never good enough

this past week i decided to motivate. to get a lot done.  all these half-finished projects lying about the house had me in such a state of chaos that i forced myself to bust my ass all week.  each task i completed, i gave myself a high-five.  and when the week ended, i looked around and realized: still so much to do--new projects awaited that i hadn't anticipated!
 
and all year i have known that one of my kids isn't learning enough in school.  she has a heinously lazy teacher this year who was supposed to be a sub, and ultimately ended up taking the long-term position. i'm not sure why. she (the teacher) and i both knew she didn't want the job.  needless to say, she's not coming back next year.  but has manage to stick around this year to ruin my daughter's education. and life.  because of this, i know i should have been supplementing her education all year with more reading! more writing! more math! and going on educational field trips on the weekends,  on top of her regular homework.  what kid wouldn't want to do that after spending six and a half hours in school a day, in the longest school year in the country? 

and i know i need to be doing more for my kids. more and more and more.  i should be forcing them into sports they don't love-- or at least a sport.  and not just tennis-- tennis team.  i can't keep letting them play tennis just for the fun of it-- they need to learn to be more competitive and want to win. no more B meets for swim-- i should have pushed them more during winter swim, giving them a better edge. forget swimming for the fun of it, we need to swim the A meets and win.  how are they going to get into harvard?  or radford?  i know i need to be doing more for my kids.  i know it. and i really beat myself up about not doing enough. like a lot of moms.
it's exhausting.

why, just today after slathering on the thickest, whitest, most annoying sunscreen into the children's skin, they still got sunburned-- especially the fairest one (obviously).  this is torture to me.  torture because it's preventable and because i was, and always am, in charge of the sunscreen.  i won't sleep well tonight with this failure hanging over my head.  my children will end up with cancer before they get to third grade.  tomorrow i will march right over to costco and buy the biggest boxes of the newest sunscreens and try again.

does it seem like no matter how hard you try and no matter how much you do... it's never enough?

art

i need to start taking photographs again.  real ones. where i actually take the time to ponder the images and frame them.  just really take the time. TIME.  (it's not on my side)

redo

it ain't easy being my husband when you've got me as a wife. at least i can admit that. so, i'll say, we partnered up on the spanish group work tonight and it went OK.  i'm just very impatient, which is absolutely nothing new.  and maybe this will be fun for us.  maybe it will give us one more way to connect-- one more thing to do together.  it might just work out.  and then when he's on business in mexico, i can be at the nearby orphanage, saving all the children and neutering all their dogs in my traveling-neutering-van.  it will be great!

aye-yi-yi

i have decided to take a spanish class.  i love the language.  i love the people (at least in mexico.  not-so-much in spain, although they're fine.  they're just less forgiving of "funny Mexican Spanish.").  and i had the absolute best spanish teacher at byu-- the whole one year i was there.  he was so good, i began dreaming in spanish.  i started taking vacations in mexico.  ooooh, i love that language.
and i wasn't going to tell my husband about my taking this class.  he just became "president of the americas" at his job work thing that he does.  he now not only goes to canada, but also south and central america.  and mexico.
i couldn't not tell him.
so i did.
and guess what? he thought it would be a great idea if he, too, took the class.  what fun!  we are going to do something educational as a couple and learn and grow together!
except.
my husband and i do not share the same study skills.  he admittedly did not like to read growing up-- didn't read at all (shockingly still doesn't!  wow.) and sort of blew off school.  he didn't like to study, so, guess what?!  he didn't!  i'm not sure how he got to be so "smart" and successful, but i think it has a lot to do with his brain being this incredible sponge for anything from The Family Guy to quantum physics.
the problem is, we're taking an online class.  there's no one spouting information at you-- you actually have to do the digging and reading and figuring out.  there's no sponging. 
unless, of course,  you have a wife from whom to sponge.
and this i find incredibly annoying.
so, while we could be partnering on the group assignments, he's still on his youtube page watching cats fall out of watering cans.  it's getting a little dicey.  he reminds me of that guy in high school.  i never fell for it.  i won't now. 
i'm not sure why i'm blogging about this, except that i wouldn't mind if this class was fun for us to take together... i just don't see how that's going to happen.

paranoia? maybe not

have you ever wondered if an animal you love has taken on a disease that was really meant for you... or one of your children?  i have.  and even more so now. 
the animal i have is so selfless and unconditional and so super close the gods and goddesses, i've no doubt he could have been in on the bargaining.

