Profound Loss. Profound Gift.

I didn’t expect my first blog after one and a half years to be this one, but here it is. Thanks to all of you who have continually asked me to reappear here. With so many requests, I was feeling as if I could blink my eyes, -queue big poof of smoke- (hey, my name is Jeannie!), and begin to entertain you all again on Monday through Friday nights at 11pm, which was approximately my old blog time spot.

Sufficed to say, those who know me best, know it’s been a helluva ride the last year. Anyway, the blog that should have been my first, already titled “It’s Always Something,” will come second, and the one event today that inspired this blog, my first and the one that put the “jo” back in my “mojo,” is first and perhaps “foremostest” for the blog…and for my life.

I had to get my car inspected today. Of course, those who know me, know that I drive a VW EOS convertible. When my son, Nathan, got his license I gave him my old 2000 Toyota RAV, which had belonged to my Dad. I inherited it, and it’s still going strong with 225000 miles on it. Too bad my Dad isn’t; though, it always makes me smile when Nathan talks about his love for a car that’s seen far better days and dotes on its “character” (a badly deteriorated driver’s seat, multiple dings, rust, and very faded and worn spare tire cover).

The Spring before Nathan went to college I bequeathed the RAV unto him, and I bought myself the VW. In hindsight, I would have been better off keeping the RAV and buying Nathan a used RAV.  I decided I wanted a mid-life crisis car; and can one go through two mid-life crises in one life I ask you – like does that mean I’m going to live to be 150? Anyway, nothing says mid-life crisis like a convertible, right?

I knew I couldn’t afford the car new. I had heard that story, which I really think, no, I NOW KNOW is an urban myth, about how you shouldn’t buy a new car, because the minute you drive it off the lot you lose ten billion zillion dollars, locusts will descend upon your yard and carry off your favorite cat, and when you enter a public toilet next, after the pee fact, there will be NO toilet paper waiting for you! Okay, I know that’s extreme, but in my case, I lost ten billion zillion dollars fixing the car the first two years I had it.

Anyway, every morning I got into my car, my Massachusetts state inspection sticker glared at me with its “4.” It didn’t start out as a glare.

On April 1^st, I got into my car and the sticker said, “Hey, just a friendly reminder. I need to be updated by month’s end. No worries.”

On April 15^th, I got into my car and the sticker said, “Hi. It’s me again. I know I spoke to you on April 1^st, but it’s now the 15^th and I need to be updated by month’s end. You might want take that smart phone you have and put “Get car inspected” on a To Do list. Let’s make sure we dot our I’s and cross out T’s, okay?”

On April 22^nd, I got into my car and the sticker said, “Jean Marie Szymczak, I need to be updated by month’s end. You ONLY have EIGHT MORE days to get your car inspected. You know, when you got that pedicure last Saturday, you could have updated me instead. Priorities? Hello?” (I knew I was in trouble when my middle name and uppercase text were used.)

Today, I got into my car and the sticker said, “Oh. My. God. If you don’t get me inspected, I’ll be illegal tomorrow!!!!!! Do you REALLY want me to be illegal?????? What will I tell MY friends and family? I can’t believe I’ve stuck to your window for the last year and you can treat me like I’m just a piece of plastic with some glue on my ass. I hate you!!!!! Well, you know, I really love you!!! But, now I really hate you!!!!!”

I was beginning to think my sticker was female and going through “mentalpause” just like me.

Iz was cough-cough sick today. I brought her to work with me where my co-workers marveled at how quiet she was. I kept saying, “Well, she’s ten going on twenty.” And she was, no lie!

Since I knew her “Oh, I will have so much fun at Mom’s work” attitude would wane after lunch, I left work early with her and decided that I needed to show my Massachusetts state inspection sticker some love instead of grumbling under my breath, “What an unbelievable crazy bitch!”

After getting the prerequisite $29 out of the ATM machine (well, $40 because you know there’s that whole multiples of $20 thingie), Iz and I headed to the garage.  Of course, Iz said, “Why is it $29? Why don’t they just make it $30?” Right, really?

I had always gone to a small garage in Littleton, the town that’s next to me. They weren’t convenient, but there was something I really liked about a garage with a café attached to it. And they were always very nice.

