Tyson Whitman Willoughby Rogers

Shortly after losing our yorkie, Angie and I decided that we needed a bigger dog that could hold its own in the world. We took a dozen online quizzes about breeds of dogs and came up with a Boxer every time. After calling dozens of people, we decided to look at a litter and we met Tyson at just a few weeks old. He was a plain, black-masked fawn who wasn’t the biggest of the group, but wasn’t the runt either. He was just a plain little guy, in the middle. He crawled into my purse, and looked directly at us, and right then, Dan, Angie, and I made the decision. We knew he was ours.

To say he was ornery is the understatement of the year, but when you couple that with two inexperienced ASU girls, you have a minor disaster. One leather sofa and a few shower curtains later, we finally wised-up and began reading about the breed we selected. Energetic, silly, protective, loyal, and smart. We began to realize that he had outsmarted us over and over again, and a few weeks of training turned our boy into a well-behaved contributor to our little family.

Tyson has been an amazing little ambassador for the Boxer breed. Because of him, I began working with Boxer Luv to save other Boxers. Even though we purchased him (bad us—we didn’t know!!!) he represented everything wonderful about the breed. I can’t tell you the number of dogs that have come into our home and Tyson has always served as the balanced leader of the pack. When one of the fosters was absolutely terrified of Dan, Tyson circled Dan’s legs and snuggled the dog, showing the other dog that Dan could be trusted. He’s taught dozens of dogs how to use the doggy door and bounded up and down the stairs encouraging the dogs to TRY the stairs—they are FUN! One special foster named TJ who was used in dog fighting was so scared of our dogs that he was trying to fight all of them. I had TJ on leash all the time and was trying to calm him down and Tyson came over, stood a few feet away, and as TJ stood there growling and snarling, Tyson laid on the floor in front of TJ, turned his back on us, and went to sleep. With that one action, TJ changed. He stopped lunging, and attacking, and started trusting. Nothing Dan or I had done before that had worked. Tyson changed that little dog’s life.

Tyson turned 11yrs old last month—a nice, long life for a Boxer. In his years, he has been a part of fostering over 40 dogs and has been our special boy all along. He has made us laugh every day. He’s allowed me to smooch his little mushy face a million times before bed each night. He’s rested his head on our knees thousands of times and sighed in contentment when we would rub ears. His little nub wagged faster than any I’ve seen, and would turn his whole body into a wild dance. He allowed us to make mistakes, and forgave without hesitation.

Over the last few weeks, we’ve watched our boy grow weak and last night, we knew he was done fighting. He had a huge presence in our home, and his bright light had begun to dim. We had been hoping he would make it until Christmas but as the days grew closer, we knew it would not happen. The other night, he and I sat by the Christmas tree and while the other dogs slept peacefully in the dog beds, he laid next to me by the tree. I tried to make sure he understood the impact he’s had and how because of him, I feel like I’ve found something special that now defines who I am. I thanked him for being the first baby I’ve raised, and told him that I’m a better mom because of him. He just laid there and those deep, dark eyes seemed to understand. We’ve dreaded the day we would have to say goodbye and over the years I remember crying even thinking about losing him. It was fitting that Angie, Dan and I were the ones to be with him as he took his last breath....we were there for the beginning, middle and end of his journey. The hole is immense and the pain is so raw. But we wouldn’t have it any other way. His life was so meaningful and the love was so great that all of the sadness pales in comparison.

We will miss you every day, baby boy. Every day.

My Molly

When I saw Molly the first day, I melted. A blond, droopy-eared cocker-lab-something-or-other with big brown eyes. She was adorable. We begged our parents to keep her and because we were moving into a new house with a big yard, and lucky for us, they agreed. I was in eighth grade, a tumultuous time for a young tween and the thought of having a new little puppy to occupy my boring summer ahead made me beam. As luck would have it, she was the easiest puppy ever and we were so spoiled as she effortlessly learned the doggy door, never chewed, and learned her manners within a couple of short months. She was a piece of cake. She had a special fondness for me as our other little dog Skeeter loved my sister more than me. So, by default, Molly claimed me. She was ornery and silly, loved to make us laugh. She was always following me everywhere. She would lay on the bath mat when I would shower, and I would have to nudge her to move so I could get out. I think of the thousands of showers over the years…In fact, many times she knocked Angie over trying to get out the door to follow me—determined is probably the best word to describe her. She would stand in the yard and put her nose in the air letting the breeze blow back her ears. Then she would close her eyes and take a deep breath…she experienced life to the fullest and loved every minute of it. At about five, she began having seizures. Big seizures. She would lose all control of her body and would be terrified. We held her and calmed her, but the vet told us the prognosis was not good, yet they couldn’t tell us exactly why the seizures were happening or if medication would help. They told us to make her comfortable and that she wouldn’t live very long due to the seizures. Molly disagreed.

