Seriously Sucky Start to Summer Sabbatical

Honestly, this post was supposed to be about something else entirely.

That being, The Oldest Girl must attend summer school. Because she sucks ass at math, just like her mama. It’s not because she doesn’t try, it’s because she is entirely left-brained and creative, which severely impairs her ability to wrap her multi-faceted, artistically inspired mind around logical problems with finite answers. Go figure. She excels in EVERY OTHER SUBJECT, and barely passes math. Oh well. What’s a girl to do? I’ll tell you what. Drag her butt out of bed in time to BE AT SCHOOL, IN CLASS by…SEVEN-FREAKING-THIRTY, EVERYDAY for the first five weeks of summer vacation. Guess who has to drive her? Um…yeah. Me. With her complaining all the way there, and all the way back when I retrieve her two and a half hours later. You’d think she had done a stint in San Quentin.

Oh, the joys of motherhood. 

Anyway, that rant is what inspired the title of this little post.

Then lots of other shit happened, before I even wrote the first line. So I had to ‘save to draft’ with just a title, until now. Somehow, the title still seems appropriate, given the dichotomy of this past weekend. So.

We had both the incredibly joyous occasion of a birth happen in our family on Friday. (No..I didn’t give birth. My BFF did.)  Followed by the unexpected, tragic death of a beloved canine member of our immediate family on Saturday morning. 

I ask…WTF do you do with THAT?  Put on a brave face, and smile though your heart is shattered? Adding insult to injury, the circle of folks involved are all quite tight, so I had to break the news of Buster’s passing to my friend while she was still in the hospital, one day postpartum celebrating the best thing that has ever happened to her. Then, rush away to wrap my arms around my MIL and FIL, who are understandably inconsolable. To them, Buster was their child. And the grieving is just as intense.

One gorgeous, cuddly, innocent, perfect human child born, while another, equally gorgeous, cuddly, innocent, perfect canine companion is taken away. There simply is no justice in that. I’ve cried myself to sleep the past two nights, and so have The Man and The Girls. My eyes are puffy and red, and my head really hurts. Which come to think of it, may actually work in my favor this weekend while shooting a zombie movie. (more on that later)

But, here is the thing. Buster was majestic, respectful, obedient and never wanted anything more than to give everyone he met…human or animal…LOVE. And the only thing he sought in return was LOVE. He touched the lives of so many people in such a way that his memory will live in them for eternity. I believe he was given to all of us as a gift, a teacher, and when God believed his mission complete, he called him back home…without warning…

…and sent this precious angel baby in his place to remind us all to return to our true innocence and live our lives giving unconditional love always.  Who’s with me?

Anyway, I just needed to get that out. Hope you don’t mind.

I’m again, teary eyed and sleepy.

Night y’all,

N

A few things.

108156828521165854_sD0WAP04_f
Been gone awhile.

No, I wasn’t on vacation. I just got my ass kicked by the last few weeks, which have been leading up to the END OF THE SCHOOL YEAR…this Thursday. Not that I’m dreading it or anything.

Anyway, during my absence, I discovered a few things.

The first is that, judging by the way my family leaves things (or the wrappers) right where they are once they have finished using (or eating) them, there is a strong chance all of them could end up on an episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive one day. Of course, this behavior could also result in me appearing on an episode of I (Almost) Got Away With It on another channel, simultaneously. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to this, as I would much rather land my own talk or cooking show or perhaps something in the vein of What Not To Wear. That would be too. much. fun. Honestly.

The second is…I have deep seeded road rage. Not just any road rage though. Mine is specifically triggered by elderly drivers. Yes, I know I am headed straight for Hell in a fast moving vehicle for saying this, but it’s true. Seriously.  The laws mandate that you have to take a driving/road test to get a license when you turn 16 in this country, so why not pass a law stating you have to take one every year once you reach, say, 70 years old, in order to keep your license? Seems logical to me, because let’s face it…some people, no matter how sweet they are in their geriatric stage, simply should not be driving. Period. Personally, I plan on turning my license in once I am rich enough to hire a driver, so I will not cause undue stress to those younger than I on the roads I may travel in my old age. My mama always loved Driving Miss Daisy, so I believe she would approve of my decision.

