The Mollydog
If you found your way here via my Forces of Nurture column, welcome! If you haven’t read the column yet, go here.
On our last night with Molly, Tootie insisted that we read Dog Heaven aloud to Molly. Of course, I sobbed the whole way through.
This is a wonderful children's book about an afterlife for dogs.
Group cuddle.
And now here are some happier memories. These photos were taken when Molly was in her prime.
Molly always was an over-sized lapdog.
These next few photos illustrate the Battle of Red Chair.
During my years as a single girl, I had this cute red chair that Molly adored.
The canine lounger.
Problem is, when Hubs and I got married, Hubs decided he liked the chair too. There were times when they would actually race for the chair. When Hubs got it, Molly would lie in wait …
When he gets up to refill his coffee mug, he will lose that chair.
Victory!
They tried on occasion to share, but …
... that didn't work so well.
One year, Hubs decided he would be the one to groom Molly. So he ran out and bought some puppy trimmers.
The dog was skeptical.
“Oh, look,” our vet said when we went in soon after. “It’s the Faith Hill cut!”
Molly's mommy did not like the cut. On Faith or the dog.
Molly was a great outdoor dog. She loved Frisbee, ball and hiking. Oh, and grilling. Because she got the leftovers.
"Yeah, I know it's slimy, but please throw it again!"
After we got rid of the Red Chair, Molly found a new place to nap.
Doggie in the laundry basket.
These last two photos are among my favorites:
On top of Pinnacle.
I miss you, Molly. RIP.
My sweet, loving little daughter
She sleeps with a small soft-covered album filled with pictures of Molly. She reads and re-reads “Dog Heaven.” And for the past three nights, she’s faithfully visited Molly’s grave.
“I want to go to Molly,” she said tonight. She linked her arm through mine. “Will you come with me, mama?”
I didn’t want to. It hurts to think of my sweet shepherd buried beneath a crusty winter ground.
But I went. Because she wanted me.
When we got to the grave, she undid the bouquet of flowers and spread them around.
“Where’s her head, mama?” she asked.
I pointed, and she placed a yellow rose there.
Finally, I spoke. “We love you, Miss Molly.”
My daughter smiled. Then she knelt and kissed the rock that marks our doggie’s resting place.
Wanted: Spring (Wordless Wednesday)
Where are you? I need sun.
For more Wordless Wednesday, go here:
RIP, sweet Mollydog
We lost a family member today — my Australian shepherd Molly. She was 15 1/2 years old. I’m not ready to write about it yet. In the near future, yes, but right now I need a little time to process all this. Put it this way — I got Molly when I was 24. I just turned 40. She’s been a steady, loving part of my life for a long, long time. We’ll miss you sweet girl.
Molly B'Golly: Aug. 13, 1994 - March 2, 2010.
The sleepover vs. the slumber party
Tootie’s had a lot of sleepovers — at our house, at friends’ houses — but last night was her first slumber party.
Her BFF Olivia was turning 6, and after the festivities at a local pizza parlor wrapped up, a caravan of cars headed to Olivia’s house.
One by one, little girls headed eagerly toward the front door, clutching pillows and stuffed animals.
I counted silently as they streamed by … 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 …
Wow, she’s so brave, I thought of Kelly, my mom friend hosting the party.
Thus far, I’ve hosted only one kid at a time at Tootie’s sleepovers.
The other parents filed in behind me, writing down phone numbers and issuing last-minute instructions to their daughters to behave.
The girls, of course, weren’t listening.
One was turning cartwheels. Two were performing cheers. And another pair were chasing down a terrified kitten.
Better leave now before Kelly changes her mind about this, I thought, easing my way toward the door.
I could tell the other parents were thinking the same thing by the way they made their own furtive exits and raced out to their waiting cars.
“Good luck!”
“Bye!”
“Show no fear!”
I climbed into our truck, where Hubs and the E-man waited.
“Hurry,” I hissed, “before she changes her mind about this.”
This morning, the phone rang.
“Hello!” I chirped, having slept in this morning.
“Hi,” a weary voice replied.
“You survived!” I said.
“Uh-huh,” Kelly replied uncertainly.
And it was then I made a mental note to myself:
Sleepovers, good. Slumber parties, SCARY.
Lord of the flies (or not)
Reposted from April of 2008. I read this now and laugh. Back then, however, it wasn’t quite so hilarious. I’m happy to report the E-man is no longer afraid of flies. Moths, on the other hand …
My toddler is terrified of flies.
Houseflies.
So this evening, when I heard the Scream of Terror, I knew — a fly must have gotten in.
