Sydney, our youngest, is graduating high school and I am a little nostalgic. I have been thinking back to her growing up years. She has always been a wise little soul (now she is a wise tall soul). Here is a piece I wrote about from the very month she started kindergarten where she delivers a message I needed to hear which I am not sure I have quite grasped 13 years later.
From the Blog Archives, September 2008
Teachable Moments
Jackson had been invited to a birthday party and Sydney could neither understand nor accept that she had not been invited. I told her we could do something fun and she chose to go to Toys R Us to buy Jackson his birthday present. Jackson’s birthday is not for two months but she was most excited about the gifts he had given her and she wanted to buy him something special. (by “she” and “buy”, she means ME). I am touched though, and agree to go.
At Toys R Us we are getting out of the car and she is wearing her Cinderella sunglasses which she clips onto her she shirt, she is carrying a cell phone transformer in one hand and she also wants to bring a stuffed dog in with her. I suggest to her that bringing THREE things to the store is pushing it and odds are she is going to put one of them down when she looks at something she wants to buy. I let her bring all three things in knowing I’ll be the one to keep track of them. If I keep this flexibility up I’ll be qualified to teach yoga!
It has been ten years since my Mom died. It’s a hard milestone. I can think of nothing better to honour her than to start sending query letters for my novel. (For those not familiar, this is where you send a letter introducing your novel to a literary agent with some sample pages in the hopes they like it enough to take you on as a client.)
I started writing novels 15 years before she died. It was only the shitshow of 2020 that granted me time and energy to finish it. She was always not only proud of me, but told me often of how proud she was, which is the kind of next level parenting I try to bring to my game. I remember for some wedding anniversary I wrote a long funny poem in tribute. She asked me, “is there anything you can’t do?”. I never felt she was prouder of me than in that moment and I cherish now that it was about something I wrote.
So this morning I submitted letters to my top three agents, knowing that no matter the result, she would be proud of me. But I’m kinda hoping she’ll sprinkle some angle dust on them for extra luck.
Below is my tribute to my Mom which I read at her memorial service on June 1, 2011.
I have a story that I’ve only told a few people on the planet.
Mom and I on the last Mother’s Day, 2011 Marysville, WA
In the months after my Mom died, I went through what is probably normal: I wanted a sign. Not to know that she was ‘all right’ (I was sure she was), but to know that she was still here, somehow. I had a good friend whose wife had died, and he had the same desire and got an amazing sign that was indisputably from his wife. I got chills hearing it. (I won’t relay that here as it’s not mine to tell.)
[From the Blog Archives: March 30, 2011 – when we had a puppy and 2 weeks of spring break. I note that I don’t know how/if we would have survived the pandemic with at-home school. Hats off to anyone who has]
I know that you both must be very busy. I must impose and ask that you compare schedules to come to our house. At the same time. Preferably when I have a bottle of red wine on hand.
Mary P, I know you think Jane and Michael banks were a challenge. You have no idea how the second week of spring break is going around here. Our 7 year INSISTED on play Monopoly Jr. this morning. My 9 year old and I obliged and it was going well until said 7 year old teetered on the edge of insolvency. She does not like to lose. When I had the audacity to land on the square where I get all that money in the middle of the board she threw a fit and screamed so loud the windows shattered.
I expect, being Mary Poppins, you will know everything about everything. I hope that includes computers as our 9 year old is an unstable element as he tries to figure out why PowerPoint is not loading properly on the computer. While occasionally I can solve these computer issues, with or without computer phone support from Husband, I certainly cannot do it while aforementioned 7 year old is screaming “YOU STOLE MY MONEY, I TOLD YOU I WANTED TO GET THAT MONEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I know you may suggest that we have not kept them busy. We have tried. We have them in 4 days of camps over two weeks. In addition that have been swimming three times, lunched at Chuck E Cheese’s, seen two movies, attended one birthday party, enjoyed one grandparental sleepover and been to one family gathering. But still I have conversations like this:
S: J hit me! Me: Why would he do that? S: Maybe because I put my sock in his face. Me: Why would you do that? S: I can’t remember, but I had a really good reason.