Today, my Molly girl took her last breath and she was seventeen years old. She watched from the window as I went on my first date. She took a picture with me in my graduation cap and gown. She sat by my side when our family fell apart. She nudged and encouraged me when new families began. She gave me the nod when I began to foster sick Boxers for the rescue and through her many eye rolls, she accepted the new task we were given and made it her own. She let me know that Dan was the right guy. She wagged with glee when I brought home Logan, then Kale. She was a constant. She was the most loyal and selfless companion during the times in my life when I needed it most. I loved that she and I had a little “girls club” in my house full of guys. My hand was on her heart when it peacefully stopped today and I think that's where it's always been. She loved fully. Always. When I brought home her collar a few minutes ago, I heard the little clinking sound in my hand that it made when she would walk, and the sound was unbearable. I will miss her more than these words can describe. I know right now she is running free and happy, eyes closed, head back with her ears blowing in the wind. I can see her now. She is my special little girl and always will be.

Hero

This post has been churning inside of me for a while, but just this morning I was sorting through the clothes-to-donate pile and found Dan's old vest. When I say vest, I'm speaking of the bullet-proof type, not of the J.Crew type. Can you imagine Dan in a sweater vest? Ok I've got the giggles now...

Just looking at that thing made my heart do a little thump and then I caught the pungent odor and the memories came flooding back. I know, you're already wanting to close this and URP, but I beg just a few more minutes of your time.

Meet Dan.

Last year Dan was working his off-duty job at a local grocery store, where the most exciting event of the night is the usual beer run attempt or someone mouthing off to the little greeter woman at the front door when she yells at the mom towing 14 kids that she can't take the car-cart into the parking lot. Yeah, I know---Yawn. He makes the most of this job and was working this extra shift two nights a week as we were going through some difficulties financially due to the fact that we were about to lose our business. Suddenly he heard a thud and someone do a little shriek and looked over at the self-service line and an older gentleman was laying on the ground. Dan ran over, calling for the fire department on his way, and found the man not breathing. The whole store was frozen as he began chest compressions while they were waiting for the paramedics. Minutes went by and if you've ever done chest compressions (which I hope you haven't had to do) it is exhausting, so you know he was hot and sweaty and working to save the man. When the firemen arrived, they carted him off and a bunch of Dan's superiors arrived to check out the scene. The man unfortunately didn't make it and as he relayed the story to me, I assured him that he did everything possible and his stormy facial expression told of feelings he wasn't conveying to me. I gave him a hug and let it go hoping he wasn't feeling guilty.

A couple days later I came home from work and was greeted with a strange smell. The pungent odor of a permanent marker. Not a Sharpie. The ones that are made of metal that can make your nose hairs singe? Yeah those ones. I walked upstairs to find Dan using the marker all over his outer carrier on his vest, literally coloring on it. I was shocked and was holding my nose saying that he's probably killing all of our brain cells and asked him what on earth he was doing! He said sheepishly that he had tried to dye his vest earlier in the day and it didn't work so he was trying this and he grinned at his ingenuity and held it up and said that it was working. I asked him why he was doing that and he got a guilty look on his face.

He told me the rest of the story of that night at the store.

As they were loading up the old man into the ambulance, a Lieutenant came into the store to see what had happened. He looked at Dan, sweaty and exhausted from trying to save the man for about 10 minutes, and the Lieutenant walked over to Dan's Sergent and told him to let Dan know that his outer vest was beginning to fade from the sun and it looked shabby and he needed to get a new one. And then he left. My mouth dropped open. Dan said he knew we didn't have the money until his uniform allowance came in as the vests are almost a thousand dollars (we were barely making it as it was) and that was a few months away, so he would just have to do something to make the one he had look better. I was stunned. Stunned at the audacity of the Lieutenant. Stunned that my husband was going to WEAR that vest as it smelled to high heaven. And humbled by his devotion. Every two weeks I came home to that smell for about 5 months until we could afford his new vest.
Even typing this out it brings tears to my eyes thinking about it. As I'm typing this, he's upstairs snuggling a crying Kale as he stepped on a toy and squished his toe. I can hear the loud smack of a smooch he's delivering to said toe.

