puzzle

I never blogged about the puzzle Liam is holding in the previous post. We got that at the local toy store, and I scrambled it up for him. He worked on it for two weeks before he figured it out and got it. I tried one night to get it back together and couldn't. But Liam's brain works like that. I'm in awe. Look out world.

heat wave

It has been 40 for most of the past week, which is crazy. It hasn't been freezing at night, and the snow is melting so fast. We've had several days of rain, too. In town, there is no snow at all and even up on the hill, a walk in the woods fills your nose with the scent of spring and life. But even with climate change factors in our midst, it just cannot be. March can be an amazingly wintery month up here, and I have no doubt that we will get back into the snow and cold zone before this season lets go it's grip.

That said, it has been a wonderful break - almost like going to another place. The sunshine is up in the sky far enough that on a 40-degree day, you can actually feel heat coming from it. I've taken almost daily skis and walks in the forest lately, and felt the promise of another season that is ever-closer. And running is blissfully pleasant, though it still surprises me how warm I get. What? No hat?

The kids have been thoroughly enjoying the weather, too, and wow, is it nice to send them out and not have to tend to them so much or have them come hollering back in after 10 minutes complaining of cold fingers. They can walk on top of the snow now and it's like a giant football field - they were running all over the place. Good stuff. I shoveled off a bunch of the deck and they got out the trikes and then Liam decided to extricate the deck chairs, too. Pretty funny. It's supposed to return to 30s by the end of the week, but we are so enjoying it while it lasts. I've got to tie a bell around Thea, though. She moves pretty fast these days. She was playing with a soccer ball and it rolled down to the edge of the clearing and the first I knew of it was when I heard her hollering because she had post-holed into a spot by a tree way across the property. Sheesh. But at least they have room to play and enjoy the outdoors. I could barely lure them inside with the promise of food - a nice reprieve from the typical 1/2 hour wail-fest prior to dinner.

i'm fine - not

OK, so today I went about my normal stuff, no issues, chugging along, even being fairly productive, though a tad grumpy. And then - whack - about 2 p.m. out of no where, I'm bawling. I wasn't even thinking about her. It's just the raw emotion of the experience.

I've done a crappy job leading the kids through this one. It's too close still - too painful. Maybe this weekend I gather Liam for an hour or two and do a ceremony for her. Maybe it's OK to let a bit of time pass after the actual dying before the remembering. He's hungry for it - wants to ask tons of questions, and I'm still too raw to handle them. I try. But not really hitting it.

Death is so interesting to Liam - he has endless questions about it. Liam is a child who wears his heart on his sleeve. The night before, when Breton was first injured, I told him it was likely she was going to have to go tomorrow. He sat on the couch with me and we both had a cry for about a minute. Then, simultaneously, we collected ourselves and Liam said, "OK, let's read our book now." I LOVE that boy. So proud of his ability to fully feel things, let the storms pass through him and move on. I hope he can retain that forever.

It has been fascinating to watch the responses to my post about Breton on Facebook. People really love their dogs, and are eager to share with someone the validity of the feeling for their four-legged companion. Laugh all you want about Facebook - I think it's brilliant. It's the modern hug. Course, I've appreciated the real ones I've gotten as well.

In memory of Breton

Seventeen years ago, I went to the Homer Animal Shelter at the age of 19 looking for a cat. I had always been a cat person, but when I got there, a small, pitch-covered yellow lab curled herself into my lap and I was sunk.

I had just moved to Homer and was still figuring out a lot of things at the age of 19. My partner at the time was a traveler and I had entertained the idea of going with him to India, but the arrival of Breton in our lives signaled my desire to go a different direction. But she was such an easy dog, so quickly trained, so mellow, that she worked her way into both our lives and settled us, in a way.