Or ones like this:
J: S won’t play with me. Me: Why don’t you think she will? J: I don’t know. But she is being super annoying and I told her so. Me: Maybe that is why she won’t play with you. J: Well if she would stop being super annoying then we could play.
I wish were the limit of what is going on. The dog is also driving us crazy, which is why I thought the Dog Whisperer could pay a visit.
Dog W, at the beginning of spring break in an amazing show of productivity the kids counted how many holes the dog had dug in the back yard. They stopped when they got to 27 or 28. They could not agree whether it was 27 or 28 and got into a fight about who was right.
We know that dogs will be dogs and we created a canine-only digging area, but that seems to be the only place that she won’t dig. And because it is raining, she is favouring the holes with 6 inches of water. Or digging in bark mulch which I can tell you likes to adhere to Maltese fur. If you read above, you will know that I do not have time to give the dog the 3 baths she requires every day.
If that were the only problem, I think we could cope. But the dog has a paper, cardboard and pencil fetish the likes of which I expect you have never seen. She can chew a pencil down to nothing in the few minutes we are chasing her around the room trying to disarm her. I signed up for pet insurance solely for the reason that a bowel obstruction is imminent. She can dislodge toilet paper rolls from their holders and chew threw a full roll before we know what she is up to. You may guess how much time I have to clean up a thousand little scraps of toilet paper. Any scrap of paper is fair game. Just last week she ate half a birthday party invitation so I ended up dropping our daughter off early as the start time for the birthday is working its way through her intestines.
A cake with 59 candles would be chronologically and celebratorily accurate for me today. Kind of a big one and not just because of the related fire risk. Ten years ago, my 49th birthday was the last I celebrated with my Mom.
November 15 is my mother’s birthday. It will always be, even though it has been ten years since she was here to celebrate it. Her last was her 78th, in 2010. I wrote the blog below on what would have been her 80th birthday. When she was diagnosed with multiple myeloma in 2008, she was told she might live for five or more years. She wanted to live to 80, but fell 18 months shy. Every word below is still true. Only more and still brings a tear to my eye. Now that my kids are blossoming into full-fledged adults, it is hard that she is not here to experience. She would have enjoyed them; they would have enjoyed her.
So Mom, happy birthday. I wish you were here.
My morning coffee. Photo is on my 49th birthday, my last with my Mom.
From the Archives, November 2012.
What I Miss…
I miss being able to call for recipe clarification. Or for the recipe since I’ve misplaced it for the twentieth time.
I miss being able to call her to brag about stuff about my kids. She was always their most avid and enthusiastic fan.
I miss being able to complain about my kids. She didn’t offer too much advice. She know she just needed to listen.
I miss the feeling of two parents anchoring my extending family, having two parents at Thanksgiving and birthday dinners.
I miss seeing her at dinner parties we put on. I know she got much joy from entertaining and I know she was proud that I could set a pretty table and not burn anything.
I miss that she will never see Sydney’s smile with all her adult teeth in.
I miss she will never hear Jackson play clarinet.
I miss that she will not experience the personality blooming in Sydney: sassy, dramatic and entertaining.
I miss that she will not see Jackson as a middle schooler.
I miss that she won’t see Sydney’s new ‘look’ with her bangs grown out.
I miss that she will not see Jackson in his trademark fedora.
I miss that she can’t sit down with both my kids and listen to them.
Finny, as she is now called, is the adorable centre of our home. As evidenced by the above pictures, she pretty much has her run of the place. One of her favourite places to be is her ‘fancy bed’ in the first photo, so named because the bed has legs and tufted upholstery. But it has to be covered in the blanket shown, with not too many wrinkles. She does have choices of bed – the middle picture shows four of her beds. I like to spread them out, one in each room. But she prefers that they cluster together and will drag them all into one room like she’s a shepherd or something. But also, she sleeps or sits anywhere she wants, and has her own seat at the dining room table. I know, we’re too much.
