Posted in everyday musings, Zooma the Wonderdog

Zooma the Wonder Dog takes over to lift the winter blues

It’s been a while since Mom has let me take over the blog. For those of you who don’t know who I am, I’m Zooma the Wonder Dog and from time to time I like to take over the blog so you have something actually interesting to read. Shhh…don’t tell Mom I said that. You can read more of my posts (you know, the good ones on this blog) here and here and even here and oh yeah..here too.

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You’ll notice I’m calling Mom Mom now and not “mommy”. That’s because I’m finally a teenager and my childish ways are behind me. Mom says my childish ways are not behind me since she’s caught me in the trash more than once and chasing the cat more than once, as well, but I ignore her because, well, I’m a teenager. I don’t have to pay attention to what my parents say.

I know, I know. Some of you may claim you saw me running around the yard the other day, being silly and acting like a young pup again, but you’d be wrong. I was simply working out to keep myself young and trim and looking good for the boy dog I saw walking by the other day.

Mom is such a killjoy. She says I can’t be around boy dogs until I’ve been spayed. I don’t know if she has a lisp or what, but I can’t figure out what being spayed has to do with me liking to bark a hello at the boy dogs walking by. I mean spaying is what they do to keep you clean right? With water and a hose? I don’t know for sure but Mom says I’m going to be spayed in a couple of days so I’ll find out then.

I saw a dog get spayed on TV on one of those shows Plaything 2 watches and that dog had soap and warm water so I hope I get spayed like that. I’m not a fan of baths, or soap, but being spayed with water might be fun. I’ll let you know what I think about it all in my next post.

Since moving here I’ve grown pretty fond of – I mean, I’ve grown accustomed to living here with my human family. Mom and Dad are pretty cool. Dad is grumpy sometimes when I wake him up early to pee but then he’s even grumpier if I let him sleep and pee in the living room. It takes a lot to make him happy it seems. Mom doesn’t like when I rip toilet paper up all over the bathroom floor or the backyard and she keeps telling me to leave The Beast alone.

The Beast has started to love me. She has. Don’t let her tell you any different. She misses me when I’m gone – like when I went to Grandpa and Grandma’s for something everyone called Christmas. There was a lot of food there but Grandpa and Mom were the only ones who gave me any. Grandma kept reminding Mom of that time Mom said it was bad to feed me from the table.

Now I know where Mom gets her fun-killing attitude. I can’t imagine why it’s bad to feed me from the table.

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The new human Kim was nice and if I didn’t love my current family so much I’d have gone to live with her. Of course, I decided going home with her wouldn’t be so much fun since the other new human (who Mom called Butthead, but I don’t think that’s his real name), said they live with a beast even bigger than The Beast and that it would rip my face off. I don’t want my face ripped off. Then  I couldn’t sneak food from Plaything 2’s plate when she leaves it down, which is always, because she’s almost like a teenager, like me, and doesn’t listen to Mom and Dad.

Wait, did I say I love my family back there? Um…yeah..well..I know I’m a teenager, but I guess I sort of do love Mom and Dad and my human brother and human sister. And of course Grandma and Grandpa. Mom says Grandma isn’t really a “dog person” but she is now because of me. That makes me proud. I’ve clearly charmed her.

Just don’t tell my family I said I love them.

Talk to you soon.

Can’t wait to tell you about the spay and if it really makes my fur feel better or not.

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Posted in everyday musings

Keep singing me that song, sweet girl

dsc_0620“Mama, I have something to show you,” you said while I was trying to cook dinner one night.

“Um..not now, honey. I have to cook dinner,” I told you.

“But moooom…” you sighed and rolled your eyes with your head tilted back like you had been doing a lot lately.

I sighed myself, without the eye roll and set the chicken aside so I could sit in the kitchen floor with you.

