I’ve mentioned this about a million times, but animals make Roper deranged with happiness. This video makes me laugh every single time. It is a display of the purest form of love…which apparently includes a lot of open-mouthed face rubbing.
The star of the video is my friend Kim’s dog, Molly, (because everyone has a dog named Molly) who is a sweet and gentle lab. This video is also on the website for Wenatchee’s Humane Society – an establishment we adore. As soon as we move to the property, Roper and I are going to the Humane Society to pick out a dog (or four). To go along with the chickens and goats. (Hi Toby!)
Monthly Archives: May 2011
Future Vet
Filed under Uncategorized
A Year of Blogging
Hey-oh! I just realized it was a year ago today that I started this blog. Out of the eighty posts, I thought I’d share a few of MY favorites to commemorate the past year.
Massage a la New Mexico: Because these things only happen to me.
Anniversary Quatro: Two words: toilet riser.
About Molly: Writing this post reminded me of some of the interesting events in my life. The comical imperfections of my past and present are the perfect writing fodder. Clearly, I’m not a criminal – but I tend to get myself into scrapes that make it sound like I am.
Thanks for the Turtle!: This one will never fail to crack me up. And yes, I still listen to that voicemail on occasion.
Whistler 2010: This post exemplified the traits I value most in myself and my life. I adore sharing adventures with my husband. I am a mom who loves her son more than she ever thought possible. I seek risks that challenge both my body and my mind. And I always get back on the horse.
Santa Haikus: Because all pictures should be captioned with haikus.
Letters to Roper: More than anything, I love writing the monthly letters to my Little Bear. It gives me an opportunity to stop and ponder his milestones and our adventures together. He amazes me daily and these letters give me the opportunity to record his personality and his profound effect on our lives.
Thanks for a great year! xo
Filed under Writing
The Conference
My name is Molly Steere, and I think farts are funny.
Is there a support group for this? Because it was demonstrated on several occasions last weekend that other people apparently DON’T think farts are funny. Or at least they pretend they don’t. Side note: I’m sure my mom is extremely proud that her well-educated daughter is writing about farts. Hi Mom!
Last weekend was the Write on the River conference (fantastic – check it out) and I was super excited to attend for the third year in a row. Excited, but also sick and I hadn’t slept much in the previous days. Exhaustion. Since I was meeting my friend Kim at the conference, I told her she’d find me dry humping the coffee machine. (Now my dad is cringing. But hey, at least I’m not talking about tampons like our keynote speaker. She was AWESOME.)
So, I have my way with the coffee machine and then we listen to Chelsea Cain tell hilarious stories about tampons. What, you thought I’d let it go at just ONE mention?
Our first workshop was Bob Mayer teaching us how to be Writing Warriors, and he’s name dropping like nobody’s business. Seriously, the guy is great, but this should have been a drinking contest. Jennifer Crusie. Take a shot. Nora Roberts. Take a shot. Navy Seals. DOUBLE!
Out of nowhere, there’s a flurry of activity, a giant ripper of a fart, and then the door closing.
You guys, no one reacted. I felt like I was in slow motion as I turned to Kim, wide-eyed, and mouthed DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?
It did happen. And I did not take it in stride. No, I got the giggles. And when I heard Kim snicker, I escalated to the open-mouthed silent laugh that just makes occasional clicking sounds. You know the one I’m talking about. So, I have to actually put my head down on my desk, like I’m seven, and drool on my arm. Meanwhile, I can hear what sounds like heavy breathing into a paper cup. I find out later that Kim was trying to cover her face with her coffee cup so no one would notice her giggling. The jury’s still out on whether that technique worked or not.
In the meantime, the entire classroom is acting AS IF NOTHING HAPPENED. The rest of the workshop seemed like an eternity. I had to stare intently at my desk, for fear of making eye contact with Kim and starting the whole scene again. Luckily, we still had the drinking game to keep us busy. Jennifer Crusie. Take a shot!
The worst part? There were several more farting incidences during the conference. It wasn’t me, I swear. Apparently – and here’s your take away – writers fart a lot. And I will think it’s funny EVERY SINGLE TIME.
P.S. Do you remember last year’s writing conference entry, aptly named Agent of Humiliation? This year’s meeting with agent Verna Dreisbach was far better. Let’s face it, it couldn’t have gone worse than last year. Anyway, she wants to see the first chapter of my young adult novel. I should probably be crafting a query letter instead of writing about farts…
Filed under Writing
The Recital
I went out of my way to humiliate myself this past weekend. I know, you’re thinking that I do that every weekend, but my day-to-day humiliation is actually effortless. I come by it naturally.