Third thing. I fall into a funk when The Man is between film projects. Unfortunately, the last 8 months have mostly been filled with ‘in-between’ time, resulting in my neglect of writing new posts for y’all to read. Go figure. The funk is not because of the loss of income, but because he morphs into an energy vampire who sucks the life right out of me when he is off work with a pair of idle hands. Bless his bones, I love him more than life itself, but The Man needs hobbies…or friends…or a love of social networking for hours on end…or DIY projects. Or all of the above. Well, maybe not DIY projects. That could be bad. But I digress. On a typical day off, he wakes up, takes a shower, makes any work related calls he needs to, and then proceeds to wreck the flow of things in my routine by hovering over me asking what I’m doing. Mind you, I said ‘hovering’ not helping. Then he alternates between pacing back and forth through the house, sitting on the sofa watching sports, or lounging out by the pool listening to Howard Stern. After this, he usually scavenges around the kitchen, and asks me what there is to eat. Which drives me bat-shit crazy, because inevitably it invokes feelings of guilt in me, and I end up halting whatever activity I am engaged in to make food for him. Once he tires of these activities, he follows me around as I gather laundry, straighten up rooms, make beds, etc….trying to take my clothes off. Oh yes. This really happens. I have even talked about it before. Right here.

There once was a time when I bitched and moaned about being a ‘mixer’s widow’, spending my days with 3 little ones and very little adult interaction, because he was always working, and never home. Let it now be known to the Universe: He has more than compensated for all those years by being up my ass the past one, so take him back…please! Thanks in advance, His wife 🙂

Last thing. I miss y’all when I don’t write. So I pledge to try to stay focused, while thwarting advances from The Man and entertaining children who will be out of school for summer break.

On Thursday.

Not that I’m dreading it or anything….

Flip, flop, and then…just STOP?

So.

I have been avoiding this topic. When I think about it, it really upsets me. For lots of reasons. Mainly because it made The Beans very sad, and that alone makes me feel like a failure as a parent. One who is powerless to fix the problem this time. And I’m a fixer, which adds salt to an already infected wound. Throw in that my Sugar Bean wrote this, not too long ago, and I am all sorts of a hot mess at the moment. Minus the hot part.

All three of The Beans are gifted gymnasts. I know, I know. Everyone thinks their kid is the best at what they do. This is different though. They have a raw, God-given ability for this sport. Seriously. Anyone who has seen them at their meets agrees. Their coaches agree. Total strangers agree. I’ve had parents ask what kind of super-food I feed them. LOL. They are the gymnastic equivalent to a trio of piano prodigies.

It started when Sugar Bean was 4 years old. Thinking it would be something fun for her, I took her in for an evaluation at a popular, gymnastics school. After exhibiting super-human strength by zipping up the rope and ringing the bell mounted on a beam at the ceiling of the gym…she landed in the preschool advanced class, and I was asked if I was ready for the world of competitive gymnastics, because my little one was, “freakishly strong and coordinated, showing real promise in the sport”. “Bring. It. On.” I said. For 3 years she trained, 4 days a week, alternating team classes with private lessons, etc. By age 7, she was performing skills that girls much older than her had not mastered. Her technical ability far exceeded her psychological understanding of it, and how very gifted she was. The older girls on her team were mean to her. She burnt out fast, and getting her to the gym became all about the meltdown. It was a distraction for her teammates, and The Man flat refused to take her. Ever. Despite the fact that I was very pregnant with #2. Too much for him to handle. She asked to quit. We had no choice but to allow it. I figured the best thing to do was bide our time and see if she rekindled her excitement and passion for it sometime in the future.