She enthusiastically greets each of us at the door and is always a little on edge until ALL FOUR OF US ARE HOME. The first year the kids went to sleepaway camp, she stood beside our bed at 10 pm barking at us: aren’t you forgetting something?
For most of the last ten years, Husband is definitely number one in Finny’s eyes. I can’t imagine why, except that he feeds and walks her almost all the time. Now in pandemic days, I work from home and Husband works in the office so she is a lot more conflicted. Husband takes care of her but I am the one that is always therefor her. So on weekends, when we aren’t in the same room, she will patrol. Lay down with me for half an hour. Then will jump up go find Husband and hang out there until she has a pressing need to find me again.
The kids are largely irrelevant, especially Jackson. Which is curious because he is always at home too and was home the most before the pandemic. Sydney will always hang out with Finny when Husband and I golf, so she is grudgingly accorded a bit more respect than, say, the couch.
This dog is smart. Husband has a morning habit. When he sits down with his breakfast he throws her a Dentastix chewy treat. Then he puts his plate on the ground where Finny will lick if she deems enticing enough. Then Husband throws her a biscuit. These two, they have their routines. On some mornings, if Husband is still eating when Finny finished her first course, Husband will throw her the biscuit. Finny will not eat it, because, obviously, that is not the order in which things happen. Plate first, then biscuit. She will paw at Husband’s foot until he obliges with the plate and only then will she roll in and then eat her biscuit.
And last story (thank you for indulging me). Finny has become a bit of a finnicky eater. Which is tough because she already can’t eat anything with chicken in it, which is like most dog food out there. So we curate a delicious and varied menu like lamb and bison, or goat cheeks which she loves. And then one day she won’t eat what is on offer. An hour later she will start barking because she is hungry. We bring her to her dish to point out a lovely bowl of Moroccan pheasant and she will walk away. So we stuff mini treats into it as extra inducement which will work occasionally. The rest of the time? Desperate measures. (I pause here to note that we should just let her be hungry. But the thing you should know about Finny is she was born without a shame gene. So notwithstanding her delicious meal of artisanal pheasant, the additional treats added, she will have no hesitation in waking up in the middle of the night BECAUSE SHE IS HUNGRY.)
So Sydney blessed with the spiritual gift of spoon-feeding a dog, will hand feed. Finny will not accept the food from anyone else.
Finnegan Lucy joined our family ten years ago. Here is her story.
Excerpted from the Blog archives November 2010
How did we come to welcome this cuddly ball of fur to the family?
The kids had been wanting a dog, which is a universal childhood condition. At age 6, Jackson orchestrated a family vote on getting a dog By orchestrate I mean in a third-world-country-voting-irregularity kind of way (Jackson held proxies for fictitious family members). Then, in his first (and only) chance to be a guest blogger, Jackson used the platform to talk about getting a dog.
Recently, I blogged about how Husband and I were getting closer to getting a dog, but we needed the kids to be more responsible. Jackson outlined his plans and a Master Plan to behave more responsibly.
Husband and I agreed that we were working toward getting a dog. The ideal time being around spring break in March, which will be 2 weeks and a perfect time to break in a puppy. Or, as it turns out, to have her break us in.
So Husband and I agreed that a good first step was to research breeds, appropriate sizes, places to get puppies. So with almost as much zeal as when Husband was looking for a flat panel TV last Christmas, we began our investigations. I was pretty set on a poodle-something cross. A smart, good medium sized dog that won’t shed. The non-poodle part part will up the cuteness factor as I find poodles crossed take the cuteness of both breeds.
Sydney and I stumbled onto a show, Pick a Puppy where families meet three breeds of puppies and then choose one. It’s like Househunters for the canine inclined. About the second show we watched, highlighted Maltese puppies. The kids fell hard for the white balls of fluff. Husband and I were not far behind. We were sold.