this has been a bad week for me, emotionally.  but i'm so grateful for yet another week with this dog whom i love so much.

signs

i subscribe to a lot of wonderful people on facebook (most of whom i've met, yeeaaah!)-- all of whom i respect.  today, two of them-- one a buddhist nun, the other a renowned medium--posted updates about accepting death and change and how they're all part of life.  i do not do well with signs.  i am pretty much superstitious.  to a scary fault. and also, right now, i prefer to continue swimming in my pool of denial.  here were my previous three signs...  before we found out about moab's cancer:

1.  near the end of my stint in massage school, i would run into an older gentleman walking his golden retriever.  he had her off-leash, just as i walk moab, and she was very, very slow.  she was beautiful and would apparently mistake me for this man's daughter (this, according to the man).  when i asked how old the dog was, the man replied, "nine."  i was shocked.  i thought for sure eleven, or something older.  i thought about spunky moab, still darting around and very waggy and panty and consumed with tennis-ball-desperation.
2.  awhile after i'd graduated from massage school, i had to take my car in to the body shop.  moab and i would walk down and drive back, or vice versa, depending on where the car was.  one day in the shop, the woman behind the counter jumped up to pet moab and asked about him and his age. she has, and has had, many labs. when i told her he was nine, her face dropped.  she explained to me that her family had just recently lost their nine-year-old lab and that it was very hard to deal with.
3.  shortly after that, i ran into a girl i know from the gym on a walk.  she had a black lab puppy on a leash and i asked to pet her.  i told her that i also had a lab, but that he was nine years old.  she sighed and said they had lost their nine-year-old lab over a year ago and had just now been able to adopt again, because the loss was so hard (also, i think she's a child therapist of some sort).

i remember telling mark about these three instances and how much they creeped me out-- like the universe was trying to tell me something.  and yet, there was moab, healthy as a horse, super happy, eating, running, etc.  i honestly never forgot these interactions-- and now, of course, they are clear in my mind.
moab started to lose weight right after the time i'd run into the older man.  he'd not lost a ton by the third run-in, but at one point, i did bring in a stool sample to the vet.  i'd told him he was looking a little thin, wasn't eating so much (unfortunately, this wasn't unusual for moab, so i didn't get too up-in-arms about it) and that his poop was looking weird. 
the test came back negative.  i'd thought i should probably look into some blood work, but as is normal for me... kept putting it off (and also noted that, although he still wasn't fond of his food, his poop had gone back to normal).

while away for a long weekend in NYC, mark called me right at the end of my last workshop and told me moab had been peeing blood that day-- what should he do?  i immediately burst into tears, berating myself for not following through on the blood work.  GET HIM TO THE EMERGENCY VET! i yelled.  i called a friend and she took the kids and mark got moab to the hospital.
nothing showed up, and they called it a bladder infection, for lack of any other symptoms but the blood in the urine.  the vet kept wanting to say it was cushing's disease, but that she couldn't get all the symptoms to line up to properly diagnosis it as that.  she insisted we take him to our regular vet and get a blood workup and a urinalysis.

when i took him the vet, he was very casual and said i certainly didn't need any blood work (i love him for trying to save me money, but...) and that he seemed fine:  beautiful coat, healthy pink gums, no pain anywhere.  and then i told him how much he weighed.  he looked at moab's chart and exclaimed.  he put him in the ultrasound room and immediately found a mass in his bladder (which later broke up, as it was a blood clot).  because of the mass, he kept moab for more testing, and i went to the gym to kill myself and try not to cry.  i cried a lot.  leaving him at the vet like that was a very bad feeling.

even though he said it'd be hours, the vet called me less than an hour later to tell me that they'd found a mass in moab's right kidney.  that it had metastasized to his lungs and neck and other places and that he didn't know how much longer he had.

hopefully not our last beach trip with moab.  i look like i've been hit by a truck.

mark had to come get me, because i couldn't stop crying enough to drive.  we got the news together. we looked at the xrays of his obliterated right kidney-- just one large mass-- and all the places it had floated into.  we talked about our options (none, really) and then the vet asked if we wanted to take him home. 
i burst into tears and told him i didn't want him dying in the clinic.  so we went to the back to get him and moab came bounding out to greet us, happy as can be, with a freshly shaved belly.  all i could think about was him having to die without all his hair grown back in.

