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Let me tell you about this girl I know. She's kind of a witch with a 'b'. She says horrible things like "Obviously you can't get your stuff together and people are going to know what a failure you are." or "If you stop obsessing about being perfect it is because you are just giving up on yourself. Once you do that, you are going to be a fat slob with no family and no friends. Anyone who tells you that you are okay like you are is a liar and just waiting for you to be weak." She's really a downer and pretty horrible. I've tried to distance myself from her for a long time and even have tried to shut her up. She's so damn persistent. Obviously, she is me.
This is a pretty dark skeleton in my closet that only a couple people know about - well, until now. Getting this out in the open just proves that I am not perfect, and not just in a "oh, I get split ends too!" kind of way. It's in a messed up in the head, working on my stuff, lots of baggage kind of way. Not only that, but this is the one thing I hide most from Natalia. Why? Because I don't want her to somehow think it's okay to talk smack about herself the way I do. She's supposed to be a better version of me - not this "filled with sawdust and vanity" kind of me.
Some people blame the media for posting unrealistic and photo-shopped images of women, airbrushed to perfection, but I know better. I don't want to be perfect because I want to be camera ready. I want to be perfect because I live with the constant fear that if I'm not, I will be rejected. It's exhausting and often gets the better of me. I'm writing about this now because I am up by 10 pounds and need a haircut. I've decided to name my hateful inner voice Jodi because I don't want it to really be me who says all this stuff. Jodi will not shut up about the 10 pounds and what a failure I am because of it. The sane me knows that it really has nothing to do with 10 pounds. I've had a rough summer and feel more than a little out of control. I know I am still smaller than the national average, but I don't compare myself to the national average. I compare myself to perfection - as unrealistic as I know that is.
As a total hypocrite, I preach on about this aspect of parenting as "do as I say, not as I do." Natalia is too young for me to explain this to her and I am hoping that knowing her family has her back and loves her, faults and all, will dissuade her inner Jodi from wreaking havoc like she does for me. I am constantly using little "Full House Monologues" to tell Natalia that she should be real, not perfect. I tell her things like "Just because people don't like strawberry ice cream doesn't make strawberry ice cream bad. It just means it isn't for everyone." and "You're supposed to make mistakes. It's okay, I love you for the whole package, not just the 'right' stuff." Saying this to myself was supposed to be my summer homework while a took a few months off of therapy. I'm failing miserably, to Jodi's delight.
So what's the point of this blog? Eventually Natalia will read it and know that I am not perfect. That sounds scary to me because I'm afraid I'll lose some street cred with her. My sane part (yes, it is in there) tells me that showing Natalia I have BIG faults, make BIG mistakes and have REAL struggles will make her willing to cut herself some slack. On some cosmic parent/child level, Natalia wants to be just like me and I want her to be kind of like me - just the neat and understanding parts of me. Eventually I will put into practice this show and tell of faults and my Jodi that hides under the surface, so she'll know that everyone has their own set of demons. Everyone has imperfections and baggage and she needs to learn to accept all of herself. Even the ugly parts. I hope she figures out that God loves the whole gestalt, so maybe I can learn from her how to put that in effect. I will be this Yoda Jodi master who will shut that bitch up, or at least quiet her down to something less significant. Laying this out means that I am allowing people to see me as I really am, not this facade that I try and keep up. It just walls me off.
So here is to me being painfully honest and vulnerable. Here is to giving Natalia a chance to know all of me, so when my true colors show out (they always do) she won't be blown away by the realization she didn't know me like she thought she did. That is way more painful sounding than having a mommy with a twisted self image and enough crazy to name her alter ego. Lastly, here is to her being a better version of me.
This summer has been quite the eye opening experience for all of us here. We have learned to deal with loss as a family, Natalia turned into quite the swimmer (only by way of goggles, of course), and we have said goodbye to one dog while welcoming in a new dog to our family. The next step will be her adventures in a new school, but I'll get to that in another post.
The thing that has Jeremy and I shell shocked is how Natalia would rather spend time with her friends than hang with he and myself. I know! At age 8 and she has already figured out that her friends are more her style. Every week is the same thing: "I don't want to go to Bodies in Motion (daycare), I want to just be with my friends." You are probably asking the same question I am - "um, why don't you have friends at Bodies in Motion?" Word of advice, don't ask that question. It has a lengthy and dramatic answer which is circular in nature and never really answers the question. I don't let it stress me because every time I've picked her up, another girl is trying to give her "creepy hugs" goodbye. Not to mention I've watched her at play with her friend and can attest that she is no social leper. I have to remember that all this is her perception, her world, not my adult view. Still, she's fine.