I parked the car in the lot. I said to Iz, “Wait here,” which was met with “How long will this take? What are they going to do? And, can I have someone sleepover this weekend?” I walked into the garage where a guy was telling the mechanic, seated in a chair behind a desk, about some mysterious blue or black smoke that was coming out of his car…in GREAT detail.

I did an internal eye roll. I saw that there was another man waiting against the wall away from the desk. As the blue-black smoke guy babbled on, I said to myself, ““Oh. My. God. If I don’t get my car inspected, I’ll be illegal tomorrow!!!!!!”

When the blue-black smoke guy left, deciding that he should leave his car on Thursday and could not leave it now, the mechanic asked, “What can I do for you?” I turned toward the Man Waiting Against the Wall and asked, “Are you all set?” He said, “I’m just here for an inspection.” I said to the mechanic, “Please put me in line behind him.”

I went back to my car to wait. The Man Waiting Against the Wall drove his car in. Iz asked again “How long will this take? What are they going to do? And, can I have someone sleepover this weekend?” I countered with, “Let’s turn up the Earth, Wind, and Fire!”

In five minutes, the mechanic backed out the Man Waiting Against the Wall’s car, and the Man Waiting Against the Wall drove off. He walked toward us and said, “I’ll drive it in for you.” Iz and I got out of the car, relinquished the keys, and walked into the garage. Iz said, “Ooooooo, it smells in here.”

The mechanic started his battery of tests. He turned on all the buttons, pressed everything he could possibly press, jacked up the car, and then looked at the back tires. When I saw him do that, I said defensively, “Oh, those are new!”

He went around to the front. I saw him checking out the front tires.  He looked very seriously at the tires and then he looked up at me and said, “These are not good.” I asked, “How NOT good are they?” He said, “Like failure not good.”

Given the week, month, and year I had, I just babbled, “Uh. I need a new dryer, and now I need new tires.” I wanted to cry, because the last few months, it  felt like Life only wanted a financial piece of me. I was never going to get ahead. I stopped myself from babbling further and from crying. I said, “Ok. How many days do I have to fix this?”

He went over to the inspection machine. He smiled. And then he said, “I passed you.” I said, “Thank you…so MUCH.”

I knew I would get new tires this weekend. I knew, and I think he knew, that I didn’t need the added stress of the “R” sticker…on many levels. He then said, “I’ll back it out for you.”

When he got out of the car, I said again, “Thank you so much. Hug.” I meant the “Hug” comment virtually. He said without skipping a beat, “Do you need a hug? I’ll give you a hug!” I walked toward him and we hugged. It’s was the best hug I’ve had in a while. Most people leave their mechanic in the red. I left totally in the black.

Today is what would have been my Mom’s 77^th birthday. This time of year is always tough for me with her birthday, Mother’s Day, and then my birthday. It’s a day of profound loss, but, today, my mechanic gave me a profound gift. He showed me compassion and unconditional love by passing me. The important thing I am reminded of today is that the world is still full of compassionate and loving people, especially people who I might not even know. Even though my Mom’s not here, she is…in the spirit of others.

This blog is dedicated to those who blog-love me most: Brenda-SteveFinns. LisaSzy. Suze. NancyS. ♥

When the Light Seems Dim…

It’s good to have a friend like Brenda, who makes you feel the sunshine.



♥

Food is Love

Recently, I posted on my Facebook page that I was preparing myself for Nathan’s departure for college. I questioned if I was ready for it. I answered, “No, not at all.”

I’d add it to a long list of life’s not readys. Was I ready for the death of Disco? (You might not ever get rich but let me tell ya it's better than digging a ditch!) No. Was I ready for the revamped Boston Garden? No. Was I ready to become a second-time Mom at the age of 40? No. Though I guess that’s what life was really about; it was about being ready or not, because eventually it all came if you were ready or not.

One of my friends, whose daughter just graduated, replied to my posting. She asked, “Is your living room filled with college stuff yet?” I looked at my living room. In it was a couch, two chairs, two tables, a china cabinet, and a bookcase.