“Today is a special day to tell you how to feel, in my own way,” you sang with the song on the app and slid into my lap. Your voice was tiny and sweet.”I really want to tell you Mom, I love you so. I love you so. You take care of me and help me grow. When I am sad you always know. When you teach me things I feel so proud. You pick me up when I fall down. You pick me up and keep me safe. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, than wrapped up in a hug from you, ’cause I love you and you love me.”

You leaned against me and looked up at my face as you sang and somehow I think you knew what would come next. Tears. From me. Not simple little …. tears but big, full-on ugly cry tears.

You continued to sing and sway a little in my arms. Supper was later than usual that night but it was worth it. It was even more worth it when your dad came home for supper and you sang him his version of the song. Apparently I’m not the only one who ugly cries.

Every once in awhile, at least once a week you come into the kitchen with the phone and you hold it up to me and push play. Each time we sit next to each other and I hold you close and you sing the song to me.

Sweet girl, please never stop coming to me with that song.

Never stop asking me to let you sing it to me.

Never stop looking at my face to see if I’m crying again.

Never stop waiting for those kisses on the cheek and the gentle squeeze as I pull you against me.

I know I can say it, can ask you to always sing this sweet little song to me and love me when you’re older as much as you do now, but I also know one day you won’t sing to me anymore.

One day you’ll rush off to play with your friends, go shopping, or rush to practice and simply wave at me over your shoulder on your way out the door.

You may one day very well forget how much you wanted your mama to know you loved her, but your mama will never forget it and I will also never forget the feeling of being the center of your world.

May I never take for granted these days that can sometimes seem so long but are rushing by so quickly and may I never take for granted your love for me.

And may you always know the love I have for you.

 

 

Posted in everyday musings, honest stuff, keeping it real

The teachable moments of parenting fails

DSC_1871“I’m hungry.”

It’s not WHAT she said that drove me crazy, it’s WHEN she said it.

It was midnight.

Bedtime had been stretched out insanely long for months now, something I hoped to remedy soon, and my last straw was being asked to get a snack at midnight.

By a 3-year old.

By my 3-year old.

Right then I acted like a very mature, 40-year old woman and flounced out of the room and told her if she wanted a snack she could go get one BY HERSELF!!!

I was done with dealing with hungry toddlers whining at me in the middle of the night. I was done with 11-year olds staying awake way past when they were supposed to be and being grumpy the next morning. And for that moment I was done with never seeming to have a break and dare I say it? With being Mom.

I shut the bathroom door and pouted in the dark for maybe two minutes before she opened the door and I remembered we still hadn’t got a lock for that blasted door.

She was whimpering at me in the dark and looking pitiful and of course I felt even more guilty about it all so I led her to my room where I knew there was one of those applesauce squeezable packs, tucked away in my purse for those days we are out somewhere and she says she’s hungry (this child is always hungry). I gave it to her, reminding myself she’s just a little girl and she can’t help it if she gets hungry at midnight. Even I get hungry at midnight sometimes.

It also wasn’t her fault that her mom hadn’t stopped her and her brother’s playing and told them it was time for bed much earlier in the evening than I had.

I took her to bed, telling her I loved her, and then I laid in the dark after she was asleep and felt guilty for yelling at her and her brother right at bedtime. I kissed her head so many times I’m surprised I didn’t wake her.

5a4c8-dsc_5772Then I tiptoed into my son’s room, where he had already fallen asleep, and kissed his head. Suddenly, in that darkened room, a sliver of light from the street leaking in, he wasn’t 11 anymore in my eyes. He was still five and innocent and little and all I wanted to do was scoop him up and hold him against me.

But he’s too long now and I knew if I attempted to scoop him up I’d fall over backwards and drop him and I on the floor, cut open his head and we would have to call an ambulance. That’s how the brain of a mom works – we take a simple idea and blow it into the most scary outcome we can imagine.

Being a parent is hard. Harder than I ever imagined. We all have tough days and boy do we blow it sometimes. Even when we blow it we love them and they love us. We all make mistakes and fall right on our faces in this parenting journey.