The only other thing that elicits that kind of scream is a cat. The E-man had a few bad experiences with kitties in earlier years and hasn’t ever recovered. I’m not really a cat person, either, however, so I totally get this particular fear. I compare cats to premenstrual women — one minute they’re adoring and slathering in their affection and the next minute they’re swiping you with newly unsheathed claws. I have no patience for that. Only one PMSing creature per household, and that is ME, thankyouverymuch.
So — back to the flies.
The scream traveled from the living room to the kitchen, where I was cooking dinner. And then the E-man hurtled toward me. “Mommmmmmeeeeeee! A flyyyyyyyyy!”
Thus followed 30 minutes of sobbing. Each time he subsided, the fly would buzz by and the screaming started all over again. Finally, out of desperation — the kid wouldn’t touch his dinner — I pretended to kill the fly and dispose of its freaking carcass.
I am so diabolically clever.
Five minutes later, as a forkful of noodles was headed toward the E-man’s mouth, the fly rose from behind the couch with a loud buzz.
“WAAAAHHHHHHH!! MOMMEEEEEEE! THE FLY!!!!!”
Again, I chased it around the living room, thwacking my library book against walls and windows. I smashed the darn thing umpteen times. But. It. Would. Not. Die. At last, after much cussing and flailing, I killed it.
“Look, E.,” I said, holding out the paper towel. “It’s dead. No more fly.”
“Let me see,” his sister said, pushing forward.
After she peered into the folded paper towel, I headed toward the trash. Just as I approached — I kid you not — that freaking fly miraculously came back to life and buzzed upward.
I flew at it again, book still in hand, and this time, I flattened the little effer into nothingness.
By this point, however, the E-man was so distraught, he wouldn’t eat his dinner. So my efforts were in vain.
In other words, the fly won. Even in death.
Arkie Mama: Our morning with Jessica Dean
Today, Cindy (aka Mom on a Wire) and I appeared on KATV’s Rise and Shine with Jessica Dean to discuss mommy blogging. Jessica was adorable and utterly charming. We had a wonderful time chatting over coffee when we weren’t on the air.
Please ignore the extra chin that always appears when I’m on camera. Oh, and also the incessant eye-blinking thing. No, I didn’t have something in my eye. I just bat my lashes when I’m nervous. Let’s call it one of my cute little quirks, OK?
Anyway, here it is —
(There’s a second segment, when Cindy actually got to talk, but I couldn’t find it!)
Tags: Journalism, Motherhood
Arkie Mama: From sexpot to gone to pot
Behold the youthful Cathy, with her big, Texas hair and dramatic makeup —
College days, during my dating-musicians phase
Waiting for our dates
Those were the days when I could wear corduroy without the fear that someone could hear my thighs making that swish-swish sound as I walked. The days when it was fun to spend an hour (or two) on hair and makeup. Since becoming a mother — well, my standards have sunk.
It started with pregnancy.
When you look as though you're carrying a litter in front AND in back, you know things are bad.
No, I'm not leaving a bar. I'm in the vomitous stage of labor, on the way to the hospital to have baby No. 2.
This cut & style was dangerously close to Mom Hair.
Why hello, Hubs! Wanna try for a third? I know you want me.
This month, my kids turned 5 and 7. I’m just now losing the baby weight. My hair is finally getting back to normal. I’m ditching the mom jeans. Mostly.
So hello, 40! I embrace you.
Girls' Night Out Birthday Bash. More photos tomorrow.
Tags: Motherhood, My quirks
Arkie Mama: I’ll be partying this weekend
Next week, I turn 40. So let the festivities begin!
Tonight, Hubs is taking me out to dinner. And then tomorrow, I’ll be heading out with my girlfriends for wine, cheese and, later, dancing. As my friend Amy says, this birthday calls for partying like you’re 20!
Does turning 40 bother me? Nope.
The only birthday freakout I’ve ever had was when I turned 29. At that point, I evaluated my life and found it lacking. I was living in a crappy, small town in Texas. I was in a dead-end relationship with a man who was quite possibly gay. So basically, I went berserk, kicked out the boyfriend and started job-hunting.
And I turned 30 here.
Stayed tuned for pictures. Several of us will be taking cameras!
Arkie Mama: Where did the time go Wordless Wednesday
This little peanut is about to turn 5. Sigh.
He's still my baby though.
For more Wordless Wednesday go here:
Meet Cathy Frye — deer widow, mama to two small children and stepmom to two teenagers. By day, she writes for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. By night, she Googles things like “whooping cough symptoms” or “child ate toothpaste.” Cathy describes herself as barefoot, breeding and medicated. Her husband considers her a real catch! 