Jan 27 2012

Well there’s your problem!

As you may know, we recently acquired a cute little puppy named Zoey.

Zoey is a great little girl dog, has proven she’s extremely smart (by trying to hide stuff behind her back no less) and very loyal (one night, I was upset about something, and she came over to nuzzle me…awww…)

But we’ve had one problem with our fuzzy girl – and it happens every morning about 5:30 – 6 am.

bark.

bark.

Bark.

BarK.

BARK.

BARK.

whine.

bark.

Bark. BARK! Bark. BARK! Bark. Whine whine whine BARK! BARK! BARK!

Cursing. Stomping downstairs.  Letting puppy out to go potty.  Cursing some more.

We’ve tried to find ways to alleviate these early morning wake up and take the dog out for a potty break episodes.  Food and water dishes don’t get refilled after 6 pm.  Josh has tried playing with her and keeping her away until at least 11 pm.  We’ve taken her for long walks after 9 pm.

And still…

Bark BARK bark Bark BARK

We were getting seriously cranky around here.  Because when you’re staying up late to try to make a certain puppy tired, only for puppy to wake up at the crack of stupid every morning…well…you end up with two cranky adults cussing out a certain otherwise lovable puppy.  The thing was – we knew she could hold it for more than five hours.  A couple of weeks ago, Josh was out of town and I ended up falling asleep on the couch watching a movie.  That dog stayed happily in her kennel from 10 pm to 7:30 am without a single bark or whine.

So why?  Why could she not do this every other day?

And then…yesterday morning… I wake up at the usual 7 am time (after listening to bark BARK bark BARK, elbowing Josh, who got up muttering very bad words about the puppy and going downstairs to deal with her, allowing me to go back to sleep for another 45 minutes) and I hear Josh talking to Collin.

The father/son heart-to-heart went something like this -

“Oh for God’s sake!  If you’re up at 6 am, let the damn dog out so she doesn’t sit in her kennel barking!  Sean!  Get in here!  You need to hear this too!”

Yes, it turns out that the problem was NOT the puppy, but the boys – who are getting up earlier than their sleep-deprived parents, going downstairs at 6 am, fixing bowls of cereal and lunches, taunting the dog with the fact that there were humans with opposable thumbs who could open her cage and let her out but wouldn’t – instead, leaving her to cry yellow tears and cross her fuzzy little hind legs as they went along their merry ways back to their rooms to get dressed and ready for school.  And after they abandoned her in her time of need, she’d start calling for help – because once awake, she felt the need to go.

This morning however, there was no barking.  Some boy listened to their parents pleas of “Just let the poor dog out so she doesn’t bark us awake!” and let the puppy out of her kennel and outside to relieve herself.

Of course, I woke up at 7 am to Miriam talking to Sean and Maura at my bedroom door and thought “Odd, everyone is up.”  (Usually, the girls need a cattle prod to get out of bed.)

Turns out we need another rule – if you let the dog out at 6 am, you either need to keep an eye on her, or put puppy love back in her kennel.  Or else she will go up to the girls room and lick their faces until one or both of them gets up.

Oh well, I don’t care.  I didn’t wake up to barking this morning!  Here’s to more mornings being bark-free.

She's cute when she's not barking at 6 am

 

 

 

Jan 25 2012

Dear Pinterest

For those of you who have yet to discover it, Pinterest is a place for people to “pin” what interests them on the web. Usually links to recipes, or funny geek stuff, or crafts. In other words, a great big time suck. Carry on…

I must be honest –  I have a love/hate relationship with you, sweet time-sucking Pinterest.

On one hand, you are very handy.  You help me find things I need a visual for in my writing.  You’ll also full of handy stuff like recipes and crafting tips and ideas for home storage.  If I’m bored, I can hop on and glance through and find things of interest or to make me laugh.

But then there is the darker side of you, Pinterest.  The side no one will say to your face.

You dish up unrealistic expectations with a side of guilt.

Don’t deny it.  The proof is all there on your pages.  The “Perfect Wedding” pins are a prime example.

You can’t just get engaged anymore.  Oh no.  Now, according to you, Pinterest, a guy must have a photographer hidden away to take 392 photos of that moment he gets down on one knee on that rustic wooden bridge over the sparkling river or other ideal setting.  Because obviously, you need pictures of that moment.  Then, as a bridal gift, the groom can frame those pictures for her to unwrap and weep happy tears over on the morning of the wedding.

