Author: Dre

1300 Miles

Post author By Dre
Post date October 30, 2008
8 Comments on 1300 Miles

When you were a kid, did your parents ever tell you that your favorite dog went to live on a farm, where he/she was now happily running free like the wind? Well, let me tell you a little something – first of all, that dog was probably dead as a door nail. Second of all, not all dogs are cut out for farm life.

Take our little Lucy dog, who pushed her way into our hearts and lives to the point that we adopted her, instead of finding her a home like we had planned. She’s a great dog – smart and affectionate, loyal and sweet. But girlfriend freaks out around large animals. I thought she’d get better about it as she grew, but instead, her reactions got worse.

So, with a heavy heart I made the best decision for her, and found her a loving home with my cousin in Arizona. Who, I might add, had wanted to adopt Lucy for months but I had selfishly declined, planning to keep every ounce of her puppy love for myself.

On Monday I gave her a little spa treatment.

She said good-bye to her big brother, and cuddled up next to him for the last time.

Tuesday morning we got up before dawn and began our journey South. We did things two girls on a road trip usually do.

We saw the sunrise.

We experienced the frustration of being forced to pee in undesirable places.

When we finally found a patch of grass, we took a little break for lunch and a belly rub.

Lucy convinced me to let her out of her crate to roam around the car, and rewarded my confidence by promptly taking a nap. While pretending to be on guard, of course.

After nearly 10 hours on the road, we arrived at our destination: a park in the little town of Blythe, California. When I saw Blythe on the map, I couldn’t resist making it our meeting spot. Now I can tell Blythe I’ve been to “her” town.

We played and had a snack while Lucy bonded with her new family.

Eventually, it was time to say good-bye. I stopped being the mommy and became the auntie.

Lucy loaded up in my cousin’s car and we waved as we drove in opposite directions. She’s off to start her new life, where she’s being spoiled with a big yard, a pool, constant affection and indoor privileges, nary a pig or cow to be seen.

I drove off into the sunset, alone in a quiet car, no wet nose rubbing against my elbow.

A few hours later I arrived at the home of Heather and Mike Spohr in Los Angeles, where I got to meet the world famous Maddie Moo.

Maddie is even cuter and smilier in person than she is in pictures – something I didn’t think was possible. Their little dog, Rigby, brought her boyfriend Mordecai out for a little XXX show, but she must have gotten stage fright and abandoned him on the living room floor. I admit, I was a little disappointed.

Before too long, I took Maddie’s cue and went to sleep. After driving 850 miles in one day, I don’t think even an earthquake could have woken me up. The next morning, I drove the final 450 miles home to my girls, my husband…

And life on the farm without Lucy.

*Today’s post on Sexy Makes a Comeback: Daily Make-up.*

Blogging Business

Sexy Makes a Comeback

I’ve launched a new site! It’s called “Sexy Makes a Comeback” and it’s all about, well, bringing my sexy back. Hello? Sexy? Where’d you go? Hopefully not too far.

Head on over and check it out (please?) and give me some feedback. What do you think of the concept, the first post, do you have some tips for me to try? Tips YOU’D like to try but you want me to be your guinea pig?

http://sexycomeback.wordpress.com.

Check it out! You know you want to.

Kids Life in general Parenting

Laughter Trumps Tears

Instead of writing about how those two mommies at Alison’s gymnastics class were nasty and rude to me, again;

Instead of blogging about how both of my kids finally, after 17 months, slept through the night for two consecutive nights, only to follow it up by waking up every night since, one of them for hours;

Instead of telling you all how my sweet baby girl has suddenly become a tiny terrorizer;

Instead of focusing on how tired and frustrated I am;

Instead of even thinking about how messy my house is;

I’m going to talk about what made me laugh out loud today.

I got Blythe out of her crib this morning, and she went out to the living room, calling, “Dad-dee! Dad-dee!”. This one’s a daddy’s girl, I’m telling you. She can never get enough of that man.

Next she ran into our bedroom and called, “Ba-abe! Ba-abe!” And is it scary to anyone else that my 17 month old kid knows mommy calls daddy “babe” in the bedroom?

Having no luck there, Blythe ran to the office, where she called out, “Jem-mee! Jem-mee!”. Who knew she notice that at work, he’s “Jeremy”, not “daddy” or “babe”? Not me, although I think maybe I need to stop underestimating her powers of observation.

Having run out of names and places to try, she turned her face toward me with a hilarious look I can hardly describe. Eyebrows up, lips pursed, cheeks puffed out, she said, “Gah mo-nin? Gah Mohhhhh-nin, Jem-mee?” in this exhasperated little voice. Clearly, the child needed to say good morning to her father.