There were no signs of college life in my faux Victorian period living room. There were signs that my carpet needed vacuuming. There were signs that my bookcase and tables needed to be dusted; however, there were no hints that I had an 18-year-old who was going off to college shortly.

I wanted to respond to my friend's post but what would I say? “Err, no. When should I expect ICO (Identified College Objects) in my living room?" I hesitated and hesitation led to doubt. Was I doing something wrong in regard to Nathan's college preparation because I had no ICOs in my living room?

I pondered. I remember packing everything and the kitchen sink when I went to college; I even painfully remember wondering how I would survive without being with my Mom and my cats, Jerry, Patches, and Little Red. I reminded myself that my friend had a daughter.

I then said to myself, “18-year-old girls are from Bed, Bath, and Beyond; 18-year-old boys are from “Subway.” Some day the girls would be from Venus and the men would be from Mars. But, in the scheme of going away to college, this didn't seem to apply yet; in college, everyone was on the same page of Cosmos -- no parents, universal domination for all!

The girls needed the storage containers, the matching comforters and sheets, and the framed vintage movie posters to adorn their walls. The guys needed food. And, that’s all the guys really needed.

If the World ended tomorrow, I knew cockroaches would survive. I know that Nathan hoped that Subway would survive any nuclear disaster. I'm sure he could deal with the cockroaches as long as he had Subway.

At that point, I questioned Nathan. “Did you get a list of things you need from school.” He answered, “Yep.”

I asked, “Well, do we need to go shopping.” He answered, “Nope.” I asked, “But, you need things?” He answered, “Yep,” and then he finally, uncharacteristically, eked out a huge amount of information and said, “Dad and I are getting that stuff.”

I felt a bit gypped in the “Son Going to College” portion of my life. Besides paying for it, I wanted to be in the “Son Going to College” loop somehow. I called Nathan’s Dad to confirm that Nathan was going to be ready and not a not.

I went over the mental list in my head with his Dad. TV? He said that Nathan would have his new laptop and bring his large monitor; he could watch all his favorite shows on Hulu. Clothes? He was taking Nathan shopping for clothes. Refrigerator? He said, “Oh, you can buy that.”

I was elated that I was now a cog in “Son Going to College” wheel. Somehow buying a refrigerator became a mission not a consumer purchase. Of course, every mission has its failures and every cog gets worn down; I said to Nathan, “I’m getting you a refrigerator,” and he responded, “I don’t need one.”

As the air seeped out of my deflating tire, I asked, “But, but, but… [think fast, Mom], wouldn’t it be good to keep some cold drinks in your room?” Nathan pondered my suggestion. He answered, “Well, I guess so,” and I was a newly carved cog in the wheel again and the mission was not aborted.

On Saturday, I went to Target to search for the perfect refrigerator. Nathan said that he preferred black to white. Since Nathan’s room looked like every hurricane in history had passed through it, I wondered why he was now getting picky when it came to décor; however, I shied away from asking not wanting to receive an abort from “Son Going to College” mission.

I was probably taking it far too seriously; however, this “Son Going to College” mission was near and dear to my heart. I knew that many had done it before me, but I had never done it before; in my life, I was Neil Armstrong walking on a college campus for the first time.

Once at Target, I texted Nathan with “Big refrigerator?” and “Or small refrigerator?” with corresponding pictures. Given that I knew he wasn’t gung ho on the refrigerator from the start, I guessed his answer would be “small.” I guessed right.

I then texted him asking him if he wanted a white board for his dorm room. Of course, two seconds after texting this, I realized, “OMG, that’s so before cell phones.” He asked, “Why do I need one of those?”

I then tried to gracefully and comically recover from my “I’ve No Clue What It’s Like Having a Son Going to College in 2011” text. I answered, “Oh, we used to have them in college. But that was when dinosaurs roamed the Earth and we had no texting via cell phones.” He replied, “I’ll pass.”

After lifting what must have been a 100-pound 1.8 cubic chrome (in absence of black) refrigerator into my cart, I found myself in the food aisles. Somewhere between dairy and frozen foods, I determined that in absence of a matching comforter and sheets, I could give Nathan a “If the World Ends Tomorrow” or “I Have the Munchies After My First Off Campus Keg Party” food supply. After all, that’s what 18-year-old boys want – food!

