Death. And how much I’ll miss one tiny, smelly, sweetheart.

Wednesday afternoon Banana, my precious tiny dog, passed away.

I got this picture the day before he died.  Verona adored this little guy almost as much as I did.

I found Banana as a stray a few years ago and brought him home with the full intention of taking him to a shelter only to find all the shelters were full and nobody would take him… and so, be default, he became ours.

Death is a weird weird thing while simultaneously being the most natural thing in the world.  Banana’s death was beautiful and full of love, while at the same time being horrifying and gross… but somehow the beauty didn’t take away from the horror at all and the horror didn’t taint the beauty… they just existed side by side in a bizarre juxtaposition of inevitability.

We knew it was coming so we all had a chance to say goodbye, but Wednesday morning when I saw him I knew the time was very near.  He was so weak by that point that he couldn’t walk or even stand so that morning I move him and his little bed out into the sun so even though he couldn’t see anymore he could feel the warmth and the kids and I spent the morning outside playing so Verona could spend some more time with him and he wouldn’t be alone.

When they went down for their nap I brought him inside to sit on my lap while I watched a movie, something we’ve done together most evenings since I found him those years ago.  Despite having no eyesight left he kept pulling is head up, something that was incredibly difficult for him, to look at me.  He seemed so scared so, through my tears, I told him he didn’t have to be, that everything was going to be ok, and I was holding him so if it was time he wouldn’t to be alone.  I also reminded him how incredibly loved he was.

A few minutes later suddenly the room was filled with an emptiness, I reach down and put my hand on his tiny chest and realized he was gone.

When I picked his dirty, scraggly self up off the street those years ago I never anticipated how much I would love him or how blessed I would be by him.  He needed me at a time in my life when I desperately needed to be needed.  While it was good to have the chance to say goodbye it doesn’t make me miss him any less.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Hey Kohl’s… consider it on!

Once upon a time for Christmas I got a coat from Kohl’s.  It was cute, green, and I don’t actually own a coat (although I live in Phoenix so that’s not a big deal) what it wasn’t was the correct size.

So I went to exchange it for the right size today to find there weren’t any in the right size.  When I decided to return it instead I was told by the cashier that through whatever messed up Kohl’s system that I didn’t understand I could either take $19 cash or $58 store credit… except the catch about the store credit was that it had to be one item that was exactly $58, not a penny more, not a penny less.  The apathetic sales clerk looked at me with her glazed over look and, without stopping the incessant chomping on her gum said “Well, you better take the $19.  It’s point to be a huge pain to try and find something exactly $58.  Too bad.”

To which I responded “Really Kohl’s?!?!  REALLY!?!?  Them’s fightin’ words!  You think you can screw me out of damn near $40?!?!?!  Oh it’s OOOOOON BITCHES!”  (Ok, those may not have been my exact words… but it was exactly what I ment.)

I searched through that whole freaking store for almost two hours, and you know what the interesting thing about Kohl’s is?  They have a whole lotta stuff for $57.  They also have a whole lotta stuff for $59.  Do you know what they have for $58?  Exactly one pair of bootcut jeans and one incredibly ugly sweater.  That’s it.

So I got me a pair of bootcut jeans.  And Kohl’s can suck it.  Because nobody is screwing me and my borderline OCD level frugality out of damn near $40.

And I mean nobody!

The magical night where Social Distortion was not.

I grew up in a tiny, very religious town in Kansas… the kind of place hours away from any decent music.  3.5 hours to be exact.  3.5 hours was how far away Kansas City, Missouri is.  There was this little hole in the wall place called the Beaumont Club in the Westport neighborhood of KC that always booked the best punk bands, and we all drove up there every chance we got to hear music that spoke to us, that made outcasts like us feel alive and important and like we mattered.

One otherwise unimportant Tuesday night Social Distortion was scheduled to play a show there.  We all wanted to go.  My mother most adamantly did not want me to but I knew, somehow I just knew that I needed to, I knew somewhere in the core of my being that this wasn’t just another concert.