Maybe you feel you have failed as a parent too. We know we are not alone, yet we often feel we are alone because parents fear sharing their fails. We fill our social media feeds, and even our personal interactions, with images and tales of our children’s accomplishments and our successes. We rarely share about our blunders.

No one wants to admit when they have made a mistake and certainly not to other parents who we think have it all together. The truth is, no parent has it all together – no matter what their highlights may show. Maybe as parents we need to be a little more public with those moments we fail in, be brave and show other parents they aren’t alone in their struggle.

What makes us good parents is that we recognize we are not perfect, we apologize when we need to, and are not afraid to admit our mistakes. In fact, maybe not being afraid to make those mistakes makes us even better parents.

When our children know we can admit mistakes then they know that, yes, mistakes are always going to be made, but we can always learn how to improve from them.

And when we admit our mistakes to other parents we can learn from each other.

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Posted in everyday musings, Zooma the Wonderdog

Adventures of Zooma the Wonder Dog: The Escape

This is part of a series about Zooma The Wonder Dog. You can find the first post >>>>here.

Yesterday I woke Daddy up even earlier than the other day. He was grumpy but told me it was OK because I’m just a baby and eventually I’ll let him sleep in.

I laughed.

He’s pretty clueless sometimes.

He passed me off to Plaything One and went somewhere he calls “work” or “the job”. Plaything One’s eyes were barely open and he stumbled to the couch to turn on that box with all the noise.

I spent my morning eating anything and everything I could find off the floor and barking at Beast, as I have come to call it. It mainly sits and scowls at me but today it slapped me several times in the head when I chased it in the yard. Beast slips through the opening in the back door while The Humans grumble and say things like “Dang it, cat!”
Cat.

That’s a funny word.

Caaaat. I don’t like it.

Sounds like a dirty word I shouldn’t say so I don’t think I will.

Today I chased Beast all around the yard and she smacked me a lot.

It was hilarious.

She doesn’t know it but she’s my buddy. I just know she’s going to love me one day.

DSC_5247I slipped through the holes in that big thing with the white poles a lot today.

Every time it happened Mommy said, “Zooma” in the same tone she speaks to Plaything Two when it climbs up on a stool to get down the scissors Mommy keeps “hiding” in the cupboard.

But Mommy can’t reach me because she’s too chunky and old to climb the white thing and there isn’t a door on that side so Plaything One has to climb over and try to catch me while I run and laugh.

On Saturday I slipped the fence several times and decided to head toward that noisy place that Mommy calls a road. She yelled and waved her arms and said something about “no…road…stop…” but I saw a dog over across that noisy place and I knew if I just escape mommy I could find it.

Mommy is no fun. She scooped me up and put something on me she called a harness and said I can’t go outside without it until I’m fat enough not to be able to fit through the fence anymore.

I ran so much on Saturday that I fell over in the middle of the kitchen floor and fell asleep, not even waking up when Plaything One and Plaything Two stomped back and forth with mud all over their feet from digging a huge hole in the side yard.

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Posted in everyday musings, Zooma the Wonderdog

The Adventures of Zooma The Wonder Dog: The bunny

I’ve been sharing little stories on my personal Facebook page about our new puppy Zooma from her perspective and thought I’d start sharing them on the blog as well because I think Zooma would think “it’s hilarious.”

May 3, 2018

This morning I woke daddy up at 6 a.m. by licking his face all over with my tongue.

Mommy says my tongue feels like wet air because it’s so tiny.

Daddy wasn’t very happy with being woke up but took me into the backyard so I could do my potty time.
Back inside Daddy wanted me to go back to sleep but I knew it was time to explore, lick, dig, run and slide across the floor and then chase that big, fat, black and furry thing with the sharp things on her feet. It’s fun trying to see how close I can get to her before she tries to claw my tiny eyes out.