This time, I PURPOSELY signed up to be humiliated in several venues. I felt like I hadn’t had one of my Best Bad Ideas in a while, so I was making up for lost time. The scope of potential humiliation was so large that it will have to be broken down into two blog posts. This is part one:
So, I have never taken a dance class (other than a Latin dance class that I forced Toby to take with me while I was terribly pregnant) and I refuse to dance in public. I almost failed my aerobics class in college because I couldn’t follow the routine. The same routine we did EVERY SINGLE TIME WE MET. Something is wrong with my brain.
Don’t get me wrong, I love to dance. I have daily dance-offs at home and I ALWAYS win. So when I learned my friend MK was taking an Adrenaline Hip Hop class, I decided to try it out. It was hilarious and humiliating and awkward and when the instructor (the amazing Lindsey Martin) asked if I was doing the recital, I said sure. Because I’m kind of an idiot.
MK couldn’t make the recital and I didn’t know anyone else in the class. Have I mentioned that I’m terrified of people? No one believes that I’m shy, but having no filter and being outgoing are two entirely different animals. I’m the girl who had to drink a huge beer and take a valium before showing up at my own wedding, because PEOPLE WOULD BE LOOKING AT ME. So I signed up to be in a sold out show in a large auditorium.
You guys, this was so far outside of my comfort zone.
I dutifully went to practice and tried to learn the routine. I tried to smile while dancing instead of looking like I smelled a fart. I tried not to pee my pants during my coughing fits that punctuated every routine. I tried to ignore the look of terror on Toby’s face as he began to realize that I was actually going through with this.
Most of these efforts were unsuccessful.
To make matters worse, when I get nervous I can’t seem to control my inappropriate urges. I was legitimately fearful that I would flash the audience as I left the stage. Or use colorful language in front of the darling two-year-old dancers. Or announce to the world that I wasn’t wearing underwear. This is the inner battle I deal with. It’s why I’m exhausted at the end of every day.
As much as I hate to disappoint you guys, the recital was an absolute blast and our portion of it (exactly one minute and forty-four seconds) was pretty uneventful. I walked on to the stage with my false eyelashes applied crooked, wearing maternity capris, not having showered and I danced PERFECTLY AVERAGE. I got to know the girls in my dance class and they are AWESOME. I didn’t even wet my pants. I will totally do it again next year.
Once again, I came out of one of my Best Bad Ideas unscathed.
Filed under Best Bad Ideas
Mexico Parte Una
Ok, I’ve been back from Mexico for a while. For what seems like AGES, really. It’s an understatement to say that my re-entry into reality was not smooth. Maybe that’s why I’ve avoided even talking about the trip, because it reminds me that as I sit at my desk working, no one is offering me delicious umbrella drinks. Instead, I’m spending my work “breaks” rescuing my son from the belly of our oven, and scrubbing crayon and unidentified goo off of the furniture.
You guys, our trip to Mexico was AWESOME. Toby and I went down there with my best friend Becky, her husband Jeff (recipient of the famous turtle), their friend Jim, and my dear and extraordinary friend T-bird. At some point I might take the time to tell you about how amazing it was to put down the to-do lists for a week and just relax and play. But first, I promised you guys some wardrobe malfunctions. And I always deliver.
The Shorty. Ok, this one is more of a body malfunction than a wardrobe malfunction. As it happens, I’m a lot bigger than I was when I bought my shorty wetsuit. People, I don’t have a freakin’ thyroid – I’m DOING THE BEST I CAN. So, it takes two wildly acrobatic and athletic people to zip up the shorty. When I sit down in it, the neck literally strangles me. I could have rented a wet suit in the correct size for $7 dollars a day, but in a flamboyant display of how cheap I am, I chose to dive with limited oxygen reaching my brain. This is probably why I look so intense in all of the diving pictures – I’m trying not to pass out.
The Bikini. For unknown reasons, I bought a bikini from Old Navy that was made for a 12-year-old, NOT a “mature” woman who breastfed. From the moment I purchased the suit, I knew that there would be a wardrobe malfunction in my near future, but I just wasn’t in the mood to buy an appropriate swimsuit that would have involved about nine yards of material and resembled a burqa. I wasn’t having it.
Ok, concentrate on the two cuties on the right and try not to focus on my soft spots. Need I remind you that I gave birth to a Viking and I am no longer in possession of my thyroid?
Why wouldn’t I jump off the dock? Even if there was a wardrobe malfunction, I would be in the water and could adjust before anyone noticed that my top was around my neck and my bottoms were…ahem… now hiding. But OF COURSE there was a group of scuba divers right below us. And a fleet of weird little underwater scooters that a family of non-divers was renting to explore the ocean life. Oh SNAP. I bet that was an interesting dinner conversation for the family.
