead like you don't see them, 2 millimeters from your eyeball, shining a bright light into your eye. "La la la, I'm just sitting here, and I see nothing strange at all. No one's looking at me, and I'm just going about my business sitting here... I don't see anything..." Of course, if you happen to spot them in your peripheral vision, you're just praying that you won't notice them smiling at you or anything weird like that.
So, either you close your eyes, or you look at the ceiling. I close my eyes for a while, but since I wear contacts, sometimes my eyes get a little blurry if they've been closed for too long, so I like to open them sometimes to avoid this problem. So... looking around. Needle? Ack! Close eyes quickly! Ok, open again. Hmm... there is the dentist about 4 inches from my face. There's the hygienist holding the little spit sucking thing. (We used to call this "Mr. Thirsty" as kids.) There is literally NOTHING to look at. All there is to do is notice the horrible, outdated ceiling that makes you wonder exactly where all of your money is going. The one directly over my head was cracked and I noticed some worn down corners. Wait, did it look like a couple of those corners had been CHEWED? Maybe not, but where else is one's mind supposed to wander to when you're just lying there enjoying your pain? If it had been chewed, I thought, whatever chewed it has a really good chance of falling right on my face since that ceiling panel is right over my head. This was one of those thoughts that, as soon as it entered your head, you really wished you hadn't come up with it.
But seriously. How hard would it be to put something on the ceiling? Even the TV, had it been working, would have been too far down for me to see. My feet could have watched something, but as I was about to slide off the chair and onto the floor, it wouldn't have been anywhere in my view. (Plus, all of the TVs were upside down. Who installed these things, anyway?) But how about going old-school and putting up a picture? Or a poster? Or an awesome saltwater fish tank built right into the ceiling!! Ok, that might be a bit far-fetched. If they can't even get the TV to work they probably won't put in an aquarium, and if they did, it would probably be leaking and drip right onto my face.
While I couldn't see the TV at the station next to me, I could hear bits and pieces of it in between drilling noises. The dentist and hygienist could hear it a lot better than I could, though (what with my head being so close to the floor and all) and suddenly I heard one of the say something about a cruise. "Something happened on a cruise last night?" the hygienist asked.
My ears perked up. I had read that article on CNN this morning and knew the cruise ship had suffered a fire on board. "Hire!" I said, my mouth stuffed with rolled-up cotton, novocaine and assorted dental instruments and obviously unable to produce an f sound.
The two continued to talk between each other for a minute. I don't think anyone heard me, probably because any sound I made was muffled by the rubber on the hygienist's sneakers which were about two inches from my head. "What cruise ship was it? What happened exactly?" they wondered to each other.
"HIRE!" I said again, a bit louder, and was instantly reminded of Bill Cosby's stand-up with the bit about the dentist's office. I suddenly wondered if I should panic. Why could no one HEAR me? Was I actually unconscious and just dreaming? Help! HELP!!
"Fire?" the hygienist asked me. "Uh huh," I agreed, relieved that they could hear me and I didn't need to jump up out of my chair, rip out Mr. Thirsty and start knocking over small metal tables and stuff.
By the time it was all over, I was feeling like I'd like to produce LOTS of f sounds. But honestly, considering the circumstances, it wasn't too bad. I was out in under an hour, as promised, and aside from feeling hungry and being concerned with the sheer SIZE of my lips at that point in time, I was fine and happy to be going home to wait until I could finally eat something. And as I finally started to eat my lunch at almost 2 pm, with my lip still numb but starting to tingle, I felt more glad than ever that 3 weeks ago, at 42 years old, I finally began flossing at night before bed. I'm remembering more nights than not now, and I'm determined that I'm going to make this habit stick. It's just that important. Next on my to-do list, I'm calling the dentist's office about that whole ceiling thing. Even though I only plan on visiting them once every six months now, I'd still like something nice to look at.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Happy messy mother's day!
Every year it starts pretty much the same.
On the morning of Mother's Day, I sleep in. When I get up, I start walking around the room, opening shades, etc., and at some point I hear Zach call up the stairs, "Get back into bed!" because, of course, breakfast in bed would not be if I were not in bed. Now that the kids are older, Zach can send them upstairs to do the dirty work. So this morning, as I was puttering around, I heard footsteps come running up the stairs and before I knew it, a cold, clammy hand was gripping my left arm.