As I strolled through the aisles, I thought about my friend’s question. Boys were so different from girls; I’m sure that when Iz goes to college, I will have a living room and family room full of matching comfortors, coordinating bins, and vintage movie posters. Nathan would be going to college with his clothes in a green trash bag, his computer, a long board (no bike for school; only a long board for which the campus had many racks!), and a refrigerator.

What I was getting for him, all seemed too little; however, it retrospect, it was all that he needed. For some reason, reasons that probably many parents know, I needed to give him more. So, I threw into my cart a huge box of Pepperidge Farm goldfish, two 42 ounce bags of M&Ms, 24 Hershey bars, and three bags of Oreo Double Stuff cookies.

I texted Nathan. I asked, “Do you like trail mix?” He responded, “Stop buying me stuff!”

It was true. Nathan would be going to college with all he had on his back and not much more. From his tone, it would certainly now be without trail mix!

In that moment, I was so proud of him yet I felt sad, because I felt that the food I was buying was all that I could really give to him right now. He was an adult who was going to handle it all on his own. But, in a way, he was too young to understand what the food meant to me.

When I was little, my Mom was a stay-at-home Mom until I was in first grade. At that point, she went back to work and worked only every other weekend. While my Dad did his best to be Mr. Mom, making us macaroni and cheese or kielbasa with beans for dinner, he lacked in the nurturing department. I remember tucking my sister in those nights and reading her Richard Scary’s “What Do People Do All Day?”

For lunches, my Dad was off duty. My sister loved peanut butter and jelly. Even though my sister was only 16 months younger than me, I always felt I needed to take care of her; I slathered on the jelly and the peanut butter.

Years later, she would tell me that I put on way too much jelly and peanut butter on my sandwiches. It was then I recalled my Mother telling me that she felt her Mom showed love using food. “Food was love,” my Mom used to say.

As I stood there in Target, I glanced at the refrigerator and then at the goldfish, Oreos, Hershey bars, and M&Ms. I smiled. I reminded myself that before Nathan left for college, I’d be sure to buy him a Subway gift card, because there was one near his campus. Good or bad, food was love and sometimes the only thing you felt you had to give. ♥

I Just Called to Say...

It’s only a week until Nathan, my eighteen-year-old son, leaves for college. I thought this last week might be about us spending a little more time together; however, I think that the Mom in me was playing some sort of joke on me. Of course, I could have said to him, “I need you to be home, so I can get used to you not being here,” but, seriously, did that make any sense? Nope.

Earlier in the week, Nathan texted me. “Can I go to Long Island from the 19th through the 24th? I love you.” Iz, my eight-year-old daughter, always called me “Mumma” and used her baby voice when she wanted something from me. For Nathan, it was stronger, because he knew I loved him and wanted him to do what he wanted to do for the most part, unlike his Dad.

His Dad had long been the bad cop. I had long been the good cop; however, I think when looking back, that as the good cop, I was not taken advantage of. As the good cop, I received more information, except where it concerned girls, and, most importantly, I earned most trust from Nathan.

As parents, I know we’re supposed to lay down the law. In hindsight, I had always wished I could share more with my parents. I never wanted Nathan and I to be “friends,” but I did want him to know that he could tell me most anything.

The “anything” might upset me. But, I’d always state my position. I'd be supportive in the context of my position, and let him know that no matter what I was always here for him, even if it meant driving to some location late at night, because he couldn’t drive.

When I looked at Nathan’s text, I was a bit disappointed. But then, some switch must have turned on in my 5’10” body. The switch was labeled “Time to Let Go.” I texted him and said, “K.”

It was funny, because while I was feeling the loss of my little boy, I felt I was gaining a wonderful new man in my life. He was going to drive his ’00 RAV, which just rolled 190K miles, to New London, CT and then take a high speed ferry to Long Island. How did I know the mileage on Nathan’s car?

Last night, when he left to go sleep over so-and-so’s house, because there are "only TWO weeks left,” which was the excuse given as to why he couldn’t stay home, I asked, “How’s the RAV running?" I then quickly asked, "What’s the mileage now?” He responded enthusiastically, “Good. It just rolled 190K!”