we went home and set up the appointment to put him down.  i canceled my birthday weekend trip, the sitter, the flights, the hotel.  my friend was super understanding about me bailing on her for her celebration...
and then i cried.
i cried and cried and cried.
we told the girls. mark picked them up from school and we all sat on the bed with moab and told them what we'd learned.  they both burst into tears.  we told them that we'd be taking them out of school so that we could get him to the beach one last time. (i was adamant he get to go to the outer banks, but quickly came to my senses.  it's a  long trip, and what if he's not feeling well? what if he dies on the way there? or there? or on the way back?)
i continued to cry and we took him to rehobeth and everyone had a great time.  my parents came and said goodbye to him.
and i kept crying.  my eyelids were swollen to the size of hamburger buns.
i kept telling mark, when the girls would go to sleep each night-- how can we put him down? he's so happy!  he seems so healthy!  i'm so lost! i don't understand this!!

we gave him his tennis ball privileges back, immediately!

i put wet food in his kibble to get him to eat it, and suddenly he became more interested in food again (hallelujah).

and then it just dawned on me.  -- we can't put him down.  this is crazy.  i don't care what the vet says, he seems fine and i'm not going to just put him down.  if he has pain or needs help from suffering, i will help him... but he doesn't seem to need our help yet.

so, instead, i called an oncologist and she was floored by what she saw inside of him, since the outsides were so fresh! and young! and athletic!. minus his weight, it was hard to reconcile what was happening on the inside of him with how he looked and behaved on the outside.

we came up with a plan.  i had (have) no interest in anything invasive or anything that would cause him to start feeling discomfort.  i just wanted to do whatever i can minimally to keep the cancer at bay, yet have him continue to feel as great as he seems to be.

as "innocuous" as the medicine/herbs/supplements are supposed to be, he isn't digging them. his poop has gone to shit (hard to walk him.  wish i could strap a hose to my belt so i can wash off what i can't scoop into the bag) and he absolutely loathes taking his medicine (too bad so sad).  i have curbed the stuff he takes and have found a friendlier way to give him all his supplements.

great day at the beach!!

and then i continue my walk into denial... that he will live another three years, just as he is living now. just slowing down a bit with each year and enjoying our walks and naps together.



do i look sick to you?!

he continues to "thrive".  he's slowed down, but that is also his age.  i still walk around full of extreme anxiety and cry a lot--especially when i find myself alone in my car.  i don't want to spend my time with him feeling morose and crying... so i buck up and suck it all in and pretend for him.  maybe he's pretending for me, too... i don't know.  but i did tell him that he was free to go any time he feels he needs to- that he can just let me know and i will let him go.  that  i love him very much and appreciate all he has given me and our family.  he is a good dog.

track record

facebook is weird.  it can be fun.  it can be mortifying. i go through phases of either just walking away for a bit or totally deactivating.  it has also taught me some things.  and this is one:
for those of you who have been confused by my choice in a husband (i.e. you, the one who pulled me into the fifth grade pod and told me i shouldn't be dating mark because i didn't seem "excited" enough about him), i totally understand.  he's never had hair (that which is left upon his head) that has been longer than, say, a quarter of an inch.  he has no tattoos, no piercings, and no addictions.  he doesn't write or play an instrument or board.  he wears a suit to work.  he earns a steady paycheck and he tucks in his pajama top.  all of this, i know, has confounded those of you that have known me for any length of time.  many of you.
however, this is what i've recently discovered:  if you look at the three major "players" in my love life (all of whom i've remained friends with), up until meeting my husband, it goes like this:

0 (he's not a major player, but i'm adding him for kicks)-- was the drug dealer in high school.  he ran a serious business selling drugs, and although he graduated with honors from college and got a suit-wearing, well-paying job, he bagged it all to go to another country to open a bar out of which he could sell and do a lot of drugs.

1-- is 42 and living back at home with mom and dad.  although he owns a home in another state and has lived overseas for years and has dropped an album recently... he still lives at home in his 40s.

2--is dead.  he died from a heroine overdose.  all alone. in his closet. two months after visiting me.  i am still mad at him.

3-- my newest discovery via facebook is a homeless junkie.  i couldn't be prouder.

although i'm poking fun at some serious situations, and i get that they are serious, and that most especially #2 still rocks my world, this, my dear readers, is why i married the very white, very republican, very catholic man that i did.

the end.