"Get back into bed!" Alexander chirped.
"Isn't there something else you'd like to say to me first?" I asked.
He folded his arms across his chest, undeterred. "I am NOT leaving until you get back into bed!"
So it's not just a matter of making the perfect Mother's day breakfast so much as being in control, I think. :) I obliged and climbed back into bed, and waited. And waited. Let me tell you, the service is cute, but boy is it SLOW! After about 15 minutes, Alexander returned with a large towel in his hand and tossed it onto the bed in front of me. "This is going to be messy," he proclaimed and began to spread it out in front of me.
Messy. If there were any word to describe motherhood next to "love," I don't think there is a more obvious choice that could possibly be more fitting than that. Motherhood is so many kinds of messy that there should be sub-categories of the word to describe it.
When you give birth and are the proud new owner of a newborn, MESSY is where it's at. In between trying to keep your ahead above water in a sea of sleep deprivation and trying not to completely ignore your partner, there's a whole lotta messy going on. The baby vomit adorning your new shirt, pants and hair. The poopy diaper changes (and, if you have a boy, the pee too). The baby toys that multiply overnight. If you're like me, you practically forget you even have furniture at all, judging by the dust on top of it. It's all a big mess.
But that's just the physical aspect of it. When you have a child, the emotions become messy, too. I remember feeding Colette in the middle of the night in the hospital, and I started crying. The nurse poked her head in and asked me if I was ok. "Yes," I blubbered, "just happy!" Hormones are a mess. The overwhelming sense of love for the new child is fighting feelings of being overwhelmed, uncertainty about your new role as a parent, and terror about the health and safety of this new little being whose life you have been entrusted.
My first Mother's Day, 2005.
As they grow and new experiences begin to emerge, emotions can go awry. Every "first" is cause for celebration and can begin the emotional roller coaster all over again, depending on what kind of mom you are. ;) When our dog Lily died, Alexander was 4 1/2 years old. I remember how Zach and I dreaded telling Alexander. I wanted to wait a couple of days until I felt stable enough myself to break the news. We sat down with him and explained how Lily had been sick, and that when she went to the animal hospital, she had to stay and died there. We watched his face closely and braced ourselves. There was a pause. "Can we get a new dog?" was the first thing out of his mouth. We looked at each other, unsure as to whether we should laugh or cry, and assured him that, yes, after some time had gone by, we would get another dog one day. Some more discussion as to whether he had any questions and was ok, and that was that.
The next day, while Colette was napping, I was in the bathroom with Alexander. (I spent a lot of time with him there at that age.) I was sitting on a stool while he sat on the potty, probably reading him a book, when suddenly he asked me, "Do you miss Lily?"
I was so unprepared for that question, I just sat in shock for a moment wondering how to answer. I steadied my voice as best I could, looked into his eyes with my own teary ones and admitted, "Yes."
When he saw the tears in my eyes, that was it. It was if I had told him, without words, that it was ok to let it out. He started crying, and seeing him like that made it impossible for me to hold it in as well. So there we were, hugging each other in the bathroom, crying over our deceased dog together. I don't know how long we were in there like that but I remember it felt like forever. Eventually I got him washed up and carried him into the family room, where I laid him on the couch with a blanket and asked him if he wanted to watch a movie. I had to get the crying to stop for both of us. We got a break then, but the sadness continued over the next few days. I got a book out of the library that was about dog heaven, and he asked me to read it over... and over... and over again.
Lily and her new baby brother.