The blue dress. Comfortable and airy, the blue dress was THE perfect outfit to wear on the long hot bus ride to tour Chizen Itza. I was all about comfort. Except for my $2 flips that were pure torture for my feet – just one of my many poor decisions. At any rate, the ruins were amazing and I was very happy to be in a cool outfit because it was steamy hot in the interior.
We were trying to catch the 7pm ferry from Playa del Carmen back to Cozumel because the next one was at 10pm. We were at an all-inclusive resort so there was no way Toby and I were going to miss the ferry, thus missing out on “free” dinner, drinks and dessert for the night. Did I mention we’re cheap? Unfortunately, the tour bus dropped us off on the outskirts of town about six and a half minutes before the ferry was scheduled to leave.
So we take off at a sprint through town. Guess what? It’s windy on the coast. The wind is blowing my dress up over my waist, as I’m SLAPPING through town in my tortuous green flips, in the midst of an asthma attack. So here’s this sunburnt, wheezing, slapping, swearing lady running through town with her bloomers FULLY hanging out.
I don’t know where they get that whole “Ugly American” thing….
P.S. Thanks for the 10,000 hits, my friends! Yes, I know that’s the number of hits a popular blog gets while I’m brewing my morning coffee, but it’s always fun to have visitors. Especially visitor who put up with sporadic and eclectic posting. xo
P.P.S. We made the ferry! Free dinner was ON.
Filed under Uncategorized
Maggie Mae
As many of you know, today I had to put down my dog Maggie. My Maggie Mae, Magpie, Milbert, Tripod. My sweet, sweet girl. I became Maggie’s mom when she was about seven. For the next eight years, I told anyone who asked that she was still seven. I didn’t want her to age like the rest of us.
Mags had a rough childhood. We aren’t sure of the specifics, but it was pretty clear that she had been beaten terribly. My friend Moira found her on the side of the road, skittish, skinny, tagless and in desperate need of love. And absolutely terrified of men. Moira brought her home to her family and tried to love her back to health. Unfortunately, Maggie ended up biting one of Moira and Bryan’s kids.
I took her in.
Maggie had an unbelievable fear of water dishes. She was TERRIFIED. I went through an obscene number of water dishes, desperately trying to find one that wouldn’t make her panic. Often times, the only way I could get her to drink was to take her outside to a puddle or lake. It took almost four years, but she finally got to the point that she could drink out of one without quivering. Until then, she’d give it a wide berth and a sideways glance every time she walked by it.
She also came to me with a terrible limp. Maggie hardly used one of her back legs. The first thing I did when she came to live with me was to get x-rays. The vet took a look at them and said she was surprised that Maggie could walk at all. She had old fractures and looked like she had been hit by a car – possibly more than once. Maggie not only walked, but she ran like the wind. Especially if there was a ball involved. That girl was obsessed and would literally run herself to exhaustion chasing balls.
Mags was a great dog. A tough dog. She was also neurotic and a bit of a drama queen when it suited her. Aren’t we all? When Toby entered our lives, she quickly trusted him. Eventually, the love we poured into her mellowed her out and she became sweet and affectionate.
When we moved to Wenatchee and into our ghetto apartment, we had to send Maggie to live with my parents in Ardenvoir. We refer to my parent’s property as “puppy heaven” because they have a ton of acreage, a river, shade trees, an indoor/outdoor, heated/cooled kennel and three other dogs for companionship. Maggie loved it there and my parents spoiled her rotten. I hated not having her with me, but I knew it was better for Mags, and we got to see her often. We kept telling her that soon we’d all be living together as a family up at our property in Malaga.
My mom has been trying to warn me for quite some time that Maggie was reaching the end of her life, but I was in denial. I couldn’t bear the thought of her passing away before we could all be living together under the same roof again. But last Friday the vet told us that, in addition to being about 15 years old, Maggie had a very painful bone cancer. Putting her down was the most loving thing we could do for her at this point.
So, this morning we put her down. I held her head in my lap and told her over and over again that we loved her and that she was an amazing dog and a tough girl. I rubbed her ears and stroked her forehead. She went gracefully, peacefully and nobly.
This week, and especially this morning, has brought a torrent of tears and heartache. I’m still in shock that I’ve lost my little lady. But I know with all my heart that it would have been selfish to handle the situation differently. I’m relieved that my sweet girl is no longer imprisoned by her pain and her past.
Maggie Mae was a great dog, a dear friend and will be forever missed.