So this summer has been play dates (that's what it is called now as opposed to just playing with friends), sleep overs, swim overs, and all in all just ditching Jeremy and I. It is kind of nice to go to a barbecue and let the kids run and almost kill each other while we have adult talk with adult beverages, but kind of weird at the same time. It's a far cry from the days of a toddler hanging on our arms and every word.
Speaking of learning new adult things, Natalia's animal kingdom view was broadened greatly yesterday. Imagine this summer picture, if you will: Warm day, kids running and playing through the house and and on the trampoline, hot dogs, adult drinks and a couple of goofy labs running around just to round out this scene. Well wouldn't you know that these labs were both male and trying to one up each other. Now when I say one up each other, I really mean mount each other. Yep. Every chance they could get. Shameless.
A couple of times Jeremy and I were able to redirect Natalia's attention or she simply was not around to see this Discovery Channel display. Of course, it is when we are all gathered around in the living room getting ready to head off to the neighborhood pool that those guys go at it. They go at it in front of a gigantic window with fascinated 8 year old eyes to behold this non-procreational glory. Natalia shouts to the room "Look at the dogs playing? What are they doing? It looks like that one is doing push ups on the other one!" It was at this moment Natalia gets down on the floor to show us her version of downward dog push ups. I haven't laughed that hard in weeks. It really needed no further explanation. I'll let her keep that exercise explanation of alpha males in the dog world.
So now we are at the end of summer. Natalia has pulled away from us and grown into the next shoe size. She has loved and said goodbye to her dog Chance, and welcomed into our home Miley (no, not like the Cyrus). She's wiped out on the tube pulled behind the boat and wanted to go back for more. It's harder and harder to get a picture of her face, because she is always heading off in the right direction. Sometimes I wish this independence would translate into her finding her own snacks or making her own breakfast, but really, what would I have left?
Because the time has flown by so quickly, I have lightened up a bit. Soon she will be locking the bathroom door and we will no longer have our singing competition while drying her hair. The dog will be in our house longer than she will at this point. One day she will figure out that those weren't push ups after all. It will probably be some other kid on a playground since I have already had the human procreation speech once and that was enough. Still, I have those time when I creep into her room once she is asleep and see the baby that I held in my arms 8 years ago and can smell her sweaty, drooliness that will never change. Summer is going to be over, but I am so ready for the next thing - even if all my pictures of her are of the back of her head.
So I'm sure you didn't get the formal press release, but Natalia turned 8 last week. I know, I know. How could you have missed it with the national holiday, parade and half off at Starbucks, but it has come and gone. Yet we are still in the throws of celebration here in Lacowland. As I speak I am typing on a monstrosity of a laptop so Jeremy can labor through millions of pictures and videos to make our annual birthday homage to Natalia. When I put it that way it does sound rather creepy, but we do make a video.
I so look forward to this video every year because I get to reflect back on how much fun we have had and how much my little boogerface has grown up. Usually by now I have taken more time to watch her other videos and cry those proud mama tears because my baby is so cute and growin' up so darn fast. I'll do that later. I know I have whined about some sassiness so I am going to take this opportunity to be all Pollyanna and reflect on the fabulous things that you just can't get out of the baby/toddler years. Deep sigh- and reflection.....
1. Cussing accountability. She knows the words, they spew out of my mouth like pea green exorcist vomit when I get pulled over and not only does she call me out on it, but she tells daddy. Tonight I only made the "shhhh" noise when I burnt dinner. She still told daddy.
2. Girl talk. We talk about nails, hair, shopping, working out, what's going on with her friends, what's going on with my friends. These are real conversations now with a real and very opinionated person. It's nice.
3. She showers herself. This may seem like no big deal, but now I get to cruise Pinterest for 10 minutes and I am pretty sure she will get the shampoo rinsed out of her hair. We still get to bond while I blow dry her hair. It's a test of who can out-sing whom over the loud hum of the hairdryer. We both have excellent range and voices that can carry all the way to the garage. Don't let Jeremy fool you. He loves it.
4. She thinks she knows more than I do and that she doesn't need me, sort of. This is the hardest thing to swallow this past year, but I am determined to embrace it and this is why: She wants to be independant, so we are doing something right. Last night I explained to her what a "mean" mommy really was and that she needed to think of another way to explain her frustrations with me. Tonight she thought of another way (of course). She called me into her room after Jeremy put her to bed to tell me that when she says I am "mean", she really means that I am just "strict". Okay. I can handle that. Then she told me the Icy Hot I put on my neck was burning her nostrils and that she wanted me to get out of her room, but to check on her later.