When the kids start making friends and going to school, it takes on a whole new level. As most mothers, I'm sure, I'm overprotective of my kids and worry about them constantly. I worry more about Alexander than Colette, because, while she is nearly 3 years younger than he, she is more socially advanced and makes friends more easily. A couple of weeks ago, I went to the school to attend Colette's kindergarten class's "math games." I arrived shortly before noon, and after signing in at the front desk, it occurred to me that this was a time I hadn't previously been at the school and wondered if Alexander might be having lunch. I moved aside a bit and looked into the all-purpose room, which was bustling with kids eating lunch. I saw a packed table of kids eating right up against the far window, and suddenly, at the table directly across from it, closer to the doorway near where I was standing, I saw Alexander. He saw me and began waving. I smiled and suddenly, my smile began to fade and my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. It appeared that Alexander was eating by himself at a huge lunch table. My heart started pounding. Knowing that I most likely was not allowed near the lunchroom, I walked down the short hallway next to the school store to get a closer look anyway. Once I stood outside the double doors, I saw that he was in fact sitting with his friend Daliah. Then I saw another kid at the end of the same table - sitting alone, I think? - and while I took this all in, a voice called out to me, "Hi!" I looked over and saw one of Alexander's classmates who had attended his birthday party waving to me, and I smiled and waved back. That table was fairly empty too. In fact, it turned out that all of the kids were sitting in small groups of only 2 or 3. (I found out later that the two tables were so empty due to the fact that it was Take Your Child to Work Day.) But in that one moment, when I saw my son's face, I had tunnel vision and saw NO ONE else around, just him, and immediately felt terrified that he was eating alone. Once I realized that all was ok, I relaxed a little, and of course the front desk receptionist came over to tell me that I had to come back to the waiting area. "I'm sorry," I said feebly, "I was just waving to my son..." and kind of left it at that, because in that moment, I had no idea how to tell this woman how I nearly had a panic attack just because I thought my child was eating lunch by himself. I did, however, quickly relay the story to an acquaintance I ran into in the waiting area, and she quickly assured me that "boys are different from girls," and that her son eats lunch alone all the time and didn't mind at all.
I still can't think of that day without remembering how my stomach tightened up in knots and I very nearly cried right there in the lobby of the school, standing motionless with a frozen smile on my face, while my son waved excitedly as he spotted me there. I relayed the story to Zach later and told him that I think I'm too sensitive to have kids. "Too late for that," he quipped. But it's true; I am. See? I am a MESS! And I know that there will be more of the same in the years to come... how I am going to handle that... I honestly don't know.
So not only do I face the spilled pot of dirt on the family room rug, the one that one child is using to plant a dandelion, the permanent marker streak on my fabric blinds in the same room, the chocolate milk that spilled on the play table, the watercolor paints that were left out to dry and their evidence wiped on my good towel in the bathroom, but I also face the emotional messes of a Mother's Day tea complete with songs and readings, learning that my son has received a science award, my daughter dancing in her recital, and even the seemingly mundane like watching my children walk into school in the mornings, dragging a big backpack that is almost as big as my daughter is, taking those few steps up the walkway and disappearing into the darkness of the inside of the elementary school where I have no choice but to trust that my children will be safe and well-taken care of. Maybe by this point, a sunny day in the middle of May when the school year is coming to a close, most people don't even give it a second thought anymore... but I do. After we hug, say goodbye and I love you, I still get the tiniest lump in my throat watching them walk into the school like big kids who are getting bigger every day.
My most recent Mother's Day.
And, still, in spite of the innumerable messes that it holds, motherhood is always amazing, never boring, and boasting its own holiday that's more important than any of the others. So, yes, this Mother's Day was messy, in the truest sense of the word: a platter of blue-tinted Cool Whip was the backdrop for a solar system created from fruit. A sun with flames crafted from cut-up pineapple and strawberries, an Earth shaped from blueberries and kiwis, the rest of the planets and an asteroid belt artfully created from assorted fruits, and even poor old Pluto given a place of honor with one tiny blueberry. It was a thing of beauty. (It was also a good thing I put away the good white towel that Alexander had chosen as my placemat in favor of an old navy blue one.)
So, why a fruity solar system breakfast? "Because," Zach led them on, and they all finished in unison, "you are the best mom in the UNIVERSE!" I hope that's true, but if it is, it's because they make me so. After all, they are my whole world.
On the morning of Mother's Day, I sleep in. When I get up, I start walking around the room, opening shades, etc., and at some point I hear Zach call up the stairs, "Get back into bed!" because, of course, breakfast in bed would not be if I were not in bed. Now that the kids are older, Zach can send them upstairs to do the dirty work. So this morning, as I was puttering around, I heard footsteps come running up the stairs and before I knew it, a cold, clammy hand was gripping my left arm.