Filed under Uncategorized
A Jackson
Dear Poo Man Chu,
Yesterday you turned 20 months old. You are loud and strong-willed and hilarious. You still go to daycare one day a week and your caregivers swear up and down that you are their favorite. Your Grandma says you never cry or throw tantrums under her watch. When I take you out in public you act docile and relaxed. I HEREBY OFFER YOU AN OSCAR for your acting chops, because none of that describes the kid I’m entertaining as I desperately try to run a business.
The kid I spend all of my waking hours with (save that blessed Wednesday that sits like an island oasis amid of the rough seas of life) is LOUD and BUSY and OPINIONATED and an absolute RIOT. You provide fodder for great stories. Great stories that garner a lot of laughter after the apologies and cleanup have taken place.
Let’s take the other evening for example. It was your dad’s birthday. We met your Grandma, Papa Bear and Opa at La Fuente (Mexican restaurant). I should have checked you for contraband. WHEN WILL I LEARN? You walked into the restaurant with a huge rock in your hand and you threw it with all your might. It ricocheted off the dinner table and almost beaned your grandma in the noggin. You have a good arm. You then proceeded to eat the hot salsa, dump a glass of milk down your chest, shamelessly flirt with the little girl at the next table, eat off the floor, fill a glass full of limes, chips and water, and eat your dessert AND mine. You’re lucky I didn’t bite your hand off.
As the grand finale, after your bath you ran around naked and then climbed up onto our bed and TOOK A GIANT MAN DUMP. Dude, totally uncool. How are you anybody’s “favorite” when you pull stunts like that?
It’s that smile. I can’t resist you when you shrug your shoulders up tight and lay that huge grin on me.
My favorite part of the day is climbing into your crib when you wake up from a nap. Everything disappears and we are the only two inhabitants of our world…aside from your 500 stuffed animals. We wrestle, tickle, cuddle and talk. Sometimes we just look at each other. It is sublime.
You’ve had a busy month. We went to Smallwoods, the Apple Blossom Kiddie Carnival and Kid’s Parade. You weren’t big enough to go on any of the rides at the carnival, but you somehow charmed the carnies into letting you ride. Stoically you’d go around and around on the motorcycle/boat/truck/dragon, not ever cracking a smile – its serious business after all. But, boy would you shriek when we tried to pry you off the ride.
I took you to Swallow Festival, which is an annual event in Ardenvoir. When I was younger it drew a rougher crowd – I remember people riding their motorcycles into the bar at Cooper’s Store (your great-grandaddy’s store at the time). You checked out all the motorcycles on display and you loved the tractors in the parade.
This month was all about cousins. You got to hang out with Cousin Anthony (who gave you a Cozy Coupe and motorcycle!) at Crescent Bar, you participated in your first Bloomsday run and visited with my four Collins cousins and eight of your second cousins – it was pure chaos and you loved every minute of it. And yesterday we drove to Bellevue to celebrate Tayla Ann and Wyatt’s birthdays! Next month you get to spend a week with the Cooper cousins. You love being around the big kids.
Earlier in the month your dad and I went on vacation in Mexico without you. For a WEEK! It was our first vacation in years and it was positively glorious – but we missed you. We went diving, snorkeling, exploring, and touring, but you were never far from our minds. Just far enough for me to actually relax and stop my brain from flipping through a Rolodex of to-do lists.
You stayed with your Grandma and Papa Bear and had a blast. In fact, you wanted nothing to do with us the one time we called to check in. We were reunited on Easter morning and you proceeded to pout the entire day. On Monday morning I was awakened with cries of “Ewwww, poo poo! Ewwww, poo poo!” Son, you had smeared your feces all over your crib. Welcome home, Mama!
FYI, if you’re sophisticated enough to know it deserves an “Ewwwww,” then you should be depositing it in the toilet. I’m just sayin’…
After your show of displeasure via your poop, you warmed up to us again. Little Bear, you are so much fun. You’re starting to put words together and you’re hungry to learn the name of everything you see. You change on a daily basis and look more grown up each morning I peek at you in your crib. Your smile is toothier and your hair is getting long and crazy (and still grows in a natural mohawk). I’m waiting to cut it until Oma gets home because she adores your blond curls.
I’ve said this before, but I am just your handler. You are the star. You are recognized on the street far more often than I am. I’m pretty sure that you’re going to end up famous or infamous and it makes me a little nervous. But even on tough days, all you have to do is grin and giggle and my world lights up. You make each day more meaningful and joyful than the last. Even with all of the poop. I love you to the moon and back, Little Bear!
Love,
Your Mama
Filed under Letters to Roper, Parenting, Roper