Through my laughter I told her he must have gone outside. She shrugged her shoulders, ran for the fridge and said, “Juice? Juice, pease?”.

Because, everyone knows – if you can’t find your daddy, juice is a perfectly logical substitute.

Entertainment Home and Garden Life in general

What a Combination

My life is a collection of polar opposites, struggling to co-exist.

Take this past Saturday, for instance. I spent a few hours on the roof, putting on shingles. Yeah, I’m a chick that knows how to swing a hammer. And I only hit my thumb twice.

Before you go hiring me to re-roof your house, though, you should know that I got demoted for awhile after Jeremy found a crooked shingle. Luckily, he found it pretty quickly so we could fix it before it screwed up the alignment of all the rows that would come above it. And by “we” I mean “he”.

As punishment I schlepped shingles for a bit, and then finally got my hammer back with a stern warning. Sorry ’bout that crooked shingle, babe. I’ll make it up to you later, *wink wink*. But I do think I did a pretty good job.

“My” section of the roof

Before I had a chance to bash my thumb again, I climbed down from the roof and got ready to go to the Ballet. That’s right, I swung a hammer all day, rinsed off the dirt and sweat, put on some heels and went to see Alice in Wonderland with my mom and daughter. What a day.

A blurry Alice & White Rabbit

We got to see a ‘preview’, where the dancers perform the entire Ballet in their studio in front of an audience, as a warm up for opening night. It was very intimate, and allowed us to see things that we normally can’t see in a large theater.

For instance, dancers are very sweaty. I suppose that’s pretty obvious, being that they dance for two full hours without much of a break, but I never really noticed from the balcony. Also? The male ballet dancers performed in just tights and T-shirts. It left me wondering if they have some sort of jock under there. Because, hello, I’ve worn tights. They’re not exactly supportive, if you know what I mean, even for a girl.

Alison enjoyed the studio Ballet performance beyond my wildest expectations. I couldn’t be happier, seeing as the whole reason I went this route instead of the full-on theater experience is because it’s $5 per person, as opposed to $50.

Just call me Mrs. Penny Pincher, squeezing dollars out of dimes. But, hey, don’t be surprised if I don’t turn around.

Blog Carnivals Life in general

The Dirty Spot

Today is Blog Action Day, and the topic is Poverty. I’m always late to the party, because I’m completely clueless most of the time – but I showed up, right? Right? If you’d like to read some amazing posts on poverty, head on over to the site and follow the links!

——————–

I’m not one to obsess about the cleanliness of my car. With two kids and two big dogs, it’s pretty much a lost cause.

Oh, every now and then I’ll get a hair up my butt and go wash, vacuum and Armor All the interior. But there’s a streak of dirt right inside the passenger door that I don’t clean. If, on the off chance I get my car professionally washed, I point to the dirty spot and ask them to leave it alone. I’m the crazy dirt lady, I know – but I hold that title with pride.

One day last winter, I had just dropped Alison off at my mom’s and was making my way home through a downpour. As I came over a set of rail road tracks, I was shocked to see a woman carrying a small child along the side of the road.

We live in a rural area and there aren’t any sidewalks, instead there are ditches. I screeched to a halt and asked the woman if she’d like a ride. She buckled her 3-year-old daughter into Alison’s car seat and jumped into the front, trying to get out of the rain as quickly as possible.

I asked if her car had broken down, and she replied that she didn’t have a car. Every day, she walked her daughter three miles to pre-school, walked home, then walked back and carried her another three miles home. The little girl tried her best to walk, but six miles is a very long way for a three-year-old, especially in the rain.

I drilled her with exasperated questions: Where was the school bus? Why isn’t there a transit bus in our area? Why wasn’t the school doing something about this? All she could say was that she wanted her daughter to get an education, and to have a head start. Whatever it took, she was willing to do it to see that her little girl had every opportunity to succeed in life.

I followed the woman’s directions and pulled up in front of their modest home.

“I’m so sorry, I got mud on your car,” she said as she climbed out of the car. “If you wait here a minute, I’ll go get something to clean it off.” Of course I declined, telling her it would only take me a moment to clean it at home.

“You two just get warm and dry, and maybe I’ll see you again,” I told her. I waved as I drove away, and managed to keep the tears from falling down my face until she was out of sight.

I may complain that it takes $65 to fill up my car these days – but I have a car. I may complain that I wash too many clothes, dishes, and floors – but that means we have clothes to keep us warm, food to eat, and a home to run around in. I may get frustrated that my husband works long hours, but he has a job – a good one, and a business that is thriving despite a sagging economy.

That little streak of dirt represents the sacrifices a poor mother makes for her child to have a better life, to have a future better than her own. So I keep that dirty spot, and it reminds me every day not only of how fortunate we are, but also that we need to have compassion for those who are not.