He seemed excited at the mileage. He was driving a car that my Dad bought in 1999, which I inherited in 2000 with 10K miles on it. Given that he was leaving soon, I had told him I was taking him off my car insurance.

He immediately said, “What? Are you getting rid of the RAV?” I laughed and said, “No. I’m going to save $1500 while you’re away. When you come home, a phone call gets you back in the RAV.” He said, “Oh, okay, because me and the RAV are going places!”

I loved that he loved the RAV, a ten year old car that for all intents and purposes had seen much better Kelly Blue Book days, but was now only seeing the best days of its life. Nathan loved it so much, a car that belonged to a man he didn’t really know at all but still loved. It warmed my heart in a way, because it had been the very same way I had felt about my father, his grandfather.

I texted Nathan today and asked him what time he’d be leaving for Long Island. He said 4pm. I texted him back and told him that I transferred $100 into his account.

He said, “Stop giving me money!” I had to laugh, because against bad cop’s wishes (his Dad), I had been paying for his gas all Summer. I told him that it was vacation money and that he should buy flowers for his hostess. Though, I’m sure it’ll be spent on Arizona Iced Tea, Dunkin Donuts, and pizza.

I texted him and said, “Text me when you get there.” He said, “Just text me at 7pm. I’m a forgetful creature.” I said, “Only one more week of being forgetful. Then you have to start remembering a lot!”

After picking Iz up at 5:30, shopping for groceries, feeding cats, and cleaning litter boxes, my phone meowed. I saw Nathan was calling and was a bit concerned that something was amiss. I answered and Nathan said, “I’m in New London. I’ll be in Long Island around 8pm.” I said, “Okay, I’ll call you at 9pm.” He said, “Okay.”

He was “forgetful,” but he had called me to tell me where he was. I never asked him to. While he was going away to college, it was good to know in this small window before college that he still felt that I was his Mom and he owed some explanation.

When he called initially, a Stevie Wonder song queued in my head. By the time my conversation with Nate was over, I realized that “I just called to say I’m in New London,” meant so much more. Sometimes "I'm in New London" meant "I love you. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart." ♥

In Your Eyes

Life is funny. That’s so trite; however, today I realized that while life can be humdrum and challenging, it can also hand you these little glimmers that sparkle. And, the light from those sparkles can always guide you through the darkest tunnel.

Recently, I felt like I had been going through a dark tunnel. I was ready to write a post called “It’s Always Something.” But, I knew I had to write about a Something, because today reminded me that this something was a "good" always.

Life gives big gifts. But, every now then, Life puts you in an unexpected place, where you might expect to see nothing you expect. It might show you a spectacular sunrise, let you find a crumpled-up $5 bill in the pocket of your jeans when you thought you had no money, or enable you to buy your shirt for 50% off when you didn’t even know it was on sale.

My son, Nathan, will be off to college in two weeks. Sometimes I can’t believe it. Although, with his job, his car, and his social life, I don’t get to see him a lot anyway; in hindsight, it’s probably good preparation for the freshman college year to come.

When Nathan turned 18, and he never looked back. In a way, I was glad my introverted “Just Wants to Stay Home and Play X-box” had become the extroverted “Most Changed,” which his Senior classmates in high school had voted him. But, recently, when I received a text message that said, “Can I stay at Sam’s tonight? I love you,” it was with great regret I said, “Sure. That’s fine.”

I then asked, “Can you at least send me a picture of you, because I forget what you look like?” Of course, even if Nathan wasn’t the extrovert I was, he had my sense of humor. In under ten seconds, I received this:



When I was lucky enough to see Nathan for an hour or more, I was amazed at who he had become. Usually, I'd find him on his bed with his X-box controller and Thunderbolt, our cat, in his lap or stretched out on the sofa eating his two bagels with cream cheese while watching “House.” It was then that I looked at this handsome 6’4” blonde and blue-eyed son of mine and heard a tiny voice that said, “Jeez. I remember when he only took up one third of the sofa! Who is this wonderful man and where did he come from?!”

