The Monkey Barrel

Archive for January, 2008

My first born. My first glimpse of the depth of God’s love for me. Not just in the gift of my son but in the truth of what a parents love should be. A glimpse of why he could love me despite all the stupid awful things I could do. John is daily proof of my redemption. He is a promise that God is not yet finished with me. If you read this blog often I remind you periodically that John’s name was chosen not just in the remembrance of a good man but because it means God’s gracious gift. You cannot imagine what a gift he is to me. This rambunctious child full of mischief and silliness brings me such joy. Joy I didn’t know was possible to feel in such measure. If you know my boy you have probably felt the same contagious zeal for life he has. He gets the biggest kick out of life and is so enthusiastic in learning about all kinds of new things. But more than that it is the character of my first child that gives me such pride. He exudes the spirit of Christ already. I am so proud to have been chosen as his mom. I am so proud to to tell anyone that he is my son. Happy Birthday Big John. May this year be blessed and full of joy and good surprises. I love you!

Yay! Just reserved a room at Snowshoe Mountain for our EchoStorm Inc. snowboard trip! And a big thanks to Kate the worlds best reservation-lady for putting up with my mountain of questions. You were a great help! Thanks again!

-Fred

Bill Hood is why I have decided to keep Oreo’s on hand in a secret stash for company kids. I remember going over to his and Margaret’s house and playing with Robbie and Stephanie and they were quite a bit older than us but never minded sharing their things or keeping us entertained. Bill and Margaret were always delighted to see us and full of hugs and kisses and frankly I always thought they were family til I grew up to know better. But the best thing about the Hoods is that they would help my parents get us into jammies for the ride home and help get us buckled in the car and while giving us hugs Bill would sneak oreos into our armpits for the ride. I wonder if mom and dad thought we’d just snuck ‘em ourselves or if they knew. It was great though. Eating those cookies in the backseat with a big grin I’d remember his sly little wink over our secret and knew I would never tell.
So the other night we had friends and nephews over for dinner and I remembered that and heartily wished I had some on hand to sneak to the kids while getting them into the car. So from now on, there will be a stash, and if you come to visit and take your kids out of the car at the end of the ride home and find them covered in cookie crumbs and smiles, you can blame me all you like. But someday when they’re raising their own kids and having people over, they just may remember oreos too.

Lord it has been quiet here in blog land for quite some time. But today the sun is bright and the words are lingering on my fingertips looking for a soft place to land. So I came here to shoot out another blip into the eternal internet void. I have not written since Emmit died. His death tangled me up in some weird places and clamped down on my thought processes just to be able to put something to paper. Guilt is such a wasted emotion.
I used to like Emmit when he was a pup even after he peed on my leg at first introduction and humped my other like he’d never seen a human girl leg before and it just sent him over the moon. He was fun and playful and cheerful and snuggly. Then he got old and the goo thing in his eyes started and got worse and just couldn’t get undone and he started to smell and get arthritis and he wasn’t fun anymore. He was work. And I feel so guilty saying that I stopped liking him because he got old and not fun anymore but it’s the truth. I tried to make myself like him again. It wasn’t his fault that all those bad things were happening to him. I kept thinking good grief is this my approach to aging in general? I like things young and spry and fun but after that thanks I’m done? That just cannot be me.
Then I thought, maybe I really don’t like animals. Which is not true because I think Big Head Todd is the most wonderful dog on the planet because that darn beast will stand up and hug his Aunty Em. And I love all Fred’s extended families pets. They’re all so sweet.
So it boiled down to just an Emmitt thing which made me feel worse. And you know that dog never respected my authority over him and ruined the best darn pair of bunny slippers I ever had having to chase him in the rain through the apartment courtyard with people peeking out of windows at my soaked nightgown. And dragging out my dirty underwear, only mine, and rolling in it. Lord he made me so mad sometimes.
But he got worse and pretty soon he didn’t move or do anything and he just looked so sad and so tired and in so much pain that love came creeping back in the edges and I didn’t want him to suffer anymore. And that’s the truth. I didn’t want him to suffer at 14 some years of doggey age and not be able to even enjoy his food or see anything and to watch him lay there depressed because he couldn’t do anything at all.
Fred finally decided it was time. It had to be Fred’s decision cause Emmitt was not my dog. And so we gave him one last meal and cuddle from the boys and loaded him in the car and took him down to the vet. Fred wanted to know if I wanted to go in but I knew I didn’t possess that kind of strength so we said our goodbyes in the waiting room and Fred carried him onto the table where he said goodbye to his friend. I have never seen Fred shaken the way watching that little dog go shook him. And I felt like a murderer. Like we just couldn’t deal with our dog anymore and that was it he had to go. It was awful. It’s been awful. It still is awful with tears running down my cheeks and staining the fingers trembling to write such truth. Putting an animal to sleep is absolutely one of the worst things in life that need to be done. Because tears aside and guilt in check it wasn’t fair to keep him going with no quality of life.
So we loved him enough to let him go. Our boys have great memories of playing with him and I remember how much that idiot dog loved snow and licking it and bounding in it trying to get on top of it to stand and being puzzled about why he kept sinking down. So the good memories stay and hopefully soon the guilt will wash out. He was a good dog who is truly missed. ( the good years mind you