She did.

Just before her birthday last year, she announced she wanted to return to the sport. A family member overheard this, and offered to be the financial benefactor, as The Man and I just haven’t been in the place to allow anything like that in the past few years. After some discussion, we agreed to let this happen, and thanked them profusely. Of course, now we have two more daughters, who decided they also wanted to give it a whirl. Asked if that was okay? No problem. Everyone could participate 🙂 Happy dances all around.

We found a wonderful facility, with outstanding and nurturing coaches and staff. Each of the girls started class in September. A month in, the older girls were asked to join the team. The Oldest was placed in Level 4, where she had been when she quit. Amazing, considering she had been on hiatus from the sport for five years. Butter Bean landed in Level 3, after only 6 training sessions…EVER. Sweet Pea was placed in the “Hot Shots” which is the class just before Pre-team. ALL THIS HAPPENED WITHIN A MONTH. Soon, everyone was training several days a week, and competing in meets on weekends. At every meet, their scores would soar higher and higher in each event. It was clear, they were blessed with skill for gymnastics. ALL OF THEM. And they beamed with excitement and pride after every competition. Scores aside, they were happy, which made me happy.

Flashback to 10 days ago. The day before this happened.

I got the heartbreaking news they would no longer be able to continue their training due to financial reasons. All of a sudden. Dreams dashed. While I understand completely, I am shattered. It’s an expensive sport, and we simply can’t shoulder the financial commitment at this time. Eventually, perhaps, but not at the moment. Since it was the beginning of the billing cycle, I called the gym to let them know The Beans would not be returning until further notice. Their coaches were shocked, to say the least. For 8 months now, the gym has been our family’s second home. We were there at least 10 hours a week. Most of my blog posts have been written via laptop from the lobby of the gym. Seriously.

Their main coach said “This is the worst afternoon of my life. Let’s talk about this. Let me see if I can speak to the board and find a solution, some sort of help. Would you and your husband be willing to help with activities and such in exchange for some tuition assistance? The loss of your girls to this team, and your family to this facility would just be too much. They love it here, are having fun, and we love your family. There has to be something that can be done.”YES! Of course we will do whatever it takes to keep them training. We just can’t shuck out $800 a month in tuition, in addition to meet fees, equipment expenses, etc.” I replied. He said he would let me know.

I’m still waiting….but hopeful.

Meanwhile, the most devastating part is we made a commitment, and can’t ful-fill it. They have missed a whole week of training so far, and were supposed to compete again in a week. As a family, we’ve let the team and the gym down. As parents, we have let our daughters down. Epic parenting fail #12,832.

How do I handle this? Literally, and psychologically. Have any of you ever run into something similar? There has to be a way, because there is definitely a will here.

If I hear something, I’ll post an update. Promise.

 

 

Sisters hugging it out before a meet.

Sisters hugging it out before a meet.

 

Our first family loss :-(

Leroi, the day he joined our family, at 16 weeks old.

Leroi, the day he joined our family, at 16 weeks old.

A year has come and gone. Flown by, in fact.

Today marks the second of two very sad anniversaries. The first was April 27, a devastating day in 2011 that changed the lives of many friends and family members as well as so many others back home in Alabama. You can read about that here.  Now I am looking square upon the anniversary of a less destructive, yet equally painful day. The day we bid farewell to our beloved, furry family member, Leroi.

Leroi became part of our family in May 2005, after I found a photo of him online and decided I had to have him! Off I went to a place called Puppy Playground, located in the eastern part of Los Angeles. Shortly, I returned home with him, and I must say, at a tender 16 weeks old, he was one of the cutest puppies I had ever seen, in both looks and personality! So adorable in fact, his picture was chosen to be among a group of photos featured in the credits for the Disney film “Shaggy Dog”. The Man happened to be working on that project when we got him, and showed off his picture. That’s how he got the gig…lol 🙂 If you haven’t seen it, you should. And look for Leroi at the end. It’s the same picture shown above. He would surely wag his tail at that!!