She threatened, she guilt tripped, but in the end the beauty of divorce is that neither parent has any real control over you because they’re afraid you’ll go live with the other one and never come back.

So as afternoon drew to a close I crammed myself into my friend Lance’s tiny, funky smelling car with him, our friends Jono, Tara, and Ben who was one of my most trusted friends who I also happened to be more or less head over heels in love with.  We drove, we laughed, we listened to music, we smoked a shit ton of pot, and got hilariously lost at one point, but finally we made it to the Beaumont.  As we strutted down the cobblestone streets of Westport from the car to the club we felt like the coolest people on the planet, our long journey was over and about to be rewarded by seeing Social D live… except we weren’t.  The show was sold out.  Four hours (cause of the whole getting lost thing) in that tiny funky smelling car and they were sold out.  Completely and totally sold out.  All the youthful exuberance in the world wasn’t going to change that.

It could have been the worst night in the world.  It had ever right to be.  But instead the most epic string of adventures unfolded before us… it was the kind of night they make coming of age movies out of.

Going into detail almost seems like it would taint the memory so I’ll just give you the sparknotes version.  There was cosmic bowling, piggy back races through the Walmart meat aisle, a small fleeing-from-the-cops incident, Lance lifting the car with all of us inside it after a rush of adrenaline, saving the life of an old man in a truck stop parking lot, and Ben and I getting handcuffed to a Dairy Queen ice cream freezer.  And through it all Ben was smiling.  Ben smiled a lot but underneath it I could tell he was a sad sad soul, there was always something weighing him down beneath it all.  But that night he seemed free, he was smiling like he was truly happy.

The night ended with a long ride home through which I slept with my head on Ben’s shoulder and my hand in his.  (Truth be told I only slept the last half, the first part I was just pretending to sleep while I tried to soak in everything about the moment.)

When we got home Ben gentle brushed the hair out of my face and whispered in my ear.  “Wake up, we’re here.” then so quiet no one could hear but me “This was the best night I’ve ever spent with you.” and smiled a genuine smile, not the kind of smile he normally had that I could tell there was still sorrow behind, but a real and genuine smile.

It was the best night I had ever had in those 17 years of my life.

.

.

.

That was the last night I ever saw Ben alive.  A few days later he was gone, leaving only a note that said not to cry, that he loved us and would miss us all.

I knew deep down that I needed to go that night.  No matter what my parents wanted, no matter what anyone thought… I knew this time it wasn’t about teenage rebellion or seeing some band.  I had known somehow that night was going to be important.  I knew the path I needed to take and I’m so grateful I stood up for myself and took it.  I don’t know if I would have been able to live with myself if I had missed out on that last magical night with someone who ment that much to me.

You are the only one who can know what path you’re ment to go down.

I so dearly hope I can remember that as my kids get old enough to have magical sold out concert nights of their own.

Safety vs Gandhi

“You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” -Gandhi

I am determined to show my children a different way to live in the world.  The world can be a scary place, especially living in the big bad city.  Bad things can happen but I have always been convinced that the only way to combat the threat of danger isn’t to run and hide from it but to consciously act in a different way.  To live kindness, to live community, to live trust.  Yes, sometimes that’s not the 100% safest option but I’ve been convinced that some level of risk is worth it because in living unapologetic kindness, community, and trust in a broken world you’re also living hope… and hope is something this world desperately needs.  Only then can the world truly start to change, when we choose not to live in fear.

I’ve been convinced of this until recently.

A week ago a good friend of ours was attacked in her own home in the middle of the day by a complete stranger.  He pushed his way past her when she answered the door, locked her little boy in the bathroom, and beat her mercilessly.  She may not even be alive now if their roommate hadn’t miraculously come home right then and scared him off.  She is profoundly broken, both physically and emotionally.  Her husband and roommate are emotionally broken, family and friends… broken, our community as a whole… broken.  How do you deal with something like that?