Recently, when I did happen to catch a glimpse of Nathan, he sparkled at me. When I looked at him, he was the flashlight in my dark tunnel. He constantly reminded me that whenever it was something, he and his sister were my one and only thing; when I looked at either of them, I saw light even when it was dark.

Today, Iz and I headed off to Crane Beach in our red VW bug. Some of you know that I don’t own a red VW bug, but for a few weeks now, I will. I love VWs, but since April, I think VWs stink.

I own an EOS. The part my car currently needs (window motor) is “nationally” backordered. But, I have to pay for a rental (ironically, the bug, which I like to call "rental car irony"), because VW can’t keep up with supply and demand!

Anyway, Iz and I parked in the Crane Beach lot and unloaded our cooler, her beach toys, my beach chair, and our beach tote. It’s funny how I end up with the cooler, the chair, and the tote and Iz only ends up with the toys. It’s never a fair division of labor when you have kids, is it?! And, it never will be, but you accept that, and you know you will always love it, even when your back is breaking.

After we were sure we had everything, we began our trek toward the beach. Iz followed behind me, but then she sped up and grasped my hand. When I felt her firm grip, I looked down at her.

She smiled up at me. I looked into her big beautiful brown eyes, which were definitely something she got from her Dad. They were one of the things I loved about him way back when; they were like a tiger’s eye.

Just then, everything started to sparkle around Iz. It was as if there was no one else in the parking lot except for us; I was Jodie Foster and Iz was David Morse in the movie, “Contact.” I knew that Life had given me a huge gift in this girl and in my son, Nathan.

I looked long and hard at her, and I found myself truly amazed that she was mine, all mine, a beautiful gift sans the bow. As we walked through the parking lot, she never let go of my hand. While it seemed like Life hadn’t been going my way lately, Life reminded me that I had everything going for me and through it all, Iz was always going to be holding my hand and that Nathan would always be loving me even if he wasn't there. ♥

Follow Your Heart

I lost my dog, Monty, in May to lymphoma. It was a tough loss, so tough that I thought I’d never want another dog again. As they say, never say never.

After some time, I thought the phantom Monty pains would subside. Some of the pain was the lack of barking when I pulled in the driveway, the not needing to head out at 11pm for a water-the-old-Xmas-tree-that-was-still-in-the-backyard pee before bedtime, and walking past the box of peanut-shaped peanut butter bones in the pet aisle without tossing one into my carriage. Every day I wondered, “Will I ever forget what Monty felt like?”

Every time, I passed a dog, my heart beat Monty. It could be a pug, a breed I was never fond of, or it could be a mutt with one erect ear, one floppy ear, a curly tail, and a long lanky body with short legs that made it look like it was the dog owned exclusively by Mr. Potato Head. All dogs led to the fact that I no longer had one.

When I periodically needed a break at work from trunk groups and call detail records, I’d resort to surfing the Internet. If stressed, I’d go right for shoes at http://www.zappos.com/; uncontrary to popular opinion, I do have quite a few pairs of shoes. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t really buy a lot; all of my shoes are what I like to call a “collection” that I’ve amassed over a period of years.

Usually, I spend 20 minutes perusing the shoes. I find a few pair of shoes I like, and then I put them in my “cart.” But, I usually never end up buying them; it’s a virtual shop that soothes the savage shoe shopping beast, because by the time I click “X” on my browser window, I realize that I want them more than I need them.

Last month, given a very canine state of mind, I passed www.zappos.com and hoped to scratch an itch (not caused by a flea bite) at http://www.petfinder.com/. Every day at lunch, I found myself typing “dog,” “Corgi,” and my zipcode in the Advanced Search box. Instead of adding the Corgi-Chihuahua or the Corgi-Jack Russell mix to my cart, I’d make the dog a “Favorite” via my web browser.

When someone would enter my office, I’d immediately click “X” on my browser window. I don’t know why, but part of me felt like I was looking at something I shouldn’t be. It wasn’t like I didn’t walk in on people all the time at work looking at golf clubs, used cars, or Facebook; it felt like I was cheating on Monty. This led me to start calling what I was viewing “dog porn.”