So. The story of his name. Kind of a no-brainer, for those who know me best and are aware of the things I am passionate about. He was named for the late LeRoi Moore, the former saxophonist for the Dave Matthews Band. You see, the meaning of the name Leroy is “king”, and his breed is just that: Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Also rather ironic, is that our Leroi’s last home on earth was on Moore Street, where our family moved a year ago.

Although we had 2 other precious doggies when we got Leroi, he was quite special. Rarely did he bark, and he never met a stranger. Whenever someone came to the house, he would wag his entire body with excitement! Our cue to let him out to potty was the sound of his wagging tail banging against the water cooler beside the door, so loudly you couldn’t ignore it. Oh how I miss that sound! A very smart doggie indeed, but somehow I could never teach him to fetch like our little miniature Dachshund, Edie. But I digress. Leroi was very sick for the last years of his life. Almost 4 years ago, he was diagnosed with diabetes, as the result of obesity. Hard to keep scraps away from the furry friends when toddlers are in charge of food and delight in sharing when you aren’t looking. Unfortunately, Leroi was more than willing to share in their joy of giving, and the overindulgence in snacks caused a severe case of pancreatitis, and thus, diabetes. When he fell ill, we rushed to our vet, giving her instructions to do whatever was necessary to save him, regardless of the cost. He was one of our children…just a canine one. At only 3 years old, he deserved a chance. We prayed to God, a miracle was granted, and he pulled through. After two shots a day for another 3 years, the disease got the best of him, taking its toll on his system, causing him to be 100% blind and to have a heart attack. Strange how very similar animals and humans react to the same diseases over a span of time.

He got very sick in the midst of my massive relief effort for the Alabama tornado victims. Again, we rushed him to the vet, where he spent 2 full days trying to recover. They stabilized him enough so he could come home, but the outlook was grim and we were told it would only be a matter of time before his body gave out. The Man and I agreed we would not be selfish when we knew it what had to be done. He would not suffer. The time came on Mother’s Day of last year. Of all days! Rather ironic, considering he had been my Mother’s Day present (to myself) 6 years earlier. It was an extremely challenging decision and an emotional time. The Girls were very sad and crying, but were able to say goodbye which was important, it being the first time they had been through the loss of a pet. I was beyond consolation. My friends, Kim and Ray drove me and Leroi to the vet, where I held him as the staff helped him pass into Heaven. He went peacefully with no resistance. He wagged his tail just a bit and drew in his last breath as I cradled his head, whispering “We love you” repeatedly. It was time, and he let me know it was okay to let him go. The only thing I can compare it to is being in the room with Mama when she passed. As she took her last breath, with her eyes closed, she exhaled with a big smile on her face. She was with Daddy, and wanted us to know. Peaceful, loving closure to a very full life. All dogs go to Heaven, so I have no doubt that Leroi…and now Lester…are with my parents.

We decided to have a private cremation and to keep his ashes until we know where we would like him to rest eternally. I made a call to Very Important Pet Mortuary in Venice, California. Carol is the sweet lady I spoke to about the arrangements. During the course of the call, she inquired about my Southern accent and asked where I was from. When I said Alabama, she asked if my family was okay. I told her yes, and spoke of my relief efforts through the newly formed cause, California for Alabama, and how the timing of it all was just so tragic and difficult. With that, she said she would like to help the cause by donating her services. In turn, I would donate the fee to the relief efforts. Of course, I agreed, and am happy to say that in loving memory of Leroi, who only knew love and companionship, the relief resources were increased a little. In life, when it rains it pours, both good and bad, but most often from storm clouds, right?

I’m sure his tail is banging against the water cooler in Heaven, knowing that he helped too 🙂

xo,

N

Leroi. January 16, 2005 ~ May 8, 2011

Leroi. January 16, 2005 ~ May 8, 2011

%d bloggers like this: