Goodbye & Hello

 

 

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My darling Alexander Marco, my little chihuahua maltese mutt purchased over 13 years ago, passed away in April. It was horrifying and sad and took me a few months to even begin to function properly again.

No more dogs. Never again.

This is what both my husband and I said on a daily basis for 60 days. And we meant it. We were 100% convinced that we wouldn’t be able to handle the emotional burden of having another animal.

Cue this rugrat.

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Meet Gaston Alexander, the handsomest little dachshund in all the world. After bursting into tears after a glass of wine a few weeks ago and sobbing to my husband that I missed Alexander, that the children were just so mean to me and I needed something in my life that gave unconditional love we found this long eared adorable fur ball and brought him home.

Alexander left some big paws to fill. Gaston seems to be very patient with picture taking, so that’s a good sign.

That’s all.  I just wanted to introduce our newest addiction.

 

Dear Darling Children: Barbie is FINE…

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Dear Darling Children,

It is perfectly acceptable to like Barbie.  Don’t let anyone tell you differently.

It has been my experience that those who dislike Barbie don’t read fine print or understand the world.  They complain about toys and how they’re messing with our babies minds because they don’t realize that the real problem for our children involves the ozone, social security and possibly the fallout from a potential Donald Trump presidency (but who really knows, what a wild card, politics has never been so entertaining, BREAK OUT THE POPCORN!).

If someone tells you they hate Barbie because she gives people unrealistic expectations of what a woman should look like, just slap the donut out of that person’s hand and let them know that Superheroes & My Little Pony are FAR more unrealistic.

Mention how they shouldn’t let toys dictate their self worth.

It’s a DOLL!

Scream that in their face.

“A DOLL! IT’S JUST A DOLL!”

After your fit, if they haven’t run away from you yet and you care at all about salvaging the friendship, try to fester out the underlying problem.

Then go save the world, one real problem at a time.

Kisses,

Mother

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Donated: No…I Haven’t Seen That Toy…

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Has anyone else ever gone so completely mad at the mess the kids make that you just do a sweep through the house with a garbage bag and donate a bunch of stuff you know they won’t miss and then when your husband comes home and asks if you’ve seen a black Lego piece that’s missing from HIS Lego modular thing you lie and say you have no clue what he’s talking about even though you remember seeing that black Lego piece and being all, “What the heck is this stupid Lego piece doing in the middle of floor, DONATE IT”?

…I  know there is no way I’m alone on this…

Squad Goals are the New Goals

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Feeling lonely since we moved to Florida.  Came across this picture of my kids with a few of their old pals and almost cried.

There was fighting on this day.  Block throwing, lightsaber hitting, non-sharing and tears were involved.  But love overcame it all and at the end of the play date nobody wanted to leave (except the mothers, of course, since it was nap time).

I’ve learned that the mark of a true Mommy friend is when your kid does something awful to another kid and the mother just looks at you like, “Is it time for a carafe of wine yet?”

New goal (instead of unpacking, getting the house together, building up my wardrobe) is to make at least 1 new friend a week, whether it be for me, the kids or my husband.

Gotta build up that village.

#squadgoals

“That Dog”: First Baby -vs- Human Baby

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It was the end of my Junior year in College. I couldn’t pass Spanish because my instructor was a woman who refused to fall prey to my impeccable flirting. I was sad. So, as per the norm when sadness arrived, I took a trip to the pet store at the local mall.

Since I was young and in excellent health I wore pointy toe 4″ stilettos to walk the mall.  I carefully maneuvered past the clothing shops, the cookie cart, the handsome men catcalling me who always tried in vain to get me to purchase a steam iron…until I arrived at the front of the pet shop window.

…and there you were.

Tiny. Blonde. Sitting so still while all the other wild animals barked madly around you.  We locked eyes and it was…love.  An instant, unselfish, pure & unbreakable love.

I thrust the young sales boy my soon to be maxed out credit card that the bank had foolishly given me even though I didn’t have a job and charged the $94.99 that you cost because in 2002 a chihuahua/maltese mix was a mutt, not a designer dog.  In just a few years your breed would sell for upwards of $750.

Marketing.

Life is strange.