After that, you have to have your ever-so-creative “save the date!” photos done and sent out, the words “Save the Date” and the wedding date spelled out on balloons or the soles of your shoes or your sunglasses.  Once those are complete – according to what I’ve seen on Pinterest – you must then find the perfect wedding venue – a barn or outdoors theme with fabric draping and candles in jars – and the table settings must involve the most creative way of putting people in the correct seat.  This usually involves chalkboard paint or art deco printables that you can make yourself.  And candles in jars.  There should always be candles in jars. I don’t care if it’s a daytime wedding – Pinterest has 49183 ways of putting candles in a jar, your wedding will not be complete without it!

Once you’re married, you think the pressure is off.  You’ve done all the Pinterest-correct things, including the Very Creative Wedding Party Photo Shoot followed by the Very Creative Bride and Groom Portrait.

But according to you, bastard Pinterest, we now have two choices  - create the Dream Home…or have a baby.

It’s funny – in a way, having a baby seems less of a challenge in the Pinterest world than creating the Dream Home.  Or at least less expensive.  Creating the Dream Home requires the rustic/sleek kitchen with the coordinating and creative storage and granite countertops, with pewter sink features and cabinet handles.  The Dream Home also has to have the proper coordinating paint jobs, the cozy fireplace and vintage chairs set up, and a wall of photos you have Mod Podged onto canvas yourself.  All of them black and white of course.  You can’t just go to Ikea and say “Yeah, I’ll take a few bookcases and that couch.”  Oh no!  Your bathroom must be big and with faded antique shutters leaning gracefully along the wall.  Your mantle must be decorated with felted acorns you crafted yourself.  Your patio table should be long and ready to feed twelve, with candles in jars scattered about to add to the ambiance (so whatever you do, make sure you save some from your wedding!)  In your kitchen, there will be a place for Family Organization, the fridge will be painted with chalkboard paint where you write up your meal plan, and cloth napkins will be folded neatly into a wicker basket.

Eventually though, you will have to have that baby.  And according to Pinterest, you must do things just right.  You must do some creative photos to announce your pregnancy, to show off your belly.  No slightly out of focus picture of you in front of your closet door will suffice!  Have you learned nothing from your time on Pinterest?  It MUST be Creative!  Or else you will be the worst mother on the planet, failing before the child has exited the womb!

Hopefully you have that uniquely creative nursery set up at least.  What? You don’t?  You haven’t made a mobile out of origami swans in rainbow colors?  You haven’t set up your Star Wars themed crib set?  You haven’t broken the mold and done up your gender-neutral nursery in shades of yellow and teal, with vintage suitcases stacked up for storage and netting draped around the crib?  Have you at least crocheted the heirloom blanket or arranged for the newborn photography session?

Well, at least you can add that to your Bucket List, along with Sitting on the Great Wall of China and Learning How to Surf.    Which you’ll do sometime between trying the 28 new vegan recipes you pinned today, making a votive candle from a clementine, and figuring out if you can actually cut a bottle with nail polish remover, string and a lighter.

By the way Pinterest – if that last one fails, I’m suing you for the damages. But don’t worry, if it fails, I can find an inspirational quote telling me how failure is just success trying or some crap like that.

Yes Pinterest, I have a love/hate relationship with you.  I confess, I wouldn’t know all of the above information if I haven’t spent hours browsing your site, pinning stuff, thinking “Oh, maybe I can actually do that!” while knowing deep down that I probably won’t ever try cutting a liquor bottle in half with string, nail polish remover, and a lighter in an attempt to make a candle holder.  I’ve got scads of stuff pinned onto different boards, and I’m the first one to drag someone into the Time Suck that is your website, dear sweet Pinterest.  But I refuse to hold myself up to the standards of perfection that ooze inbetween each pin, like a dusting of glitter guilt.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go sew antique buttons onto fabric into a letter H to frame and hang on our wall by the Mod Podged photo display I intend to create from my children’s baby pictures.

Jan 24 2012

The pancakes are back!

When I ran to the grocery store tonight, I walked in and there, on a display rack, were packaged pancakes.

Why yes, it’s time to start getting ready for Pancake Tuesday!

And all the Americans just said “Huh?”

Last February, when we arrived in Dublin and everything was still fresh and new and odd, we noticed right away that there were displays of packaged pancakes at the grocery store.  We weren’t sure why they sold “large American style pancakes” all packaged up, but we giggled over the name, bought some chocolate chip ones, and went back for more.

Then one day, while getting another package and still giggling over the “Large American” moniker, a woman next to me asked “Oh, is Pancake Tuesday this week?”

I told her honestly that I had no idea what Pancake Tuesday was.  She explained it was the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent.  I said “Oh, we call it Fat Tuesday.”

Sure enough, after Ash Wednesday, the pancakes pretty much disappeared from the shelves.  And we were a little sad.