My hero.

Junkie

I have decided that I am an information junkie. I read constantly and when I don't know something, I'm researching it.

Case in point: when I was pregnant, I read just about every book (well maybe not EVERY one) and watched TLC non-stop. My favorite show was special delivery where the babies and (sometimes) the mom were high risk. Dan would shake his head at me and tell my how ridiculous it was, but it made perfect sense to me. If they can save THAT baby with the heart defect and only a 2% chance of surviving, then mine will be juuuuuust fine. I watched c-section after c-section, amazed and un-alarmed, second only to the amount of HOME births that I saw on both the internet and again TLC (preggos, if you don't have TLC, you need to get it). I was fascinated and prepared. Nothing like that combo to make you sleep well at night.

Case in point Numero Dos: My boss went to the Queen Creek Olive Mill over the weekend and knew I was interested in the it, so she brought back an pamphlet about the mill. I Oooohed and Aaahhed over it and read it front to back as it explained the process. Did you know they cold press the olives and that healthy olives are not Black!? Right. Neither did I, but now I do.

Did you know that you can look up your recent searches on Google? (looked that up to find that out, too) So I just did and on August 23rd (a random date I just picked) I searched for 18 things from 8:43AM until about noon. Just random things. Is that strange? I'm beginning to wonder about me a bit. I want to know a little about a lot, so I'm informed about important and also random things. If I'm being reeeally honest, I want to know more than a little. I am not a scholarly person and don't enjoy school (although I'm a current student..blah) but relish knowledge.

If only I could major in Trivial Pursuit...

Tonight I'm marveling at how much I've gotten done today. Worked, picked up the boys from my mom's house, threw in laundry, wrote part of a paper, bathed the boys, sat with the boys through old school Donald Duck, and did some reading. I've had so much time tonight, that I've let my mind wander toward the next few months...Kale's birthday, Halloween, Logan's birthday, Thanksgiving, then Christmas. This may just be the last night in the next five months that I will have a minute to breath....hmmm....a bit daunting. In thinking about holidays, specifically Halloween as it's the first one to arrive, something very important struck me. I simply had to write.

New mom's especially--get a pen and jot this down--you will not remember this and it really could be detrimental. Ready? OK.

Your child's first Halloween costume may just set the tone for his life.

Give it a minute and let it sink in.

Case in point: Logan my little monkey. Sweet, silly loves to climb, hang and screech in laughter. He is lovable and sensitve and once he did even eat poo (dog poo--accidentally of course), and I know you were thinking it because you too saw that naughty little chimp wipe his bootie and lick it then fall off the tree.

Now to Kale: My little Chili Pepper. Kale is as hot and spicy as they come. He lives with the passion that so many of us lack. His intensity far exceeds a simple bell or poblano....he's a habanero in every way. He makes me melt when he take his little chubby hand and touches my cheek so gently in the early morning, and gets my blood boiling when he looks me dead in the eye and gives "May-theee" (Mason, our dog) his spaghetti dinner as I'm warning him not to even think about it.

So the moral is this: stick with honey bees and little lambs and leave the peeees in the pod and the adorable devil on the rack.

Just in case.

A happy little tune

You know what I love best about having kids? That you never ever know what will happen on any given day.

Like today.

Today, my baby...my BABY boy (is it sinking in that I'm in a bit of denial here?) did a pee pee in the potty. Well to be precise, it was FOUR pee pees in the potty. All in about 20 minutes of time. Lately, I've been trying to remember how potty training worked with Logan. Ahh yes. I remember now. The infamous Skittles on the top of the toilet. Pee in the potty--get a Skittle. That means every little squirt --and let me just say that Logan figured that out within about 2 minutes. And we peed. Every little squirt. And OH how we devoured those Skittles happily. A couple bags of Skittles versus a box of diapers. Yeah...no contest. So I've been thinking we should begin to introduce Kale to the wonderful diaper-less world. Sounds fairly simple.

As I'm thinking about this I remembered a bag of gummi bears that have been sitting on my fridge for a couple days and thought "hey what the heck, lets give it a go" and asked Kale if he would like to pee pee in the potty. He said "NO FANK YOU" and firmly met my gaze. I said "Kale if you go pee pee on the potty Mama will give you a gummi bear--wanna try?" A firm and loud "NO FANK YOU, Mama."