The thing is, she wasn’t in any situation I’m not in every single day and she didn’t do anything that I wouldn’t have done.  They only live 10 minutes away from us in what I would consider a slightly nicer neighborhood than ours.  I can’t get it out of my mind that if some nutjob had come to my house instead of hers there is absolutely no reason it wouldn’t have been me.

It doesn’t make me want to reach out to the world, or my neighbors, or a stranger who needs help… it makes me want to lock all the doors to my house and hide.

Every time I’m home by myself with the kids now and the dogs start barking I freeze.  Who knows what evil is lurking outside, ready to come in and get us!?  When I’m walking to my car in the grocery store parking lot after dark and a shadow moves my heart races.  Who knows what monsters may be hiding behind the next red Toyota!?  When I decide to take the kids out for a walk or to the park I think about it much harder than I normally would.  Isn’t venturing out onto the urban streets just asking for trouble!?

Because the hopelessly bruised and swollen face isn’t on the news anymore… it’s in front of me on someone I love.

And that’s really freaking hard to deal with.

It came to it’s peak yesterday when I made a pan of cinnamon rolls for our neighbors across the street who I see and wave at all the time but have never formally met… what’s a better ice breaker than homemade cinnamon rolls?  But when I went to unlock the door (the side door used to be unlocked during the day so friends who stopped by could come right in) I briefly wondered if I should.  Should I open the door and leave the safety of my locked house and my protective dog?  Should I be taking my kids across the street the the house of people who were virtually strangers?

It was that thought that made me realize I had let it go too far.  The idea that I could keep us all locked away in the house for the rest of our lives in the name of safety is absurd, and a world where you can’t meet your neighbors isn’t the world I want my kids to grow up in… risk or no risk.

There is a fine line between being appropriately safe and making fear based decisions that get in the way of living fully.  I used to think I knew where the line was but now I’m not so sure.  Maybe I’ve been making horribly dangerous decisions since we moved here without knowing it (remember, I came from a land where hitchhiking when you run out of gas is totally kosher… even as a teenage girl), or maybe that mythical line is still where it’s always been and I just need to get over this rattled feeling.

I still want to be the change I wish to see in the world… I’m just now painfully aware of how hard that can be sometimes.

Boring Memories

I started a seperate photoblog to keep track of all my 365Blessings project pictures so A)They don’t completely take over this blog, B)They don’t get lost when the laptop I’m currently using dies a terrible death (which, judging by it’s current state, could be any freaking second), and C)I have some record of our day to day lives since I don’t have time for any regular journal keeping right now.

Any pictures that have a decent story to go along with them will find their way to this blog, but if you want to stalk me see all the in between things feel free to make your way over to Boring Memories.

Girls will be… boys?

Before having Verona all of my long-term childcare responsibilities have been with little boys.  With boys I know what to expect, typical male behavior. 

Don’t get me wrong, I like Seth Rogan movies, I enjoy some lowbrow humor from time to time, a quality bodily function joke will not go unlaughed at by me, so I know first hand that girls have a certain level of that in them as well.  But still, with little boys you expect a lot of that (and in my experience you usually get a lot of it)… boys are, afterall, just tiny men.  With girls you know it will happen sometimes but you don’t expect it nearly to the same degree.

I didn’t expect it with Verona… at least not like this.  Imagine my surprise when her vocabulary blossomed and I found I had given birth to a miniature frat boy. 

Nothing amuses this child more than hearing an impolite noise escape someone’s body.  She will laugh and laugh and then remind you of the incident for the rest of the day.

And heaven forbid she should ever make one of said noises herself without letting you know… or letting anyone else within earshot get by without knowing as well.