Together we took on the world.  The “No Pets Allowed” law didn’t apply to us because I just didn’t care and you were very quiet.  We ate together in the nicest of restaurants, people stared in jealousy at your various designer rhinestone encrusted ensembles, you traveled across America and stayed at numerous hotels illegally. You made television appearances, were almost shot by the police, cheated death at a haunted house, ate 99 cent Jack in the Box tacos for 6 months straight without complaining, fought off alligators & fell in love with Scooby Doo.

You were there for my greatest triumphs.

You were there for my greatest heartbreaks.

You never asked for anything except love and table scraps.

You are 13 and your health is failing.  I can see this.  I know you don’t hear as well.  I see you miss the couch when you jump.   I hear you coughing.

…and I’m awful.  I don’t deserve you. Because instead of showing you love, for the past few months I have shown you what can only be described as hate.

I call you “that dog” and I feel anger when I trip over you.  I resent having to walk you outside 5 times a day because our fence isn’t put in yet.  When you bark I cringe because it means you’ll wake the children.

The human children.

Because once I had those human children I forgot about my first baby.

And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

Everyone said it would happen. I didn’t believe them.

I don’t know how it happened.

I don’t remember when it happened.

I just know it happened.

I have been mean to you.  I have not given you the respect and love that you deserve, that you’ve earned.

Juliette yelled at me again today.  Her terrible two attitude is at an all time high and while I know it’ll pass (please, GOD, let it pass) it doesn’t make the bad moments with her any easier. When I finally got her to go down for a nap I sat on the kitchen floor and cried because…I’m a crier. I am who I am. I should buy stock in waterproof mascara.

You sauntered up to me, sniffing the whole time, probably looking for dropped chex mix.  You looked at me with your cataract eyes, listened to me sniffle with your floppy ears, laid your graying head in my lap and sighed in solidarity.

The stench from the breath you exhumed was borderline unbearable.  I just don’t know what to do about your teeth.  But the action set off a flood of memories of all the times I’ve been at the end, feeling unable to go on and you were there to make things better.

I love you, Alexander Marco Bray-Frazier.

You are a good dog, and I promise to be better, to be the owner you deserve.

I’m going to go take you on a walk.  Please don’t poop in front of our new neighbors.

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There Are Those Days

IMG_0921There are days that I cringe when I hear you running toward my room.  I curl up under the covers, pretend to be sleeping and pray that you decide to make TODAY the day that you learn to play by yourself.

On these days I am sulky and mean.  I yell at you for not moving your little legs to the table fast enough. I yell at you: Eat your waffles, I’m not a maid, you must drink milk/water/juice, stop asking so many questions, I can’t stand the dog, you’ll wake your sister, you can’t watch the iPad, you have to wear pants, you peed on the toilet, stop asking so many questions, I told you the answer already, we’re going to be late, I just need coffee, I don’t have chocolate, you can’t have chocolate for breakfast anyway, stop asking so many questions, don’t ask why…

I yell and yell and yell and yell because…

Because sometimes, my darling little child, sometimes when you’re a stay at home parent you feel like nobody ever hears you.  Nobody is listening or understanding. You can manage this feeling for a bit, for days or for weeks but then one day…one dark day when the child who you love more than life itself asks you for the 1000th time if he has to brush his teeth…

…on that day you’ll completely lose your mind.  You’ll wonder if you’ve gone insane, if anyone can actually hear you.  DOES your voice work? You’ll feel useless because if you can’t even teach your child that he has to brush his teeth every morning you MUST BE FAILING and soon his teeth will fall out and the dentist will judge you.  You’ll start looking for a desk job because at least at a desk job you’ll have more control over the results.

You’ll cry.

I cry.

Because parenting is the most rewarding but stressful thing I have ever done in my entire life and the guilt at not being constantly & overwhelmingly grateful is crushing.

Then you, my slow walking, darling little child…you slowly walk up and sit next to me, knowing that I’m overwhelmed.  I feel guilt that my almost 5 year old knows what the word overwhelmed means.  You hold my hand.

You tell me you’re sorry for asking about brushing your teeth again.

I tell you I’m sorry for yelling.

The clock tells us both it has been 10 minutes since all of this began and now it has already ended.

We acknowledge that it was a rough start to the day and vow to get McDonald’s for lunch.

High five.

…and I vow to be a better, kinder, more patient mother tomorrow…