Sigh...At least he's getting the whole "manners" thing down.

Then Logan said "If Kale does a pee pee can I have one, too?" Ding Ding Ding! "ABSOLUTELY" is my response. And a little cheerleader was born. Next thing I know, Logan has two large packs of new undies that Kale received for Christmas (thanks Aunt Crystal) from Kale's room and he's brought them into the bathroom and has opened them telling Kale how COOL big boy undies are. And that when he pee pees on the potty (lordy, I'm already sick of typing out pee pee) he gets to wear cool super hero and YO GABBA GABBA (the WORST show on television, yet the kids LOVE IT) undies. Kale is so very unimpressed. We get Kale on the potty and he is now screaming "NO FANK YOU" so loudly I'm thinking we may be on the verge of ruining our chances of ever getting him to go, and we hear a little sound. The melodious sound of the pee pee song. (oh did I forget to mention we have a SINGING potty? You pee, it sings. Ingenious.) And Logan and I burst into cheers. Dan runs in and we all do a HUGE dance for Kale, who now is almost about to cry cuz the cheering scared the dickens out of him. He recovered fairly quickly and held out a hand for his reward. Kale got two gummi bears and Logan got one. Then Logan encouraged him to try again. And again. And again. I gave them a few minutes of guy time as I needed to finish picking up the living room and heard this from around the corner.
Logan: Kale, you need to do more pee pees so you can wear these super cool undies. And we get more gummi's. You want more gummies?
Kale: No
Logan: I'll get my stool. (I hear rustling) Ok, Kale I'll sit here and you sit on the potty and we can talk so you go pee pee. I know! We can talk about camping. Do you want to go camping, Kale?
Kale: No
Logan: If you do a pee pee we can get more gummi bears. You want more gummi's?
Kale: (in his loudest, most serious voice) NOOOOOOOOO FANK YOU WHOA-GEEEEEEE.
And immediately another SONG emerges from the potty. It really is a magical potty. And we heard the song two more times after that.
So tomorrow my plan is to work that potty til it loses its proverbial voice. And if I have a little goober who won't make it sing I guess I'll just deal. Such is life, I guess. Would I have it any other way?

No FANK you.

Balance

I have the chili in the crock pot and just put the kids down for an afternoon nap. It's pretty quiet right now. I'm sitting here just thinking, reflecting and enjoying this moment. It's a bit of a relief. Saying goodbye to 2009. I sense a collective sigh around me from pretty much everyone I know to be closing out this tumultuous year. I am hopeful for a shift in the positive direction and am recognizing a feeling in my spirit that has been gone for a while-- Excitement. Hope. Peace. I'm pretty sure it's one of those or a combination of the three.

Having a new, fresh start.

The last couple weeks have been strange. The time away from the hustle and bustle of working non-stop has made me feel again. I think I had become a little numb to "feeling my feelings" whatever they were at that moment. I was in the whole "get through it, move on, feel later" mode. Being told by your attorney that you HAVE to stay home and not work for a month and a half was like someone putting on the emergency break while zipping down the highway at 80 miles an hour. Say WHAAAAT? I sensed a bit of panic in myself as I thought about my days, the finances, and just about everything else that makes one freak out when they're told that their dual income household must be cut in half starting immediately. But we did it. And I think I'm better for it.

A little secret.

I'm a little scared of what it will be like going back to work. I feel good right now and I'm worried that I'll get out of whack again. Now, don't get me wrong, I miss having an outside job (you know, adult conversation, coffee while brainstorming on an exciting project, etc), as I've also learned that I'm not the hottest at being a stay at home mom. I try to be creative, but the truth is I'm as creative as the directions on the play dough box help me to be. I'm just not that great at thinking of forts or painting dishwasher boxes into a pirate ship. We read, we laugh, we play Mickey Mouse card games, and for right now, that's probably enough for the boys. So I do have a sense that while this time was wonderful (especially since it was in time for Thanksgiving and Christmas) that it will be okay that it's coming to an end. I guess I'm just hoping to keep it all balanced. Something I've never been that great at accomplishing. Ok. I just changed the title of this entry. That's what I feel. That's the combination of those three words for me--excitement, hope, peace = balance. And tonight when we toast our Mug root beer to the New Year, that's what I'll be hoping for.