Have A Heart

Ever since getting our labradoodle three years ago, I have become obsessed with 'doodles' and all their playful, fluffy quirkiness.  Just before purchasing our dog, Phoebe, from her breeder, I logged onto the computer to search for information on the breed and stumbled upon an amazing social networking site dedicated to doodles (www.doodlekisses.com).  I now spend more time than I should be admitting to on the site chatting with 'cyber-friends' all about our dogs and various and sundry other fun topics.  There is a section on the site dedicated to the wonderful work of the DRC (Doodle Rescue Collective), an organization which rescues doodles from families who can no longer care for their dogs because of illness or financial reasons.  The volunteers also remove dogs from high kill shelters or other terrible conditions and life-threatening situations.  This amazing organization then finds fosters who care for the dogs, help with their training, make sure they receive medical care and, perhaps most importantly, love these dogs as if they were their own until 'forever homes' can be found.

It breaks my heart to read the stories about the dogs and how they had the misfortune to land in these terrible conditions through no fault of their own.  I try to help the cause by donating money and by posting some of the listings on other social networking sites in an effort to get the dogs placed as quickly as possible, but it never seems as if I am doing enough.  Dog ownership is a huge responsibility but its benefits far outweigh the effort when you get to play, walk and cuddle your furry friend and companion.  There are many breed-specific rescue groups out there doing wonderful work for their cause so, if you or someone you know is in the market for a furry family member, please consider adopting and becoming a forever family to one of these dogs...you will be rewarded by their unconditional love for a lifetime.

Showtime!

Last year, my son was the lighting manager in the MS play but this year he decided to try out for a part.  I was impressed as being on stage is way outside his comfort zone but he studied the lines, tried out and got the part he had wanted.  I love the fact that he challenges himself and does not make either fear or a good case of nerves rule his life. The cast and crew have been working diligently for over a month now making scenery and studying lines, all the while trying to get homework finished in any spare moment of downtime. Through many hours of rehearsal and a grueling final rehearsal week schedule,  my son has managed to maintain his grades, finish his homework and work on the play which is quite an accomplishment for a middle schooler, all without breakdowns--his or mine.

Tonight is showtime, so get out there, 'break a leg' and know how very proud of you I am!

What Would A French Mom Do?

This morning I read a very interesting article about the differences between French and American moms and their parenting styles.  Clearly, the French are doing something right.  Apparently, according the the author, French moms do not experience guilt when they make parental decisions plus they keep their own interests in the forefront, not those of their children.  Huh?  You mean a French mom would not spend hours driving her children to various sports practices, regardless of the distance, the time or weather--nothing beats a good baseball game in triple digit temps...at night, right?  Would a French mom grab a brioche and a latte in a trendy little air-conditioned bistro instead?  Plus, she would not be guilt-ridden afterward? Impressive and way beyond this American mom's grasp.  Adding insult to injury,  French women know how to eat well but maintain their figures, their fashion sense is au courant but seemingly effortless, their accent sublime and now I am told they can parent without guilt and their children grow up to be self-sufficient, independent thinkers. Vive la France!

Lunch Interrupted

I awoke feeling a little anxious today--okay, full-on crazed what with a very busy week ahead--so I decided to indulge in a little comfort food for lunch.  Now by no means am I a stranger to indulging in food, but lunch has never been a favorite of mine so I can easily get by on some rice or a salad and I am good to go. As I was doing my usual chores, I was contemplating (okay, fantasizing) about what 'really bad for my hips' lunch I was going to prepare when it hit me!  I wanted a big, open-faced grilled cheese sandwich--not one of those mundane white bread/plastic American cheese kiddie grilled types, though I have been known to enjoy those as well on bad days. I needed the grown-up version.  The only way to go today was to choose a big, thick slice of really crusty sourdough bread, broil it on each side to ensure it would be super crunchy and then top it off with a couple of thick slices of peppery Monterey Jack cheese which I planned to melt until they were bubbly and brown.  Yum.

I went out to buy the components of my sandwich and counted the minutes until my decidedly very early lunch.  My 'cheesy bread' did not disappoint; it was sheer perfection, a molten masterpiece, if I do say so myself.  Then, the phone rang.  I had to answer as it was a call I had been waiting for and could not postpone.  I stared at my lunch longingly and even toyed with the idea of biting off a piece but opted not to as the crunching sound would certainly have been deafening, not to mention lacking in etiquette.  I made the call as brief as possible but then another call flashed in and I was thwarted yet again.  This call went a little longer than I had hoped and by the time I got to eat my lunch it was a cold, congealed, sorry slab of a former meal with delicious potential.  The moral of my story is that the next time I decide to treat myself for lunch, I am taking myself out and leaving my cell phone home!

What's For Dinner?

I need an elf.  Seriously.  Perhaps it is the fifteen to twenty loads of clothes I wash each and every week without a break--not even on Christmas or Mother's Day--or maybe it is the fact that my teenager asks what we are having for dinner before we even eat breakfast each morning that I am feeling a tad over-burdened with responsibility these days.  I would love it if someone asked me what I wanted for dinner as opposed to what I will be serving that evening. 

Can you imagine the sheer joy of having an elf--a wonderful little imp who would sneak around and get things done for you?  A little 'doer' who would see a need--say a cluttered countertop or a meal to be made--and 'poof,' she would accomplish the task without argument or hassle and with no expectation of thanks. Sadly, it seems my cries for an elf have gone unanswered today so I suppose the question of what's for dinner awaits an answer from me but I certainly hope I get some elfin inspiration though!

Minus What?

My brain is frozen--not in a state of inertia but rock-solid frozen from the cold.  I am just back from a mile plus walk with my dog in minus 33 degree weather (with wind chill, of course, because the straight temperature is a balmy minus 16).  You know it is cold when your face freezes the minute you leave the confines of your garage or when your poor pup has to bunny hop in the grass to keep her paws from icing over.  I remember my glory days of living on the east coast when freezing temperatures meant one or two degrees below 32 degrees and, boy, we even complained about it.  Now, 32 degrees is a sign that we need to unbox the short-sleeved shirts and break out the shorts.  I simply cannot get over the fact that I am walking and functioning in a temperature that is colder than the inside of my freezer!

My pup is one of a litter of ten and all of her siblings were adopted by families in either Arkansas (her home state) or Tennessee.  While I am certain Phoebe knows that she could not have been chosen by a family who could love her more, she is also acutely aware of the fact that she chose the short-straw when it comes to the weather.  I recently saw some photos of a couple of Phoebe's siblings in adorable little life jackets, basking in the sun on their owner's boat.  Though I talk to Phoebe constantly, after today's walk, I think I might just keep that bit of information to myself!

I've Been Wondering...

What are the odds that 2012 will be a turn around year for my family?  If we look at the past two years, I would say that the odds might be against us and yet something 'feels' different about this new year.  I can assure you that nothing has changed enough to make me feel confident that 2012 might bring about big changes, but I just cannot deny that there seems to be an air of difference, a turning of the tide, if you will.

So, I've been wondering if this itchy feeling I have been having--you know, I cannot sit still in my brain, I need to 'do something' but I have no idea what it is that needs doing--might be a foretelling of something good about to happen.  Dare I wish for it?  Dare I take the chance to embrace optimism and give myself fully to the opportunity it might bring?  I think I might have to scratch the itch and see if we finally get some relief.