One day, one of my friends caught me by surprise when I was looking at a Corgi-Dachshund mix wearing a blue plaid sweater vest whose name happened to be Stewart. He asked, “Are you looking at dogs?” I said, “Shhh. It’s my dog porn!” He looked at me strangely and then laughed at me just like he always does.

He left and then I happened upon a Corgi-You’reGuessIsAsGoodAsMine mix named Spencer. I had looked at about as many dogs as I had shoes in that month. As Spencer sat there smiling at me, he said, “I’m Monty but without all that barking.”

I thought, “This is my dog!” I went home that night, and that’s when I made one of my biggest parenting mistakes. After a stressful day of work, I grabbed a glass of wine, parked myself in front of my desk, and began to look at dog porn, particularly Spencer.

I sat there totally enamored of this pooch. Deep in thought, I wondered what it would be like to have Spencer sitting next to me, to run my hand down his soft-looking coat, or to take him for a drive around the block. Suddenly, I heard a thud.

Iz had landed at the top of the stairs. I had to hide my dog porn, but there was no time! In under three seconds, Iz was staring at my laptop saying, “He’s so cute! Can we get him?”

If anyone knows my daughter, you know that she is my “mini me.” She likes everything I like, she likes to do everything I like to do, and we share a love of all creatures great and small.

I said to her, “Ahhhhhhhhh, well.” She said, “Oh, please, Mumma.” In my defense, she pulls out the “Mumma” card when she wants something.

I sat there and pondered it all. I had really missed having a dog, and I know she did, too. With a second glass of wine and Iz on my lap, it seemed like the right thing to do as we filled out the adoption application.

I hit “Send.” I said, “Well, we’ll have to wait and see.” Iz said, “I think he’s great. We’ll call him Spence!”

The next day, I received an email from Spence's dog rescue asking us if we’d like to come meet Spence. No longer an under-the-influence Mumma, I thought, “Okay, this is it. I am getting a dog.” We want a dog, so we’re going to get one.

I arranged a time that Iz and I could meet Spence, which was the next day. We had to drive all the way to Quincy, but Spence was worth it. Iz was all excited, but in the scheme of things, she and I were the only ones who were excited when we heard from friends and family things like “Life is easier without a dog.”

That morning, I felt a huge wave of emotions. Were the critics right? Or, was what I felt in my heart right? I hemmed and hawed over whether I should subject Iz to anymore “dog talk.” She sensed this that morning and said, “Mom, follow your heart. It’s okay if you say no.”Amazed by my 8-year-old’s wisdom, I chose to follow my heart and ignored everything my head was saying to me.

Iz and I pressed on and drove to Quincy to meet Spence as planned. We found our way to his house, knocked on the door, and he came bounding out knocking Iz flat on her back, and licked her into a giggling frenzy. Spence’s foster Mom told us she had to run an errand and handed us and leash. She asked, “Would you like to take him for a walk?”

Iz and I left with Spence in hand. I finally knew how it felt to drive him. He handled pretty smoothly though was a bit jerky in places due to still being a wild and crazy pup.

When we arrived back at Spence’s house, we entered the backyard. Spence’s foster Mom showed us how he like to jump at the water coming out the garden hose. Spence was clearly a lovely and talented guy, and then I suddenly realized something was terribly wrong when Iz hugged him.

Spence had so much energy and love; so did Iz. I had a lot of love, but at this point in my life, did I have enough energy and, most importantly, the time for Spence.

Standing there wanting so much to make him ours yet wanting so much to make a good decision, I had no idea what to do. I asked, “You still need to get his health certificate, right?” She said, “No. I have it. You can take him home with you now.”

I said, “Oh. I’m unprepared,” because I knew that the fact that Iz and I loved him was good, but it wasn’t everything. She said, “Go home and think about it.” I said, “We will. I’ll e-mail you tomorrow.”

When Iz and I got into the car, she said, “Mom, he’s great.” I said, “Yes, He is wonderful.” He hadn’t barked once the whole time we were there, he loved to be touched (Monty didn’t like to be picked up or have his hindquarters touched), and he just seemed to be the “woof” to our “meow.”