"Get back into bed!" Alexander chirped.
"Isn't there something else you'd like to say to me first?" I asked.
He folded his arms across his chest, undeterred. "I am NOT leaving until you get back into bed!"
So it's not just a matter of making the perfect Mother's day breakfast so much as being in control, I think. :) I obliged and climbed back into bed, and waited. And waited. Let me tell you, the service is cute, but boy is it SLOW! After about 15 minutes, Alexander returned with a large towel in his hand and tossed it onto the bed in front of me. "This is going to be messy," he proclaimed and began to spread it out in front of me.
Messy. If there were any word to describe motherhood next to "love," I don't think there is a more obvious choice that could possibly be more fitting than that. Motherhood is so many kinds of messy that there should be sub-categories of the word to describe it.
When you give birth and are the proud new owner of a newborn, MESSY is where it's at. In between trying to keep your ahead above water in a sea of sleep deprivation and trying not to completely ignore your partner, there's a whole lotta messy going on. The baby vomit adorning your new shirt, pants and hair. The poopy diaper changes (and, if you have a boy, the pee too). The baby toys that multiply overnight. If you're like me, you practically forget you even have furniture at all, judging by the dust on top of it. It's all a big mess.
But that's just the physical aspect of it. When you have a child, the emotions become messy, too. I remember feeding Colette in the middle of the night in the hospital, and I started crying. The nurse poked her head in and asked me if I was ok. "Yes," I blubbered, "just happy!" Hormones are a mess. The overwhelming sense of love for the new child is fighting feelings of being overwhelmed, uncertainty about your new role as a parent, and terror about the health and safety of this new little being whose life you have been entrusted.
My first Mother's Day, 2005.
As they grow and new experiences begin to emerge, emotions can go awry. Every "first" is cause for celebration and can begin the emotional roller coaster all over again, depending on what kind of mom you are. ;) When our dog Lily died, Alexander was 4 1/2 years old. I remember how Zach and I dreaded telling Alexander. I wanted to wait a couple of days until I felt stable enough myself to break the news. We sat down with him and explained how Lily had been sick, and that when she went to the animal hospital, she had to stay and died there. We watched his face closely and braced ourselves. There was a pause. "Can we get a new dog?" was the first thing out of his mouth. We looked at each other, unsure as to whether we should laugh or cry, and assured him that, yes, after some time had gone by, we would get another dog one day. Some more discussion as to whether he had any questions and was ok, and that was that.
The next day, while Colette was napping, I was in the bathroom with Alexander. (I spent a lot of time with him there at that age.) I was sitting on a stool while he sat on the potty, probably reading him a book, when suddenly he asked me, "Do you miss Lily?"
I was so unprepared for that question, I just sat in shock for a moment wondering how to answer. I steadied my voice as best I could, looked into his eyes with my own teary ones and admitted, "Yes."
When he saw the tears in my eyes, that was it. It was if I had told him, without words, that it was ok to let it out. He started crying, and seeing him like that made it impossible for me to hold it in as well. So there we were, hugging each other in the bathroom, crying over our deceased dog together. I don't know how long we were in there like that but I remember it felt like forever. Eventually I got him washed up and carried him into the family room, where I laid him on the couch with a blanket and asked him if he wanted to watch a movie. I had to get the crying to stop for both of us. We got a break then, but the sadness continued over the next few days. I got a book out of the library that was about dog heaven, and he asked me to read it over... and over... and over again.
Lily and her new baby brother.