I’ve known that the one year mark of our move was coming up.  While in a way, it feels like we’ve been here forever, it also is surprising that it’s almost a full year.  The sight of those pancakes were a reminder that it has been a year since we packed up life and moved it all.  I’m still trying to figure things out. I just got a library card today.  But at least I know why the shelves are full of pancakes at this time of year.

 

Jan 20 2012

Happy Feet!

No, not the penguin movie that Maura loves and I’m certain has undertones of anti-religious establishment (why do all the old penguins sound like angry Scottish ministers?)

I’m talking about Kermit the Frog here and his happy feet.

There’s a commercial on tv here for some product that comes on about once an hour it seems. I have no clue what the commercial is advertising, but the musical track is Kermit singing “Happy Feet”.   Maura loves this commercial for the song, and will dance to it (which is probably why I never notice what they’re trying to sell me.)  I love Kermit the Frog, so  have found myself singing this song in my head.

And then I thought “Why should I be the only one with this song in my head?”

So with the Power of YouTube, I can put this earworm into everyone’s heads!  Woohoo!  It’s okay, it’s Kermit and the Muppet Show.  It’s all kinds of good.

Jan 18 2012

Realistic Optimism

It was my therapist who dared to say it to me for the first time.  I had Maura with me during that session – cute little three year old Maura, being her happy self, wobbling about and probably sucking her thumb.  My therapist looked at her, and said “You do realize she’s probably going to live with you for the rest of her life?”

I blinked.  Then answered as matter-of-factly as she had stated the question.  ”Yes.”

And at that moment, I knew it was true.  I didn’t feel despair.  I didn’t feel grief.  I didn’t feel anger.  I don’t think I felt anything negative.

Just relief.

I know that sounds weird.  ”Why would you feel relived that your child was going to be too impaired to live independently?” one could ask.

The answer is that at that point in time, no one bothered to address the big polka dotted elephant of “she may not catch up” in the room.  We all knew it was there.  It was hard to miss it there.  But instead of addressing the elephant of possibility, people tried to cover it up with blankets of “Hope!” and “Maybes!” and “Who Knows?” , and threw a lot of “Have you tried this?” at me as a distraction.

In the beginning, we were told that maybe Maura could catch up by kindergarten.  That her delays were just that – delays.  There was a time I got caught up with all the “You MUST try THIS!” hype thrown at parents of children with delays.  I tried the supplements and special toys and therapies.  The therapies did help a bit – but progress was still at a snails pace.  Still I was told “Well, you need to do PECS!” and “What about sign language?” and “Have you tried this NEW therapy?”

Do you know how overwhelming it all is?  Do you know what kind of blame and guilt a mother can put herself through because her child doesn’t catch up despite shoving fish oils down the child’s throat while watching “Signing Time” videos in hopes that they would produce words?  Only to show up to evaluations and have little progress made?

I remember those days vaguely.  At first, I spent too much money looking for the magic toy that would stimulate her brain just right so that something would spark within there.  Then it was trying to find a label for her issues, so I could then find out how to fix them.  And with that came  the fights with insurance companies to pay for doctors or therapies – plus fighting with places to get the actual therapy.

It was frustrating, expensive and depressing.  Which is how I ended up with my own therapist.  Who one day said “Hey, there’s a big polka dotted elephant in the room – have you noticed?”

I had to admit, I knew the elephant was there.  I just never wanted to look at it.  Part of me wanted what everyone else kept saying to be true – keep the faith, keep doing all you can, and your child will be the one to beat the odds and become normal once again!

But once forced to look at the elephant…well…the elephant wasn’t that scary.  The idea that Maura could live with us forever wasn’t either.  Maura was a delightful child, who loved going places and trying new things.  She was easy going and able enough.  It wasn’t “ideal” – but I knew it could be worse.  If I had to live a lifetime with a child, Maura was an ideal candidate.

Admitting all this was a bit of a relief.  I could look something once unthinkable in the eye, confront it, and walk away unscathed.  It wouldn’t be the only time I’d have to deal with Harsh Reality when it came to Maura.

It also meant that if she didn’t progress far enough between evaluations, that I hadn’t failed.  We also didn’t feel the need to cram a thousand therapies into our lives.  We could enjoy life, teach Maura at her pace and give the attention the other three children in the house needed.

It seems like though, that when I tell people Maura will live with us forever, I’m admitting to giving up on Hope.  You MUST have Hope!  Hope keeps you alive and moving forward!

Which is true.  But Hope can also cause you to have your heart broken time and again.

