The Athlete in the Family

By all counts, Matt is the athlete in the family.  He is also the most accident prone.

While playing "soccer" in the backyard with Sammie, Matt tried to show off his sweet header move, returning Sammie's kick and putting the soccer ball into play with his forehead.  That was the plan anyway.

Turns out, he took it straight in the nose instead.

Grace runs deep in this family . . .

Planning for the Golden Years

During a conversation with Sammie about family taking care of family, and loved ones helping loved ones, I tossed out the question:  "Who will take care of mommy and daddy when we get old?"

After a brief few seconds of contemplation, Sammie replies (very casually and with no humor intended), "Well, you'll take care of yourselves, I guess. . . .or you can go to the senior citizen home."

And that was the end of that!



Matt and me in our golden years at the senior citizen home.



"The Plight of the Bunny" OR "How to Undo the Mind of an Average Suburban Housewife."

I love our little 8-mo. old Cairn Terrier mix that we adopted from the shelter.  He's everything we never knew we always wanted (or is that, "he's everything we ALWAYS knew we NEVER wanted?")  After last night's escapades, I'm pretty sure it's the latter.

Matt and I were both working late after getting Sammy to bed.  I went downstairs to briefly chat with my husband and, while doing so, decided to let my dear little Frisco in from outside.  It was dark and I wasn't really paying attention when I let him in.  A few minutes later, I see him fly by at lightening speed with a little squeaky toy (or so I thought) in his mouth.  When I see him run by again, I hear another squeak and don't quite recognize the toy in his mouth.  I tell Matt, a little nervously, "Hey, Frisco has something in his mouth and I don't know what it is.  It's something grey." 

"Oh, says Matt. That's just Sammy's little stuffed dog toy that she gave him." 

"I don't think so, I say, because I tossed that toy in the trash this morning (insert another squeak or two coming from my little speeding bullet's mouth as he does another lap around the living room)."  I'm worried he has something other than a toy", I say in my now shaky voice as I try to sound calm and collected.

At this point, Matt jumps up and starts to chase after Frisco. (If you ever spend more than 5 minutes with my dog, you will know that this is pretty much a losing battle.  "Little Dude" is REALLY fast, he's small, and he's smarter than the dickens when it comes to the chase game). 

Matt gets close enough to see that this is, in fact, NOT a toy.

"Is it an animal?", I shriek. 

"Yes, I think so", he replies.

"Oh, my god!", I say.  "Don't chase him!"  He'll just come running toward me with it!" (Note that my panic level is rising at this point).  I don't think I need to remind anyone here about my abnormal yet very REAL fear of squirrels and other rodents.  

"I need to get out of here!", I say.  (no longer with any sense of calm or rationality.)  You see . . . my sweet little pup has had a tendency, since day one , to follow me around wherever I go.  I realize that I've got to remove myself from the premises in a quick, yet sneaky manner so as not to encourage my canine pal to notice.  If he sees me leave the room, he's coming after me and he will surely want to show me his proud catch!

"Go upstairs", says my husband who is probably now wondering how he's going to wrestle this animal away from Frisco AND keep his wife from "losing it" in the process. 

I wait for my moment (goosebumps rising on my arms, my heart pounding out of my chest, sweat forming in little beads across my forehead).  I know that if I don't stay calm, I might blow my one and only chance to escape.  (As I write this, I realize this sounds more like a prison break than just a simple trek from the living room to the office upstairs).  I might need therapy (just sayin').

I see my opportunity.  I make a quiet, yet VERY quick scramble up the stairs and trip over myself into the office, where I frantically slam my office door.

I stand with my ear against the door of my office and listen to the track meet that's going on downstairs (along with a few expletives, courtesy of Matt). This goes on a little longer than one would think - but, again, this is the Lightening McQueen of Cairn Terriers we're talking about. 

Finally, I hear the patio door slam shut and all is quiet.  A few moments later Matt comes upstairs and opens the door (and this is where I'm pretty sure I should seek therapy) . . . .

As he opens the door - and I know full well that it's just Matt, and that Matt would never dare traumatize me by bringing some small, dead little rodent-like creature within 50 feet of me), I still utter a little scream.

"I got it, he says."

"What is it?", I ask.

"Baby bunny", he replies.

"Is it . . ."you know" . . . ?, I say.

"I'm not sure", he answers.  I'm going back OUT THERE to check on him".

I stay in my office (again, not really sure why since the drama is over now).  I start to contemplate how this story is going to end.  In addition to my abnormal fear of rodents, I also have an abnormal senstivity to the slightest suffering of animals (be it a missed meal, a cold night on the indoor bed without a blanket, or a necessary yet seemingly cruel procedure called neutering - you get the picture).  Anyway, I'm playing this out in my mind, visualizing the near-dead bunny, slowly and agonizingly dying on my back patio, the ensuing grief and trauma that his bunny parents and bunny siblings will be subjected to, and the ultimate plot by said bunny family to seek revenge on the evil humans who claim ownership of the criminal Cairn Terrier. 

I await his return.

He comes back.

"The bunny is not where I left him", he says.  "I think he might have survived.  It appears he has run off."

A heavy sigh and moment of relief on my part.  I don't have to plan a bunny memorial ceremony after all. 

Just a brief moment, though, as I now prepare for sleepless nights filled with doggie/bunny nightmares that will surely plague me for the next week or so.

Anybody have a good therapist they would recommend?

Posted by Sheryl (who has a sick love/fear relationship with animals)