I spent the morning listening to Daddy grumble about how tired he was and how much he needed something called coffee and then I ran up the stairs to find Mommy and my playthings.

DSC_3610_1One of them likes to squeal and scream when I nip at it’s legs. It’s hilarious. The other one shouts “No! No, Zooma! No!” Also hilarious.

When the taller Plaything took me in the backyard for another potty time I found fur and some squishy stuff that tasted good and was fun to roll in.

This resulted in Plaything One flailing and screaming and chasing me around the yard yelling “That’s so gross! Drop it! It’s a dead bunny! Oh my gosh! Zooooommmaaa!”

Plaything One stole my treat and it was back in the house to chase big, fat black beast again while Daddy staggered around with a cup of that coffee stuff and a scowl and then left to clean up the fur and squishy stuff so I couldn’t have it anymore. I heard him tell Mommy he felt awful because he’d apparently run over a bunny nest with the lawn mower. I hope he does that again. That treat was fun and tasty.

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I spent the rest of my day napping off and on, because I’m just a baby and I like to sleep, with a few moments of ripping paper and dragging it around the house in between while Mommy and the Playthings tell me to “Drop it. Drop it. Droooooooop it.”

It’s hilarious.

 

Posted in motherhood

This is every day. This is special.

She crawls into my lap and I ask her if it’s time to go upstairs for a nap.

“Not yet.” She says.

She leans against me, asks to nurse and I place my arm around her and under her head. I know she’s going to fall asleep in my lap and I don’t want her to. I want to lay her in bed and lay down next to her so I can stretch out aching legs and rest sore muscles.

I look at my phone as she settles against me and into the daily routine of cuddling and dozing. I resign myself to the fact she’ll soon be sleeping and I’ll be stuck here, on the couch, sitting up and unable to stretch, afraid to interrupt her nap and face a night with a cranky toddler. I shrug and turn on the music on my phone, knowing she likes to fall asleep to music.

Your heart is a history book
With pages to fill
If you haven’t found your voice
I know you will

She twirls her fingers in my hair while I stare at my phone, scrolling pass Facebook posts, scanning but not really seeing, hearing but not really listening.

I barely notice her movements.

I don’t think much about it.

It’s normal.

It’s every day.

It’s what we do each day around the same time.

It’s nothing special.

You don’t need to let the rainclouds
Underneath your skin
Love sings louder than the darkness
Let the light shine in
I know you will

I feel her caress my hair and out of the corner of my eye I catch her watching me as she nurses.

Her eyes study and see.

I look at her and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she nurses.

I log out of Facebook and the phone is placed to the side.

“I love you,” I whisper.

She smiles and lets out a quiet, tired sound mixed between a sigh and a giggle.

I want to take it in.

I want to take her in.

I want to freeze the moment and not miss it. I want to see her.

Failure is a photograph
You can put up on your wall
You don’t have to think like that
When you fall

You don’t need to let the rainclouds
Underneath your skin
Love sings louder than the darkness
Let the light shine in

 

Suddenly posts about politicians or healthcare or essential oils or what food will shorten your life if you eat it seem much less interesting.

 

I want to feel her hands in my hair, her body warm and solid in my arms, against my belly, against my chest.

Oh the places you will see
The world is full of mystery
Like a city on a hill
You’re gonna shine
I know you will

You don’t need to let the rainclouds
Underneath your skin
Love sings louder than the darkness
Let the light shine in
I know you will
I know you will
I know you will

I don’t want to forget h

ow it feels to be loved without strings.

To be loved without conditions.

To be loved without preconceptions.

To be loved simply because you are a source of comfort, peace, courage, and tenderness to the small, beautiful creature who calls you mama.

I notice her movements.

I see the small fingers.

I feel the soft touch.

I hear the slow, rhythm breathing.

This is routine.

This is every day.

This is special.

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Lyrics by JJ Heller. Images by Lisa R. Howeler