If we had held on to the Hope that Maura would catch up by kindergarten or so, like we’d been told time and again, we would have been setting ourselves up for some intense heartbreak.  Because not only did she not catch up by kindergarten, she was further behind than we’d ever dreamed that first year of therapies.

Maura started kindergarten with the mental age and capabilities of a two year old.  She was not potty trained.  She could not speak in sentences.  She needed a full time aide to be with her, to do things like change her diaper, open her lunch containers and be by her side if she had a seizure.  Maura starting kindergarten was traumatic enough for me – it brought me to tears a few times.  I can’t even imagine how much more traumatic it would have been if I had held onto the Hope she’d have caught up by then.

All that said – I haven’t given up hope.  I just don’t believe in the shiny happy feel good Hope!  I am realistic about my daughter, but always optimistically realistic.   We work with her to achieve as much independence as possibly while planning  for her long term care.  We challenge her to prove us and everyone else wrong, while realizing that in some instances, we’re right.

See, we can teach her things, and help her be more self-sufficient.  But we can’t do anything about her maturity, or lack of.  That portion is out of our control.  In many ways, Maura has the independent streak of any 8 year old, coupled with the immaturity of a 3 year old.

There was a day a couple of summers ago, when Sean and Maura were out in the front yard.  Sean had a long rope that he was twirling about.  Maura – in true puppy form – started laughing and chasing the rope as Sean dragged it across the lawn.  Josh watched them for a moment and said “Yeah, she’s going to live with us forever.”

And then we laughed. Because sometimes, all you can do is accept something with a laugh and make the best of it.

Which is what we have chosen to do.

 

 

Jan 15 2012

Dear Starbucks

Thank you for your Starbucks Via packets.

No, really!

As a tired mom with four kids, and a new puppy, there are mornings I solely get up so I can turn on my shiny electric kettle, heat up water, open up a packet of your Via instant coffee and mix it with some milk and sugar.

See, when we moved to Ireland, we didn’t bring our coffee maker (it was leaking and it wouldn’t work here anyway.)  We had a French press, but no coffee grinder.  Then the French press got broken. My husband went on a six month journey to find a coffee grinder and coffee pot he actually wanted that wasn’t 500 euro.  Meanwhile, I had no coffee.

mmm...coffee

Now, I had tried your Via instant coffee when it first came out – picking up the mocha and caramel flavors.  I didn’t really like them and gave them to a friend.  But one day, while in line at Starbucks here, I saw just regular Via packets and thought “Oh, what the heck.”

Go figure, I like them.  I like them a lot.  I’m on my second cup today.

I’m no coffee aficionado.  I just want some brew in my big mug that’s caffeinated.   I usually stock different strengths, and keep little packets of the decaf version around for my one daughter, who has decided to be a coffee drinker as well.

But the highest praise came from my husband, who is a coffee aficionado, who stated “It doesn’t suck.”  It doesn’t suck enough that even now that he has a new French press and a coffee grinder, he will still opt for a cup of the Via once in a while.

So thank you, for making one little section of my life easier.  That said, it would be nicer if someone just delivered a mocha to my door every morning, but the only place I know of that loves me enough that they would do that for me, I left back in Michigan.

Note – I was not paid or compensated in any way for this review.  But if Starbucks wants to send me more coffee…well…I wouldn’t say no!

Jan 13 2012

I used to be a good driver…

…and then I  moved here.

I drive a “big” car, by Irish standards – a Chrysler Voyager mini-van.  It’s actually a lot smaller than the Chevy Suburban I’d whip around in with ease back in the States.  The difference is that in the U.S., there are wide roads and big parking spaces and not as many signs everywhere.

Unlike here.

Here, there are signs and lines and yellow boxes and three lights for the four northbound lanes.  And the four lanes, well, one is the bus/taxi lane, two are for going straight, one is right turn (or as I call it “our idea of a left turn”.)  You can come up to a light with two sets of lights facing you – one red (for the turn lane) and a green arrow for those going straight.  The lane you’re in can then veer off towards the left as you go through the intersection.  The best is the one near our house, where there are three lanes going one way, one lane going the other. You really have to pay attention when you make the right turn.  Especially as it’s by all the shopping, so people are darting across the road.

All while driving on the not right side of the road, with your mirrors adjusted weirdly, and guys on motorcycles weaving around jaywalkers and old ladies with shopping trolleys, carting home their milk and eggs and bread.

Are you confused yet?  That’s grand.  Now you know how I feel driving.

But I am getting used to it, which means of course, I have to screw up.  Today, I stalled out the van not once, but twice.

Oh, did I mention our  mini van is a stick shift?

No?