And while she was an exceptionally obedient and easy dog for most of her life, I have all day been flashing through distinct memories of her. The day she got stomped by a moose and we had to take her to the vet on a sunday and assist in the surgery (and Jerzy got so light-headed he had to leave the room ... who knew?) The time I was running with her in Anchorage on the coastal trail and she swam out into the Inlet after a duck and was so far out there that her head kept disappearing with each wave. Swimming with the Belugas off the airport beach in Anchorage. The time she took off on the 4th of July because she was afraid of the fireworks. Roller-jouring with her.

The thing is, my memories of her span my entire adult life thus far. All of it. She's lived with me in countless different homes in Homer, Anchorage, Oregon, Kenai and Homer again. She's endured two trips on the Alcan, one with 3 cats and 2 other dogs crammed in a Subaru Loyale. She weathered so many twists and turns in my life, three major relationships, outlived two dog companions and who knows how many cats. She's seen me through the transition to motherhood - graciously taking a backseat to my children and enduring their abuses. And most recently, she has allowed me to once again shed tears on her as we together endured yet another transition.

I am most grateful that she lived a good, long life - was happy right up until the end, and made her need to go clear to me so I didn't have to waiver and choose for her. She at worst endured one night of real pain in her entire life, and I am so sorry for that, but in every other way, I believe I served her well. Her pain is over. Mine and my family's begins.

I'm sure I will think of more things to say, but for now, that's my thoughts. The task of digging a grave in the frozen ground must now be accomplished - a fire is burning under the tree in the back yard. This afternoon, Liam and I will think of some way to memorialize her properly and begin processing this loss. Deep breaths.

adventures in parenting continue

I am watching Théa eat blueberries, pears, crackers and applesauce, chattering nonstop as she does. It brings huge joy to my heart, disproportionally to this ordinary - even mundane - act.

On Wednesday night, Théa woke up sick - threw up, and was sick all day Thursday with a fever of 103. That night, however, she turned the corner, rebounded, and woke up at midnight demanding food. Friday, she was fine all day though she didn't eat much, but Saturday morning, she woke up foul with a bad tummy again. By mid-day, she was throwing up again, and by evening, she couldn't keep anything down. In the morning, it was worse. Even a few teaspoons of pedialite came back up. She was very lethargic, unresponsive and so so sad. My sister came by to check on her, and said it was probably time to take her in.

There is something about walking into a hospital that makes everything seem so much worse when in fact it should seem better. It just solidifies the not-OK nature of the situation, I guess. The doctor opted to try an anti-nausea drug and see if that would keep things down enough for her to get rehydrated. By 1 p.m., we were pushing pedialite as blood test results came back saying she was severely dehydrated (duh). More and more liquid went in and she looked better and better. Popcicles went in and stayed put. Color returned to her cheeks, though she was still a total limp noodle.

So we got to go home, and she slept and slept and slept. I woke every couple hours through the night to give her a dose of pedialite. By morning, she was still tired, but better - talking, complaining about who had what hat, etc. She slept most of this morning after we got back from dropping Liam off, and woke chattering. Now, she has just polished off a plate of food. I'm sure diapers will follow, but at least it is going in.

It never ceases to amaze me how these experiences remind me how deep my soul is connected to these little people I sponsor. When they hurt, I literally hurt. When they cry, my body cannot help but move to them. It is a force greater than me and I am forever grateful to be a part of it. And grateful, so, so grateful, to see their faces return to the natural state of joy with the world.

ups & downs

Today the papers cops and courts log proclaimed my new dissolved status to the world. Luckily, Liam got sick, so I went for a fast run, and afterward had to go directly back to the school, collect him, and spend an entire day at home with a very bored and not very sick kid - thus avoiding the fun of having your private life displayed in public as only a small town can. Not that the word wasn't already out there, but there are plenty of people with whom I interact on a regular basis who do not know, and I would be more than happy to leave it that way. And knowing how it works with papers, I know it is getting read. But so it goes.