When the kids start making friends and going to school, it takes on a whole new level. As most mothers, I'm sure, I'm overprotective of my kids and worry about them constantly. I worry more about Alexander than Colette, because, while she is nearly 3 years younger than he, she is more socially advanced and makes friends more easily. A couple of weeks ago, I went to the school to attend Colette's kindergarten class's "math games." I arrived shortly before noon, and after signing in at the front desk, it occurred to me that this was a time I hadn't previously been at the school and wondered if Alexander might be having lunch. I moved aside a bit and looked into the all-purpose room, which was bustling with kids eating lunch. I saw a packed table of kids eating right up against the far window, and suddenly, at the table directly across from it, closer to the doorway near where I was standing, I saw Alexander. He saw me and began waving. I smiled and suddenly, my smile began to fade and my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. It appeared that Alexander was eating by himself at a huge lunch table. My heart started pounding. Knowing that I most likely was not allowed near the lunchroom, I walked down the short hallway next to the school store to get a closer look anyway. Once I stood outside the double doors, I saw that he was in fact sitting with his friend Daliah. Then I saw another kid at the end of the same table - sitting alone, I think? - and while I took this all in, a voice called out to me, "Hi!" I looked over and saw one of Alexander's classmates who had attended his birthday party waving to me, and I smiled and waved back. That table was fairly empty too. In fact, it turned out that all of the kids were sitting in small groups of only 2 or 3. (I found out later that the two tables were so empty due to the fact that it was Take Your Child to Work Day.) But in that one moment, when I saw my son's face, I had tunnel vision and saw NO ONE else around, just him, and immediately felt terrified that he was eating alone. Once I realized that all was ok, I relaxed a little, and of course the front desk receptionist came over to tell me that I had to come back to the waiting area. "I'm sorry," I said feebly, "I was just waving to my son..." and kind of left it at that, because in that moment, I had no idea how to tell this woman how I nearly had a panic attack just because I thought my child was eating lunch by himself. I did, however, quickly relay the story to an acquaintance I ran into in the waiting area, and she quickly assured me that "boys are different from girls," and that her son eats lunch alone all the time and didn't mind at all.
I still can't think of that day without remembering how my stomach tightened up in knots and I very nearly cried right there in the lobby of the school, standing motionless with a frozen smile on my face, while my son waved excitedly as he spotted me there. I relayed the story to Zach later and told him that I think I'm too sensitive to have kids. "Too late for that," he quipped. But it's true; I am. See? I am a MESS! And I know that there will be more of the same in the years to come... how I am going to handle that... I honestly don't know.
So not only do I face the spilled pot of dirt on the family room rug, the one that one child is using to plant a dandelion, the permanent marker streak on my fabric blinds in the same room, the chocolate milk that spilled on the play table, the watercolor paints that were left out to dry and their evidence wiped on my good towel in the bathroom, but I also face the emotional messes of a Mother's Day tea complete with songs and readings, learning that my son has received a science award, my daughter dancing in her recital, and even the seemingly mundane like watching my children walk into school in the mornings, dragging a big backpack that is almost as big as my daughter is, taking those few steps up the walkway and disappearing into the darkness of the inside of the elementary school where I have no choice but to trust that my children will be safe and well-taken care of. Maybe by this point, a sunny day in the middle of May when the school year is coming to a close, most people don't even give it a second thought anymore... but I do. After we hug, say goodbye and I love you, I still get the tiniest lump in my throat watching them walk into the school like big kids who are getting bigger every day.
My most recent Mother's Day.
And, still, in spite of the innumerable messes that it holds, motherhood is always amazing, never boring, and boasting its own holiday that's more important than any of the others. So, yes, this Mother's Day was messy, in the truest sense of the word: a platter of blue-tinted Cool Whip was the backdrop for a solar system created from fruit. A sun with flames crafted from cut-up pineapple and strawberries, an Earth shaped from blueberries and kiwis, the rest of the planets and an asteroid belt artfully created from assorted fruits, and even poor old Pluto given a place of honor with one tiny blueberry. It was a thing of beauty. (It was also a good thing I put away the good white towel that Alexander had chosen as my placemat in favor of an old navy blue one.)
So, why a fruity solar system breakfast? "Because," Zach led them on, and they all finished in unison, "you are the best mom in the UNIVERSE!" I hope that's true, but if it is, it's because they make me so. After all, they are my whole world.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Hair of the dog
I want many things. I want an addition on our house to add on a new bathroom, enlarge Colette's room and bring the guest room upstairs. I want Yard Crashers to crash my yard and make it over in spectacular style. (That just reminded me to make my daily entry for the DIY network America's Most Desperate Landscape Giveaway.) I want to go on a trip, without kids, to the Greek Islands yet at the same time manage to NOT miss them. But then I'd feel guilty for not missing them. So let's add guilt-free onto that as well.
