Frazzled Reflections

My eyes hurt, my sinuses hurt, my heart hurt, and I was exhausted. I had just put my distraught daughter into our bed so that she could fall asleep crying without disturbing her brother. We had assured both of our children that we would get another dog, promising our daughter that the dog would not be named "Sierra." She had found a spot on her dresser for Sierra's collar so that she could remember her forever. I came downstairs to find my husband coping with our loss the only way he knew how. He was looking online to find puppies. After nearly 12 years we had some serious adjustments to make. As I made mac and cheese for the kids I kept thinking "I'm going to put these on their little table downstairs because it has been a long day, but I'll have to be careful to watch out for the do..." Driving our daughter home from ballet two days later I choked up as I realized that I didn't have to hurry home to let out the dog before we headed to our daugh

I didn't grow up with pets. My parents never felt the need to get us pets (minus my little sister's two Beta fish that came and went) and I don't remember ever really begging for a pet. It wasn't that I didn't like dogs and cats; I had no real feelings one way or the other. My maternal grandparents had big German Shepherds for the first 16 years of my life, and while they loved their big beautiful dogs, they were so big and I was so unused to dogs that they actually scared me and my sisters. But I married a dog lover. My husband has had a dog since the day he was born. My in-laws have had three different dogs in the 18 years that I have known my husband. Lucky for my husband, for the eight weeks that I spent student teaching in Denver I lived with a couple who had two dogs. They had both decided to surprise each other with puppies one Christmas and so they ended up with two dogs at once: a German Shepherd and a Cocker Spaniel. Those six weeks with both of those

I feel the tug at the end of the leash as Sierra and I start out for a rare, long walk in our neighborhood. With a husband, nearly two-year-old, and another one on the way, “me” time is virtually non-existent. My lone walks with Sierra are a rare treat, often made more rare by the changing seasons. Spring and fall are the ideal times for us to walk for long distances, unless we are hit by rain that leaves her thick fur drenched. I love those spring walks, once the ground has thawed and I’m no longer afraid of falling on the black ice. We can go out after dinner without being afraid of bugs, and we both love the cool nights that Midwestern springs offer. I’ve always loved the change in seasons, and the new smells of spring help reinvigorate me. But then the warmth of spring turns into the heat and humidity of summer, and there is never a right time to walk our dog during the hottest summer nights. Sierra is a full blooded Siberian Husky, and no, we do not shave her

Once our walls were finally painted and dry and looking significantly better than when we moved in I finally put the pictures that had been sitting in our guest room for the past three years on our walls. The living room was finally started to feel like home. The next step was buying and putting up a new chandelier to replace this one: Besides the fact that this particular chandelier was not our style at all, it was clearly not someone else's style, evidenced by the $20 masking tape sticker that was stuck to the side. I have no problems with using and reusing items. I believe that some of the greatest treasures can be found in other people's trash. HOWEVER, there is a limit, and that chandelier was the limit for me. The very first time my husband and I attempted to put up a chandelier was when we first moved into our house in Indy. The dining area (because we didn't have a dining room) had a hideous fruit Tiffany style lamp hanging from the ceiling. It was one of the

Theoretically, it should have been easy. I never stopped working, which means that for the last five years my little girl has been attending some kind daycare situation. We had a wonderful first three months together (thanks to my perfectly timed April delivery which extended my maternity leave into the summer months) and then she was off to a wonderful in-home daycare. Because of moves and circumstances beyond our control, she has moved around some, but for the last two years (her preschool years) she has been attending the same daycare as her little brother. I have dropped her off in the morning for a day of learning, snacks, and play. And then during the summer months she has been at home with me. Everything changed today. Today my baby girl started Kindergarten. I remember when I started Kindergarten 30 years ago. That was back when a half day of school was the standard. I started school with a couple of my preschool classmates and my childhood best friend was a little girl who I

I am a wife, a mother, and a teacher. They are three vocations (not jobs) that I relish. They make me who I am, and without one of those vocations I don't feel complete. But this is the time of year when those three vocations collide in uncomfortable ways: the beginning of the school year. As usual, this summer has been fantastic, and as I noted last year , the older my kids get, the more enjoyable that summer time is. And this summer was packed. We camped, both kids had swimming lessons, my daughter went to two day camps, and I spent the majority of the summer purging and selling a much as I could through Facebook garage sale groups. We went to the park, to the drive-in, and hung out. It was a good summer for all of us. During one weekend camping trip my daughter asked my husband why he couldn't be a teacher. She wanted to camp for longer and knew that if Daddy also had the summer off she wouldn't have to go home yet. We laughed at the idea of my computer nerd of a husba