But her all time favorite activity is letting you know about poop.  All about it.  If there is something to be said about poop she will be the one to tell you.  If one of the dogs goes outside she will let you know “Daisy pooping!  Barney pooping!”  (Mind you, they may not actually be pooping, they may just be going outside for any number of other reasons… she doesn’t care.)  If I’m in the bathroom and the door isn’t completely latched she will barge in, finger pointing accusingly at me, declaring “Pooping!  Pooping!”  The entire time she fills her pants followed by the entire time it takes you to change her diaper she will give you a play by play of exactly what is happening.

The other day I was talking to my incredibly proper mother on skype… talking about the sorts of mundane things you talk to your incredibly proper mother about…

When suddenly our conversation was hijacked.  There was very important information that needed to be conveyed.

Sigh.  Boys will be boys… and sometimes girls will kind of be boys too.

Plank Pullin’ – The one where I admit that I panic

I am not a control freak.  I’m really not…normally.

Parenting has made me a crazy control freak, but ironically not in the way it makes a lot of people.  Relinquishing control of Verona, letting her be her own person, not (intentionally or forcefully at least) imposing all my little quirks and opinions on her… that has been easy.  The hard part is accepting that not everyone who interacts with her is going to be… well… me. 

Like any parent I have specific ways I want to raise and interact with her and like any child she is going to come into contact with lots of people who do things differently than I do. 

And that’s ok.  THAT’S REALLY OK!  (I’m yelling because I’m still trying to convince myself.) 

Everytime someone goes on and on and on to her about what a pretty girl she is… OH MY GOD STOP IT RIGHT NOW YOU’RE TEACHING HER THAT HER LOOKS ARE ALL THAT MATTERS!!!!  Whenever someone condescendingly holds the cookie that she very politely asked for out of her reach prodding her with “Say the magic word.” OH MY GOD SHE’S NOT A DOG THAT NEEDS TO BE TRAINED!  YOU WOULDN’T USUALLY SAY PLEASE IF YOU WERE ASKING ME FOR A COOKIE SO STOP BEING A BULLY ABOUT IT WITH HER!!!!  And especially whenever anyone says “Good girl!” because she shared/talked/finally said please because she wanted the cookie so bad.  HER GOODNESS DOESN’T HINGE ON DOING WHAT YOU WANT. SHE’S GOOD AND WORTHWHILE REGARDLESS.  IF YOU WANT TO SHOW YOUR APPROVAL TELL HER THANK YOU FOR WHAT SHE DID LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!!!!

Yes, as it turns out I am totally crazy.  (For the record I have never yelled any of those things at anyone, I’m not that nuts, you’re getting an inside look at the loco inside the noggin de Jenna.)

And I need to chill the F out.  For starters all the afore-mentioned things are essentially just my opinion, and as such there is a risk that I’m wrong.  Of course I don’t think I’m wrong, but nobody thinks they’re wrong.  And more so I need to trust that Verona can survive in the world.  There are a lot of things I will shelter her from since she’s a small child obviously, but I need to trust that my influence is greater than that of other people.  The conversations we have about sexism, double standards, and being proud of who you are going to stick more than playing with her friends toy make-up kits and plastic credit cards (I’m not making that up, toy credit cards and make-up aimed at toddlers exist).  My treating her as a person worthy of respect will matter more than when other people manipulate her into doing something. 

I trust that she can learn, grow, and become the amazing person she is… a person that is neither me or those other people… and as an extension of that I need to trust that as she grows she can learn to navigate a world with a million different view points and attitudes.  My guidance as her mother will be a big part of that but that guidance as her mother is all I can do.  Past that I need to trust that she’ll be ok because kids are resilient and I’ve done my best.

And anyway, the only alternatives are locking her away like a princess in a tower so she can never be touched by the outside world or stressing myself needlessly into an early grave and neither of those are the answer either.

Plank Pullin’

It’s Plank Pullin’ time!  The one day a week that we strongly resolve to ignore the multitude of specks and sawdust around us and pull one bona fide plank from our own eye.

Sex, sex, and more sex.  Yes, that’s right, I’m talking about the great unmentionable deed so the squeamish had been browse on and dad, if you’re reading this now would be the perfect time to close the laptop and go on with your day.