But right now, what I REALLY want, is a dog.
I can't get past it. All it takes is one person posting a picture of a rescue dog and the longing starts all over again, even in the face of Colette's "moderate to severe" dog allergy diagnosis. I vacillate from looking into labradoodle breeders, to "well we had a dog until she was 2 and she was fine so she'd probably be fine with a regular dog, we'd just have to test it out," to ditching the idea altogether, and back again. It's a neverending cycle. I'm always somewhere in it, but the desire to have a dog again never goes away no matter at what point in the cycle I find myself.
Tonight I found three labradoodle siblings on Petfinder - "The three stooges," as they're called. Four months old, SO cute, but not guaranteed hypoallergenic. The puppies in the ad are "too young" to tell, said the rescue in their description. Which I believe is another way of saying "We don't know who the parents are, and we don't know if the dog is third generation or more, so we just have no idea." That started it up again. I started talking to Zach. Maybe we could get one that we could return if it doesn't work out... come up with a story to tell the kids that we're dogsitting for one of Zach's coworkers just in case she has a reaction, and if not we could just say "Surprise! This is our new dog!" A true YouTube success story video. It could work.
One of the stooges in question.
So tonight, while making the bed, this is how the conversation between Zach and me went.
Me: You're getting me a labradoodle for Mother's Day, aren't you?
Zach (laughing): I'd have to hate my sweet baby girl an awful lot to do that.
Me: Why? Lots of people who have allergies are not allergic to labradoodles!
Zach: Well, then find one and let's start testing her out with it.
Me: That's what you were supposed to have been doing all these weeks leading up to Mother's Day.
Zach (laughs): Yep, that's right, I did. I've been keeping the dog in the basement. I hope it's ok, I haven't heard from it in a while... (gets into bed)
Me: Goodnight, evil dream killer. I hope your conscience lets you sleep.
Now, I can't stop staring at these dogs on Petfinder. Two male and one female. They're in NJ, too, through Oodles of Doodles Rescue, which is good because they won't adopt them out farther than a 50-mile radius. Maybe it's worth going to take a look at them.
I remember the old days of trolling Petfinder, searching for the perfect pet. I always wanted a lab, around 6 months old, already housebroken. I got that dog, or at least a version of it, in 2000 when I adopted Lily. She was a lab mix, and it turns out that what she was mixed with was maniac. She looked labbish, but didn't act it - she was fairly high strung and hated strangers and strange dogs. So several years later, after she died of liver disease, I started poking around on Petfinder again. In the beginning, it was just to look. After about 2 years had elapsed since her passing, we decided we were ready to start looking in earnest. That's when a visit to a local shelter ended up with Colette in hives after a dog's mouth touched her face, and suddenly our search for a new family pet came to a screeching halt. It was a sad, sad day, and a trip to the allergist confirmed my fears: moderate to severe dog allergy for Colette.
Alexander and Lily
The thing is, I'd never seen her have a reaction before. She was already 2 years old when Lily died, and while I never allowed her to roll on the floor and be covered in slobbery kisses by the dog, she never had an allergic reaction just by being in the same house as her. She never had a problem when visiting friends with dogs. And, if you want to be technical about it, I'm allergic to dogs too - it's mild, but it's there, and I knew even as a kid that I couldn't lie down with the dog too long and allow myself to be covered in her smell and her sloppy kisses. Because in my case, I knew that if I would lie with dogs, I'd get up... with hives.
A recent episode of Dogs 101 profiled the labradoodle, which immediately turned Alexander into a fan the moment he heard "good for people with allergies." Poor kid really wants a dog, and from Snoopy to Scooby Doo, Marmaduke to every dog that comes to school at pick-up time, his devotion has not waned. A few days ago, while searching On Demand for a Saturday night family movie, I stumbled across the old movie Beethoven. The kids, of course, loved it and I have a feeling it will wind up in our regular rotation.
I'm sure there's a solution in here somewhere (aside from the obvious), but I think it will take some more digging, some more exposure, some more brainstorming to find it. Maybe I could pray to a saint about it. How about St. Francis of Assisi? Isn't he the patron saint of animals? I don't know... maybe St. Bernard would be better.