The kids, on the other hand, seem to be doing pretty well this week. Matt is in Hawaii for the next two weeks, and they both are missing him, but regular phone calls and skype sessions are helping. In general, though, our routine is pretty solid and includes lots of outside time, dancing, art, healthy food, and reading. We went skiing last weekend and both kids rocked it out - Liam on skis and Thea in her pulk, snacks in hand and singing little songs.

Last night a friend helped build a little kitchenette for Thea with parts and pieces I had left over from the kitchen remodel as a trade for some computer work I had done. The process was pretty fun - Liam got to do a lot of drilling and messing around with power tools, which was right up his ally. Thea ran around in circles skating through sawdust until I drug her into the kitchen and put her to work washing dishes (darn those gender biases sneak in, don't they) It was still coming together when Thea went to bed last night, so she got a big surprise in the a.m. I picked up a little set of pots and pans in Anchorage to complete the ensemble. There were squeals of delight and it was played with quite extensively today. Good stuff. I also found out that both kids will quite happily eat raw pasta if it is presented to them. Gross.

The daylight is finally stretching out. Today, a beautiful, 30-degree sunny day, presented twilight at 6 p.m. We are up to 7 hours of daylight now and gaining 5 minutes a day. Hurray. This afternoon I found myself out by the garden tromping rectangles in the snow. One for the 8x20 greenhouse I will build behind the raspberry patch, and another for the 60x40 garden I will till this spring to plant potatoes, peas, carrots and other "cold weather" crops this year. After a few months trying to buy organic produce, I am determined to try to improve my own capacity this season. It's going to be a huge project, but anything that puts me and the kids outside more is good. Pretty soon it will be time to start the tomatoes, so I'd better read up on all of that.

So all this momentum - gardening plans, fiddle lessons, working on a huge painting, focusing on what we are putting into our bodies, mandatory outsideness - is great and fine, and I'm doing good, but the truth is, it is also so intimidating. A huge part of me is terrified I'm going to screw up and forget something. There's so much to do, freelance work coming in from all over, barely able to keep up with it and my "day job," balancing the kids increased needs, especially during these solo weeks and those to come as fire season and trainings come in, maintaining an old and often crochity house (on my list is replacing the 210 electric outlet for the drier - now which fuse is that??) My nose is still above water, but there are days....

I wonder how long it will feel like this before, like this morning's amazing, smooth-as-silk 6-mile sprint, it all starts to come together and I gain confidence in my ability to not only maintain but excel in this new life. I can taste it, but I'm not there yet.

Resolutions

The further I get into 2010, the more change seems to be prevailing over every part of life. It is the heart of winter - dark from 4:30 p.m. to 9:30 a.m. That's a lot of time for thinking about priorities, the importance of things like the environment, quality of life, the things children value, like time vs. the things that don't mean anything, like stuff.
Today, Thea and Liam and I went for a walk on the snowmachine trail along Crossman Ridge. Weeks of warm weather have left the trail hard as cement, and the stroller rolled along with ease. Around us, the sky was lit with honey-colored clouds against a light blue sky. Flocks of birds swept through the trees. Space was all around. Liam flew imaginary Star Wars planes along the trail, and Thea fell asleep. Once again, out saved us. Inside, everything was sad and yucky. Outside, it was space, and the free exchange of feelings and emotions - letting them go with every breath.
Liam explained how he was starting not to like the two house deal - how he wished Matt and I would live together. We talked a lot about families and feelings and how people change over time. I told him I understood how he felt, but that it didn't change the way things were.
We ran into a couple friends of Liam's on the trail riding on a snowmachine with one of the kid's dad. Liam was very impressed, and invited himself on a playdate soon, provided he could ride on the snowmachine. I found myself wishing we lived out there - where outside was a required part of everyday life, and priorities were aligned more correctly to what I see as those of value. I spent the rest of the walk daydreaming about giving my children a life like the one I had - filled with hard work, personal accomplishment and above all else, complete self-sufficiency.