5. She's happy.
I am starting to see a few personality trends that I don't think will go away for a while. I am picturing a high school age girl crying during homework and singing while blow drying her hair. I'm sure I am going to be "mean" for a few more years and that Jeremy and I could still say the EXACT same thing and she would only argue with me. Then again no one in the family seems to have the same gravitational pull like I do either, so it all evens out. I can't even go to the bathroom without it ending up being a family event. Even the dog makes an appearance. I'll get a book and hide out in Natalia's room in the mommy chair because it is the least used room in the house and all of a sudden every one (including the dog) is in her room rolling on the bed, laughing, barking, then yelling at the dog, then asking me questions. I really only get about 15 minute of hiding before they seek me out.
So this leaves my relationship with Natalia in a strange place. Sometimes I am the person that she can't stand and can't be without. I know it has her just as baffled as it does me and I have enough love to carry both of us through the confusion. All I know is that I like her a lot, and lover her "like five miles much".
The Lacow home has had another hit from sad-ville. We had to say goodbye to our sweet boy Chance the dog. He really was the best dog I have ever had and I am proud to admit that I was his human. You know, the one the dog follows to every room, including the bathroom. Yeah, that kind of special bond. The bathroom bond. Anyway, I want to take this opportunity to tell you about Chance.
When we moved to Boise, we naturally knew our house wouldn't be complete without a dog. Well, Jeremy knew that and although I agreed to it, I really wasn't whole hearted on board. Jer was thinking "cute and lovable companion" and I was thinking "food, dog hair and unpredictable". It was through the magic of Craig's List we found an ad for Chance. Jeremy was in charge of this shopping rendezvous and called me up to head over to the Win Co parking lot and check out this dog. He let me know right away that he wasn't sure this was "the dog" because the dog looked a little intimidating. You see, Chance was a rotten lab - as in half rottweiler, half lab. He looked mostly rottweiler with a gigantic meat chunk head and a stocky body. Poor guy. They even docked his tail into this nub thing. It is with great speculation that I gave Chance the once over and knew this was our dog. I could see through that rottweiler stature right into those eyes that told me he was a lovin' dog. My instincts were dead on, thank you very much.
Now, I'm a realist when it came to bringing the dog home and into our lives. The ground rule was that if he ever snapped or bit one of us, it was off to the meat grinder. OK, maybe just back to the pound or his foster family, but I was fierce in the ground rules because Natalia was only three at the time. Over the years Jeremy had tried to entice Chance to bite him (I know, boys. Whatever), but Chance would always just belly up in the end. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. His name even evolved over the years and he would come to us when we called him "Poop". It started as Chance, to Chancy-poop, then just got shortened to Poop. It seemed perfectly normal at the time to call our dog another name for excrement.
Somewhere along the line that dog figured out I was the alpha female to win over and he became "my dog". Chance would follow me everywhere in the house. If I had to poop, he was there at my feet. Vacuuming? Yep, propped up in the middle of the floor to make sure that vacuum wasn't going to kill us all. Heaven forbid I close him out of whatever room I was in. Crying would ensue. He drove me crazy, but I secretly loved it. He would even make a special appearance during the Natalia bedtime routine, just to make sure everything was status quo. He was totally into our family and loved us very much.
Even though he was "my dog", he had a job to do. He was very "papa bear" about Natalia and even ended up being the school bus stop mascot. All the kids knew Chance and made a point to come over, get slobbered on, and add a slathering of dog hair to their daily outfit. I mean, what kid stays clean and neat for more than 20 minutes anyway. Every school day at 4:00pm, Chance would get antsy near the front door because he knew it was time for Natalia to get off the bus, come bustling in and add chaos to the house. He would get so excited that he would practically knock her over while he paced back and forth to let us all know she was home - even though we were all in the same room. Then he would bark. Annoyingly bark until we were all adding to the noise by yelling at the dog to quit barking. I guess to him we were probably just barking right along with him. He was so happy.
What would set Chance into a pickle would be the mom vs. child job. He wanted to be with me, but Natalia was afraid to be in her playroom alone and would corral him into the land of Barbies and Littlest Pet Shops. Like I said, he had a job to do around here. There was often trickery involved by her luring him in by means of rawhide, but after a couple years, the gig was up. Yes, there was a bit of a learning curve with Chance. Natalia never felt alone at home as long as Chance was with her. That is her biggest concern right now. How is she going to be alone in a room without Chance? We don't know the answer to that yet. I get what she means though because the house is so still now that he isn't here.
Chance was always such a patient playmate to Natalia. He would lay still while being poked and prodded during "Natalia, master Veterinarian" play. She even had play electric beaters that she used on him and he would still just lay there, happy to have her as company. Then there were the times we would dress him up for whatever family play we were putting on. Chance has been a fairy with wings, a dragon with a wig, a doctor during a Jump Rope for Heart cardiac resuscitation, and even sported some doggles (sunglasses for dogs - yes, roll your eyes at Jeremy) during a convertible trip to the ice cream place. All of this and he took it like a true dog. Endured it, loved it, never complained - except the wig. He didn't like the wig.
