My mom tried to warn me, but I didn't listen

When I was a little girl, I would beg my mom on a weekly basis--along with the support from my brother and sister--to let us get a dog. Her answer was always a firm and resounding "No." as she explained, once again, that the death of her childhood dog had broken her heart. That logic was lost on us, so we persisted and persisted and persisted until one day, many years later, we wore her down. We brought Buddy home when I was in 7th grade and my total adoration of miniature dachshunds began.

It only seemed natural that I would one day get my own little dachshund. Even though my parents had forbidden it when I was one "their dime", I was on the constant hunt for the perfect dog of my own. Shortly after getting married when I was only 19 years old, I decided that I would know when I met "my dog", so the hunt continued.

Two years later while walking through the mall, I came across a small pet store. The adorable doberman puppy immediately caught my eye, so I of course walked in to get a better look. My eyes drifted two cages above and one to the left, and there she was staring right through my soul: my sweet Gracie-Loo.

Even though I was broke and told myself I was just going to hold her, I knew the second I laid eyes on her that I had found my dog. I was instantly filled with the panic that someone else would swoop in and steal her right out from under me, so without even talking to my then husband, I whipped out my visa card and spent $500 I didn't have on her. Another $100 later on a crate, dog bowls, food, and toys that were entirely too big for her, and then I drove excitedly home cradling the newest member of my family.


Grace and I have been together for over 14 years now. In fact, she has been by my side during the entirety of my adult life. To say that she has been a faithful companion does not truly describe what an amazing support system she has been to me. She has seen every detail of every mistake I made as a fledgling adult. When my abusive former husband and I would get into an argument, she would raise her lip and snarl at him and then lick the tears from my face afterwards when I would lay in bed praying for God to send me the right answers. When I was pregnant with my son, she would climb up to snuggle with me carefully avoiding putting any of her weight on my burgeoning belly, and after he was born she would pace around the house whining when anyone else except me held him. She tolerated his constant tugs at her ears and tail when he found his hands and the ability to crawl and chase after her. When he was sick, she would sleep on the ground next to his crib keeping watch. Through every change I have thrown at her (a new husband with his own dog, another new dog, two more children, two cats, three chickens, and multiple house moves), she lived up to her name with pride, handling everything with the Grace of a dignified member of our family.

My heart tells me that we are nearing the end of my sweet Grace's life. Her mouth contains only a small handful of teeth, the tan of her fur has been long replaced with white, her skin hangs loosely on her bones no matter how much we feed her and exposes the bones of her spine. She doesn't hear very well at all anymore and struggles to even use her dog stairs to get up on our bed. Her body movements are slow and achy in the morning as she tries to warm up and get moving. They told me two months ago that her heart is failing and yesterday that her immune system is as well.

I have warned my children that Grace's time is approaching, but how can I prepare them for the impact that this will have on them? They have never known life without Grace...her sweet face, her protective eyes, her gentle acceptance, her silly habits, her stinky breath, and for that matter, I don't even remember what life was like before her either.

Everyone tells me that I will "just know", but how will I know it is time? I suppose I will know when the light has faded from her eyes or her old body is too tired to carry her anymore. I think about it every day and feel my heart breaking just a little more as I contemplate life without her. To some people she is just a dog, but to me she is so much more. I finally understand what my mother was trying to avoid all of those years when we begged her for a dog. She tried to warn me about the suffocating heart break of losing your lifelong companion, but I didn't listen.

For now, I will continue giving Grace the love and support she has always given me. I will lift her to and from the bed when she is too achy. I will sneak her hard boiled eggs and half eaten cheeseburgers. I will let her stretch out in the patch of sun that warms the grass to the perfect temperature. I will let her bark at the people passing by as she protects "her children." I will let her sleep her old weary head on my pillow right next to me even though her breath is so stinky that it burns my nostrils. And, when it is her time, I will mourn her with the deep sense of loss that my mother warned me about all those years ago.