Yeah, it’s a stick shift.  Which I stalled out twice today because my brain decided to pause for a moment as I tried to figure out which way to go.

The best part though was this weird side road along the N11 (a highway of sorts that cuts through town.)  First, I had to figure out if the road I was turning on was a one way.  I decided to risk it.  Luckily, it wasn’t.  But then, there was a light before getting on the N11.  But at the light was space for many one car…and then a big yellow box.

yellow box junction

So these big yellow boxes on the road are off limits if you can’t clear it.  You have to wait, leaving it open so traffic turning into your lane can easily scoot in.  You’re not allowed to be in it and stopped.

So there I am, at this strange intersection, huge yellow box in front of me, and a light after that.

I wasn’t sure what to do.

So I wanted a moment.  Then two.  Wondered if the light would change.  It didn’t. Then a truck pulled up behind me.  I’m still waiting, wondering if maybe I should pull forward.

Then I notice the truck driver getting out of his vehicle.

Crap.

I wasn’t scared – I just knew that somehow, I was being a dufus about whatever rule there was for this junction. I rolled down the window, and the truck driver very nicely pointed out that I needed to pull up past the box, because the light was on a sensor.

Four thousand other road signs and symbols on the road telling you what to do, and they couldn’t clue a driver in on this one?

I thanked him, and was thankful for having a foreign accent to explain my ignorance.  He smiled and hurried back to his truck as I drove through the box junction.  Sure enough, as I pulled up to the light, it turned green.

I glanced in my rear-view mirror…and saw a huge line of cars that had been waiting for me to move.

oops.  my bad. sorry.

sigh.

I swear, I used to be a good driver.

Even worse…I found myself lusting after a Smart car, as it whipped down the narrow side street with ease.

I have no clue who I am anymore.

Jan 11 2012

What to do, what to say…

All this blog traffic has got me thinking,  ”What shall I blog about?”

Do I blog about how for the first time in…um…yeah…I not only got my Christmas decorations up in a timely manner, but I also took them down in a timely manner?  (Okay, today.)  Which is a huge accomplishment in my world.

Do I reach down into my inner depths and come up with something thought-provoking?  With Spongebob on the telly?  Yeah, that’s not happening.  One cannot think deep thoughts while Spongebob is crying over not being able to go to work.

Do I try to clear up misconceptions about what people are saying about how I view Maura all over the interwebs?  Tempting…but again, Sponebob the Brain Cell Killer is on tv.

Do I talk about how to sit on the couch today, I had to move a laptop, three penguin dolls and a lunch box? Or how Halloween decorations are now on my table because I put them in the Christmas storage boxes “for the time being”, and now need to find a new box?

Maybe I should talk about this puppy, who is attached to our ankles at all times and wants one of us within sight at all times.  Separation anxiety much Zoey?  Or how good she was at Show and Tell today, shaking Mim’s hand when asked, and then stuck her paw out for another “shake”.  Or how worried I was that she’d pee in the school, but thank goodness didn’t.

Or I could just post this picture of Miriam’s hand, which in her new-found love of astronomy, she decorated with a slew of stars…yeah, I think I’ll do that.  Genius doesn’t happen every day you know!

note the fingernails, each painted with a different sparkly color.

 

Jan 10 2012

Riddle me this…

We’ve been in Ireland almost a full year, yet there is one thing that still hasn’t made sense to me.

The electric shower.

“What is an electric shower?” you ask.  Why, it’s a box on the wall of the shower, that you turn on and it heats up the water instantaneously as you shower.

It’s actually a cool concept.  Having an electric shower means you never run out of hot water.  Having two electric showers in your house means that two people can be in two separate showers, having their shower as hot as they like.

In a family of six, this is really quite a handy thing.  Just turn on the power to the box (which in our house is a string hanging down from a box on the ceiling), then turn on the shower in the stall, and set the temperature to what you’d like. Miriam can shower upstairs while I hose Maura off downstairs.

It sounds like I like them, so why the confusion over them?

Well…this is where I get lost…

They have boxes, run by electricity, inside your shower. Where you are showering, with water spraying everywhere around it.

But the light switches for our bathrooms?  Are outside of the bathroom.  And bathrooms do not have power outlets for the most part. Some newer ones I’ve been in have special outlets for electric razors, which do you no good when you’re standing there with dripping hair and no where to plug in your hair dryer.  I’m guessing this is all done for safety purposes, so you don’t accidentally electrocute yourself while turning on the light or whatnot.

So if you’re still following along  - no outlet, no light switch inside the bathroom.

And yet there are electric showers.

After almost a year, it still doesn’t make any sense to my American brain.