There isn't a single adult or child who met Chance and didn't like him. Some of my friends he REALLY liked and would "love up" on them. This was a little awkward when we were trying to paint Natalia's room and he would jump on Heather's back and get all freaky-like. He loved him some Heather. Even though he had a rather fierce build, it was obvious he was a lover, not a fighter. Now, it took a little convincing for the mailman when Chance darted out the door towards the mail truck, jumped in the back, then sat down. Jeremy and I knew Chance was bored and wanted a car ride. The mail lady's version was more of a "fear of God while this beast is running towards me". Ah, tomato/tomah-to. He did hate the Federal Express guy, but that guy said all dog's hate him and he's been bitten numerous times. I trust Chance. The guy is obviously a serial killer or something on his down time. Obviously.
We knew it was time to let Chance go when he started to get skinny. You don't understand this dog and food. He was an eater. He ate half my pancakes every morning and at least three nachos every work night. A couple of times the lid was off the food bin in the pantry and we would find him helping himself to second dinner. It was hard to scold him because 1, he already knew it was wrong and 2, it was Chance. He couldn't resist. Some of his more memorable meals were the entire Christmas gingerbread house and a box of 64 crayons. The crayons were a bit much for his sensitive palate and ended up in regurgitated piles in the house. Yes, multiple piles while he followed me around the house being sick. I could practically read his thoughts that day... "Mom, I feel..... " bleeeeeck, "Wait! Mom, I feel ....." bleeeeck. That is why we have a carpet cleaner on hand and ready to go. Gross. The crayon eating was a doggy tantrum because he had to stay home one day when he was SURE we were going somewhere he should be going too. Yep. Trotted right into that Barbie play land room, grabbed the box of crayons and brought them to the living room to show us who was upset and feeling dejected. I guess it backfired on him once the vomiting started.
It was doggy cancer that finally tore him up. After a surgical intervention, two rounds of chemo and a lot of prayers we realized Chance was just not going to pull through this one. His hip would pop and he'd limp around, I already mentioned the weight loss and worst of all, the tumors. Multiple tumors all over his head and neck that made it uncomfortable to have us pet him. Sometimes they would bleed. Poor Chance. We just couldn't control the tumors anymore. I called the vet to ask when I would know it was time to let Chance go. He told me about his own experience and that he was certain it was the right time when his dog would no longer eat a Whopper - as in Burger King. I told that to Jeremy and got a really skeptical look. Jeremy said "Hon, I think Chance could be on his death bed and still rally enough to eat a Whopper. I don't think that is the best test for him." I was certain this was going to be the test. It wasn't. Chance spent the evening crying behind the couch over the past weekend. His appetite never wavered.
We had a Lacow Family Meeting and set the date with the vet. The day came and I fed Chance extra pancakes, dog cookies and gave him super lovin'. We were all in tears and slept together in the same room the night before. True to form, Chance tore through three cups of treats at the vet's office before his time was finished. The first shot made him sleepy and his last voluntary movement was to stick his tongue out as far as he could to try and get that last treat. He loved to eat. Since he could no longer swallow, I took the treat, rubbed it on his tongue, then put his tongue back in his mouth where it belonged. Silly dog.
Chance left this world that day with all three of us on the floor with him holding him and telling him what a good boy he was. We let him know that our family was going to be okay and that we loved him. We all took turns whispering in his ears that he was the best dog ever and gave him tons of kisses on his big meat chunk head. We took time between the tears to tell a couple funny "Chance stories", and held each other while Dr. Baker gave Chance his final injection. When we left the little room after we held him and said more goodbyes, Chance looked totally peaceful. He was all curled up and snuggled on that comfy rug on the floor where we all spent our last hugs with him.
A week ago I was tearful because when I was growing up my mom told me that animals do not have souls. I mentioned this concern to Natalia and she was quick to laugh in a "my poor mentally challenged mom" kind of way and that of course Chance had a soul. Specifically she said "Mom, don't be silly. All living things have a soul and we'll see Chance again in Paradise" (that's what she calls heaven). Today I was reminded that energy cannot be created nor destroyed. That means Chance is still present, just not in his busted up body. Just like Natalia's book "Dog Heaven", Chance is eating ice cream sandwich dog biscuits and playing with Heaven's children. He is running after balls (which he never retrieves) and enjoying heavenly car rides. Most of all, he is waiting. Patiently waiting for us to come home too, just like a good dog should.