Last night I slept with Captain Underpants

As a mother, there have been many things over the past 12.5 years that I have learned that I never anticipated before having children. There are the obvious adages that everyone tells you: your love for your kids will surpass anything you could have imaged, maintaining total control will no longer be an option, all children are different, every day brings something new and exciting, expect the unexpected. The list could go on for days, and all of these pearls of wisdom ring true. Along the way, it is not these things that resonate the loudest with me, but the other aspects of parenthood and rearing children that somehow seamlessly become a part of every day life. Habits form--both good and bad--that define your family unit and make it uniquely your own.

In our family, relaxing and embracing the fun in life are just parts of our fiber. We are fond of making silly faces at each other both at appropriate moments and not so appropriate moments (across the pew at church). We play music loudly and dance without any concern for how adept we are as dancers (mommy, not so much). We share everything openly with one another and take the time to listen to the trials and tribulations of one another, offering love and community without hesitation. Mark and I have never, and will never be, too adult to let loose and enjoy life both with and in front of our children (kissing and hugging results in loud proclamations of "Ewww....romance!"). Our family culture embraces a sense of relaxation and not "sweating the small stuff." This has brought with it so many benefits for all of us that the not so savory parts of embracing a laid back lifestyle have become accepted daily pests.

The biggest pesty side effect of our family mantra is currently the odd items that are left in the oddest of places. I did an inventory of my purse last year when it was starting to literally weight heavily on my shoulders, an inventory that produced (from within ONE handbag) two rusty screws that my son had found with his metal detector, an eclectic assortment of cherished rocks and shells from God knows where, a note from my daughter reminding me what kind of sandwich to put in her lunch, a tiny ballerina, ten Littlest Pet Shop animals, a used bandaid, and a clean pair of princess panties. At some point, all of my children felt that the best place to store these items was in mommy's purse, so I was blessed to be the one to find proper homes (the trash bin included) for all of these misfit items. On a weekly basis I find a myriad of oddities in my car: empty bags of candy, rogue socks, pages from a coloring book, stickers, soccer balls, DVDs, hair bands...you name it. I have tried everything to enforce putting things where they belong consistently, yet I still find things shoved in places that one of my little humans deemed at the time to be "just right." Sometimes I curse under my breath as I walk around putting things where they belong, and sometimes I just smile and wonder who else can see a snapshot of what their children did that afternoon by evaluating the scattering of toys and other items throughout the places they spent their time? This annoyance brings with it a sense of understanding for my children that a perfectly tidy house and car would probably not reflect as clearly.

I didn't sleep well last night. No matter how much I tossed and turned and readjusted my pillows, I just felt like the Princess and the Pea. I woke up with a neck crick and a sense of crankiness that I masked through gulps of diet coke as I went through my morning routine--my grossly outnumbered morning routine with three sluggish kids up against one sluggish mommy. The four of us left the house in a hurry of partly kept hairdos and various states of undress (two kids were feverishly putting shoes on in the car and one was brushing her hair), but we made it to school with two minutes to spare.

After I got home and began my morning cleaning routine, I discovered the root of my aching neck. While I was making my bed and rearranging my pillows, I uncovered the culprit wedged ever so awkwardly under my pillows: Captain Underpants, the book that Macey had told me she "put away" before I carried her to bed. Despite my annoyance at my restless night of sleep, I smiled as the image of my sweet Macey reading so expressively to me the night before came flooding into my mind. I'm not sure why she felt that tucking her book under my pillow was the "place that it belonged", but once again I was reminded how lucky I am to have my children in my life despite their idiosyncrasies. I am happy that my children feel just at home in every inch of our house as I do even if that means that last night I had the unforeseen chance to sleep with Captain Underpants.

I thought about putting the book on her bookshelf but then realized that she wouldn't be able to find it when she wants to read more if it to me again tonight. Instead, I tucked it back under my pillow, just where it belongs.