But right now, what I REALLY want, is a dog.
I can't get past it. All it takes is one person posting a picture of a rescue dog and the longing starts all over again, even in the face of Colette's "moderate to severe" dog allergy diagnosis. I vacillate from looking into labradoodle breeders, to "well we had a dog until she was 2 and she was fine so she'd probably be fine with a regular dog, we'd just have to test it out," to ditching the idea altogether, and back again. It's a neverending cycle. I'm always somewhere in it, but the desire to have a dog again never goes away no matter at what point in the cycle I find myself.
Tonight I found three labradoodle siblings on Petfinder - "The three stooges," as they're called. Four months old, SO cute, but not guaranteed hypoallergenic. The puppies in the ad are "too young" to tell, said the rescue in their description. Which I believe is another way of saying "We don't know who the parents are, and we don't know if the dog is third generation or more, so we just have no idea." That started it up again. I started talking to Zach. Maybe we could get one that we could return if it doesn't work out... come up with a story to tell the kids that we're dogsitting for one of Zach's coworkers just in case she has a reaction, and if not we could just say "Surprise! This is our new dog!" A true YouTube success story video. It could work.
One of the stooges in question.
So tonight, while making the bed, this is how the conversation between Zach and me went.
Me: You're getting me a labradoodle for Mother's Day, aren't you?
Zach (laughing): I'd have to hate my sweet baby girl an awful lot to do that.
Me: Why? Lots of people who have allergies are not allergic to labradoodles!
Zach: Well, then find one and let's start testing her out with it.
Me: That's what you were supposed to have been doing all these weeks leading up to Mother's Day.
Zach (laughs): Yep, that's right, I did. I've been keeping the dog in the basement. I hope it's ok, I haven't heard from it in a while... (gets into bed)
Me: Goodnight, evil dream killer. I hope your conscience lets you sleep.
Now, I can't stop staring at these dogs on Petfinder. Two male and one female. They're in NJ, too, through Oodles of Doodles Rescue, which is good because they won't adopt them out farther than a 50-mile radius. Maybe it's worth going to take a look at them.
I remember the old days of trolling Petfinder, searching for the perfect pet. I always wanted a lab, around 6 months old, already housebroken. I got that dog, or at least a version of it, in 2000 when I adopted Lily. She was a lab mix, and it turns out that what she was mixed with was maniac. She looked labbish, but didn't act it - she was fairly high strung and hated strangers and strange dogs. So several years later, after she died of liver disease, I started poking around on Petfinder again. In the beginning, it was just to look. After about 2 years had elapsed since her passing, we decided we were ready to start looking in earnest. That's when a visit to a local shelter ended up with Colette in hives after a dog's mouth touched her face, and suddenly our search for a new family pet came to a screeching halt. It was a sad, sad day, and a trip to the allergist confirmed my fears: moderate to severe dog allergy for Colette.
Alexander and Lily
The thing is, I'd never seen her have a reaction before. She was already 2 years old when Lily died, and while I never allowed her to roll on the floor and be covered in slobbery kisses by the dog, she never had an allergic reaction just by being in the same house as her. She never had a problem when visiting friends with dogs. And, if you want to be technical about it, I'm allergic to dogs too - it's mild, but it's there, and I knew even as a kid that I couldn't lie down with the dog too long and allow myself to be covered in her smell and her sloppy kisses. Because in my case, I knew that if I would lie with dogs, I'd get up... with hives.
A recent episode of Dogs 101 profiled the labradoodle, which immediately turned Alexander into a fan the moment he heard "good for people with allergies." Poor kid really wants a dog, and from Snoopy to Scooby Doo, Marmaduke to every dog that comes to school at pick-up time, his devotion has not waned. A few days ago, while searching On Demand for a Saturday night family movie, I stumbled across the old movie Beethoven. The kids, of course, loved it and I have a feeling it will wind up in our regular rotation.
I'm sure there's a solution in here somewhere (aside from the obvious), but I think it will take some more digging, some more exposure, some more brainstorming to find it. Maybe I could pray to a saint about it. How about St. Francis of Assisi? Isn't he the patron saint of animals? I don't know... maybe St. Bernard would be better.
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