We decided a Maltese mix would suit us best – perhaps poodle or shih tzu. We looked for what was available on the Internet, mindful to avoid, to the extent you can, puppy mills and unscrupulous breeders. We found a few possibilities but realized Christmas, the best time to invite a puppy into our home, was still six weeks away and we had a few busy weeks ahead. Let’s wait a bit.
But. There is always a but. There was one litter of puppies, that seemed perfect. Mom was a 15 pound Maltese-Shih Tzu. Dad was a 9 pound Maltese. Cute-as-a-button. Husband and I agreed we would pursue this one lead, and if it did not pan out, we would not pursue anything further for a couple weeks.
We heard back from the breeder and they had 5 puppies still available. We liked the idea of seeing a litter and choosing the puppy that most suited us. Monday after school we made an appointment to meet the puppies.  You have no idea what kind of energy FIVE puppies have. They were in kennels when we arrived. There were 2 girls in one crate and 3 boys in the other. I have an irrational preference for girl dogs. I did not really want to live in a world that involved a dog wiener. The girls were released and they ran circles around us. One of them was slightly interested in meeting us, the other wanted only to run as hard and fast as she could. The first one, I thought was a possibility, the puppy-with-too-much-energy fell to the bottom of the list. 
The boy puppies.
After a few minutes, the boys had their turn to meet us. One boy was obviously more assertive, but also very, playful. He had dark grey ears and I was sorely tempted. The other two boys were completely white and both more the shy and cuddly type of puppy.
How do you choose? I could have gone home with any of them at that point. I said to myself “I could totally have a boy puppy, you don’t even notice their boy parts”.
As if reading my mind, one of the shy boys peed in front of me on the carpet. While puppies will be puppies, when I picked him up, pee dripped down the fur around his boy thing.
Girl it was to be.
The boys were put back in their kennel and we examined the girls carefully. I tended toward the smaller of the girls. She seemed a little calmer. But then, as soon as I stated my preference, little miss-too-much-energy climbed into Jackson’s lap.
This was notable. What had been happening during our visit was the puppies were running madly in circles around us. Husband, Sydney and I would grab one as they ran by and would interact with them until they squirmed out of our arms. Jackson would only pet a puppy someone else was holding.
But that little girl, the one who had fallen to the bottom of my list, climbed into Jackson’s lap and sat calmly.
I started blogging in late 2007, part of a tsunami of Mommy bloggers. My blog (inaccessible now) titled Blogging is Cheaper Than Therapy was a place for me to write, vent and share both the easy and hard days parenting. There were plenty of both.
I tried to be funny, laugh at myself and also share the sweet and tender moments, if for no other reason than to remind myself that all the days weren’t hard. I enjoyed crafting the blogs and occasionally learned something through that reflection.
I admit I had dreams of my blog going viral and getting my own column on Huffington Post, which would naturally lead to a book deal. After that I would finish my unfinished novels which would be published and someone would buy the film rights I could retire from practicing law (which I don’t hate, but would much rather write novels than legal opinions.)
It didn’t turn out that way. I topped out at 14 followers on Blogger, though a few of my posts got a lot of hits. My friends loved my blog, told me I was the new Erma Bombeck and that I must be spying on them as I was writing about their lives. These comments kept me going.
I wrote pretty consistently though to 2012, which included some therapeutic posts around the time and after my Mom died in 2011. In 2013 it devolved into mostly picture sharing and then I just stopped.
Why am I going through this history? This year of the pandemic has gifted me hyper-awareness of our toilet paper inventory and ability to measure a two meter buffer from my fellow citizens. And time for writing (I am not commuting or doing anything else but working). I am well on the way to finishing my first novel. I thought I would also resurrect my blogging.
I will repost some of my old favorites, but you will be happy to know my neuroses have not diminished in the last seven years so I will have some new material.