Why is it that so many of us will do so many ridiculous things for the men we love… until a situation of unavoidable stickiness comes along (seriously, why does sex have to be so f-ing sticky?!?!?!) and if we’re not 100% in the mood the line in the sand of our love has been drawn. 

At different points throughout last week I’ve touched the grossest socks known to man (David’s soccer socks) so they’d be clean for his game, I’ve cleaned up vomited covered children and bedding five times entirely in the dark so I wouldn’t wake David by turning on the light at three in the morning, and done more than one SO BORING homework assignment for him.  Sounds like I love the guy to death right?  But try and wake me up for a little late night shenanigans and you might as well have asked me to run over my own dog.  I turn into all sorts of a pissy bitch.

Let’s look at this objectively though, shall we?  To be blunt, my enormous pregnant self is not exactly the bell of the ball.  I’m huge all over, covered in purple-brown zigzagy stretch marks, and my boobs are all National Geographic.  I know he would love me no matter how fat, stretch marky, and saggy I could get, but he thinks I’m so flippin hot that he constantly (and I mean CONSTANTLY) wants to get all up ons.  And this pisses me off?  Seriously?  What the hell?!?!

I’m all hung up on getting an extra half hour of sleep when I should be grateful that I have an amazing husband who thinks I’m the hottest thing he’s ever seen.  Plank much?

If you want to play along with Plank Pullin day go to my friend Jessica’s blog.

Happiness?

I’m doing this big project on pursuing happiness for ZTC and I’d like some imput.  My first step in discovering happiness is interviewing people whose opinions I value and respect what their take on it is, but really why stop there.  Everyone who reads this blog (and by “everyone” I mean “both of you”) should leave a comment and if you’ve got gems of wisdom I may end up using it.

What is happiness?  How does someone pursue happiness?  How has pursuing happiness gone for you?  Got any other pertinent info chillin in your mind grapes on the topic that you’d like to share?

…and GO!

It’s the end of the world as we know it? I feel fine.

Apparently the world is ending tonight.  So the real question is, what should I do with my last day on earth?

It begs an interesting question… if the world really was ending what would you want to do with your last day?  I’m not entirely sure but it may be easier to just see how my day is stacking up thus far.  So far this morning I have slept in, had good sex, ate some toast, read Dinosaur vs Bedtime 30x to Verona, played outside, cleaned the bathroom, and am now wasting time online while eating chips and half watching the documentary that Josh has on.

While I love sleeping in I don’t know if spending more of my last day on earth unconscious is a wise choice… that decision is up in the air.  Quality sex, toast, and reading are all fun things so that’s a win… and as an added bonus I can rest assured that if the world does end in a few hours I will never have to read Dinosaur vs Bedtime again which sounds pretty good right now.  Playing outside with V, good time usage.  Cleaning the bathroom… cheese and rice I am going to be SO PISSED if the world does end and I just spent time cleaning a freaking bathroom.  Last day fail.  Wasting time online/this mildly interesting documentary aren’t spectacular uses of my precious time but David and Verona are both napping so I don’t have any family time I should be doing instead, and I probably shouldn’t waste anymore time cleaning so I’m alright with that choice.  I probably should, however, just go ahead and eat this whole giant bag of chips since I don’t have to worry about getting fat anymore.

So in the unlikely event that I turn out to be wrong tonight, the crazies got it right, and the rapture really happens in a few hours I’m pretty satisfied with my last day on earth.  To make sure it’s an A+ last day though I should probably spend my afternoon having more sex, eating Panda Express, and taking a really good poop… and maybe go let all the animals out of the zoo because that’s always sounded like fun.

What would you do if you thought the apocalypse was happening tonight?  Is there anyone reading this who actually thinks it will?  (And don’t be shy… not answering that last question might be considered lying and keep you from that rapture so tell tell tell!)

I’ll read your comments tomorrow… hopefully.