As we drove home, I recalled how I acquired Monty. It’s was 2000, I was terribly lonely yet in a relationship, and my father was a few short weeks away from dying of colon cancer. I was at the mall one night, and I thought right before I was about to leave, “I need to go to the pet store. If they have a Corgi, I’m getting it.” And, that’s how Monty came into my life.

Distressed at not knowing what to do and more so for having drawn Iz into my web of emotional dysfunction, I said to Iz, “Let’s go see my Mom and Dad.” We ended up in my hometown, went to Duck Soup to buy coffee, and then went to the cemetery to visit with my Mom and Dad. Finally, we headed to the street I grew up on so Iz could play at my elementary school playground and see the house I lived in.

It’s true. Kids do see dead people; okay, well, most kids don’t see dead people, but they see things that most of us don’t. Every 30 minutes or so, Iz asked, “So, have you decided about Spence?”

It was so hard to keep putting her off. And, I felt so guilty for not being able to give her an answer. I, being the parent, should have a well-thought out answer to her question. But, I didn’t.

As the time passed, I felt more confused and more guilty that I had brought Iz along for this ride. My intentions has been good, but I was constantly questioning my intentions. When I put Iz to bed that night she asked, “Have you decided?” I said, “No.” She kissed me good night, and I knew I had to make a decision.

After she fell asleep, I pondered the pros and the cons. Unfortunately, there were more cons than pros, not because of the dog, but because of my life. I knew I couldn’t give such a vibrant guy the vibrant existence he deserved; Monty should have had far more outdoor time than he did. And, ultimately, I knew Spence was a furry band-aid for the extreme loneliness I had felt every day for many years.

I sat down at my laptop. I’m sure a sighed a million sighs. And, I wrote the following note to Spence’s foster Mom:

It with a very heavy heart that I write this, but I think I'm doing the right thing for primarily Spencer and then for myself. I *love* Spencer, though the more and more I played with him today, the more and more I realized how much attention he needed. We have no "dog parks" nearby, and I work full-time.

As I drove home, I realized I loved Spencer so much that I didn't want such a vibrant dog to be stuck snoozing inside the house by the backdoor every day. Monty had a good life with us, but I think he snoozed more by the back door than was out playing and romping. I also realized that I was getting a dog because I was lonely, and I had to address that issue first rather than apply a lovely furry band-aid.

I hope that's all not too much emotional information, but I wanted you not to think me crazy for not taking such a WONDERFUL dog, and I wanted to make the best decision. I wish I had worked out these issues before I went to see Spencer for Spencer's sake and my daughter's, but *alas much of wisdom is gained in retrospect.

*That was something my Mom had actually written in a letter to my cousin, Laura, who became a Mom at 18, about parenting; fortunately, it came back to haunt me, not making me feel as badly as I might have for bringing Iz along on my emotional canine ride.

Spence’s foster Mom wrote me back saying that she had wished all people made such informed decisions when it came to pets. While that was nice to hear, it didn’t make me feel any better. I wanted Spence, and I knew Iz did, too; it felt like a lose-lose situation.

Though in retrospect, as my Mom had said, seeing Spence was the right thing to do, but letting him go was the right thing to do, too. I had to go through the emotional motions; that was a win-win, though I still wished I hadn’t involved Iz. I knew the most important thing for me, and eventually for Iz too, was to get unlonely instead of applying a furry band-aid to a gaping heart wound.

The next morning, Iz asked me about Spence again. I looked at her and before I said anything, she began to cry, because she could see a person who had loved and had already felt that loss. We both cried together; I told her how sorry I was, and that we’d get a dog when the time was right, though I knew I still had a lot to go through to make the time right.

I think you realize you’re a good parent when you know that you’re not a perfect parent. I also think a pinnacle point in any parent-child relationship is when a child realizes that the parent is not perfect either. Iz didn’t understand my reluctance about Spence, but she understood that I wasn’t perfect, and she still loved me anyway even when I had followed my heart. ♥

(A few days later, I checked Spencer's page on www.petfinder.com. He was still smiling at me; good doggie! He was now titled "Spencer, a newly adopted dog." He found a home; good doggie! ♥)