Our Noble Dog

Mollie writes:

John and I have always had pets of some kind.  Birds, hedgehogs, dogs, fish and crawdads, you name it.  But dogs have always been our biggest investment emotionally.  We've had six dogs, total, and each was an important member of our family.

When John and I first married, we knew we wanted a dog.  As a result, one of the first things we did to our new house was to fence the yard.  In those days, conventional wisdom wasn't what it is now.  In the late seventies, most people simply opened their front doors to send their dogs out into the neighborhood to relieve themselves.  But we were adopting two Newfoundland puppies, and it just seemed to push the envelope to expect our neighbors to clean up after our dogs.  At maturity, both would weigh over 180 pounds.  Imagine the poop scoop we had to buy!

We ended up with two Newfies because one of them, Oolum, had a significant heart murmur (sub-aortic stenosis) at birth.  This breed has carried this problem for years because of breeding errors in the fifties and sixties.  We'd arranged to buy Noble, our puppy of choice, but when the breeder announced that the biggest pup was going to be put down because of the severity of his problem, we decided to give him a home with Noble instead.

Oolum lived approximately 11 months.  He died of heart failure when his heart became so enlarged it could no longer pump blood effectively.  But Noble, our initial purchase, lived to be a ripe old eleven.

In addition to fencing the yard, we built the dogs a kennel.  We attached a doghouse to our house with a doggie door to our laundry room.  We had a custom door for the doggie door that could lock if need be (families do take their dogs on vacation!) and another door with a heater built in to insert if weather conditions sank below freezing.

We almost never used the heater door.  Newfies have two coats, the long silky black coat we all see, and a thicker, oil saturated undercoat that protects the breed from cold.  We had to decide, early on, whether or not these dogs would be indoor or outdoor dogs, but in the end, the dogs chose for themselves.  They wanted to be outdoor dogs, the yard was big and they liked to run.  So every winter, Noble's coat would become tremendously full, and the following spring, he would 'blow' so much coat we could fill ten black garbage bags with his shedding.

Once we brought home our babies, Noble became very attentive to them.  When John traveled out of town, Noble would sleep in the house, either in my bedroom or theirs.  Both boys could pull hair, poke eyes and perform other acts of doggie abuse, and the most Noble ever did was get up and amble outside.

Over the years, Noble "fathered" our family.  He protected us, played with us, swam with us, slept with us, ate with us and helped raise our kids.  He was always gentle and patient.  Occasionally he would bark, but only when he felt he had something important to announce (like the UPS van).

When the boys were toddlers, they fed him, helped bath him, chased him, snuggled him and just generally used him.   And Noble loved it all.

Frankly, he was the perfect dog.

At the end of Noble's days we were at a loss.  He had gradually lost weight and had developed arthritis in his hips and legs.  He wouldn't take pain pills no matter how hard we tried to force the issue.  Instead, he would try to chew at the pain.  This only led to further problems.  In the end, we chose to end his pain by euthanasia.

Putting a dog down is the hardest thing a parent has to do.  The children adored the dog, and didn't have any memories that didn't include Noble.  We were upset in our own emotional worlds, but the loss of the dog for the children exacerbated it.  In addition, we were worried about what the kids would think when their parents put Noble down.  What ultimate power parents wield!

We chose not to tell the kids of our decision, assuming that they weren't able to appreciate how painful decision to do so would be for us.  But we took Noble to the vet's office for our pet's end of life, and it was clear to the kids from our tear streaked faces that Noble had died there.

Losing a beloved pet is deeply painful for children.  Ours learned first hand how finite life is, how devastating death is, and how beloved a pet can be.  In the years following Noble's death we would have other dogs, but Noble, with his gentle demeanor and protective nature,  was the most generous and  nurturing.

Millie's Top 10

Millie writes:

Halloween is this Sunday, which means we've entered what a friend of mine calls “The Halloween-to-New-Year Holiday Death Spiral.” Just in case any of you Dads and Kids out there are working on your gift lists early, I thought I'd post this now; how you wrap them is your problem.

The Top 10 List of What Every Mother Wants for Christmas

10. Vacation days and sick leave
9. A self-cleaning bathroom
8. An item of clothing with no grease stains, bleach spots or spit-up on it
7. A year's worth of dinner menus that don't include hamburger
6. Vaccinations for the common cold
5. A reliable, efficient car that will hold six kids plus groceries – and is a candy-apple red convertible
4. A conversation that doesn't involve chores, homework or the discussion of someone else's feces
3. 24 hours of instant, cheerful cooperation
2. A surprise visit from Jensen Ackles onstage at the school's Winter Concert

And the Number One item that every mother wants for Christmas:

1. A happy, healthy, well-adjusted family clustered around the tree

A final hint: If you get us that last one - don't worry about the other nine.

The Death of a Pet

Millie writes:

Right now three of our kids are at the veterinarian's office with their dad. This is most likely their last farewell to Sprite, an adorable ferret they've owned for nearly eight years. Sprite is the latest in a long line of adorable (and not-so-adorable) animals who have enriched our children's lives, taught them a few things about love and responsibility, and then taught them one last lesson: How to say goodbye.

The trouble with pets is that no matter how adorable they are as babies, no matter how funny and loyal and intelligent they are (or aren't), no matter what boon companions they are to you and your children: they die. Even the best-cared-for animals usually have far shorter life spans than do humans, and household pets often live only a handful of years. This leaves parents with three choices: buy only Galapagos tortoises for your kids, ban pets altogether, or have a plan to deal with how the death of a beloved pet affects your child.

As childhood traumas go, the death of a pet ranks right up there. A child can be more upset by a pet's death than he is by a relative's. For one thing, he may have spent far more time around Fido than around Uncle Joe; for another, the scope of a pet's death is (comparatively) so much smaller that it is easier for a child to grasp it. (Also, frankly, the dog may be more likable.)

Sad as it is, it is easier for a child to become acquainted with the “circle of life” through the animals that he has loved and helped to care for. We started with fish and worked our way up through gerbils and parakeets to dogs, cats, ferrets and chickens. Boy, back in those early days we had fish funerals that rivaled anything seen on Broadway, with solemn graveside services complete with headstones and some very little, very sad mourners.

It never gets easy to lose a furred or feathered friend (I draw the line at loving fish, myself, no matter how much my dander-allergic husband tries to convince me that they're pets on par with cats), but it does get easier. These occasions give you the chance to talk to your kids about what you believe happens after death, and to reassure them that they gave their pet a good life (you may need to provide some examples of this; guilt at such times can overwhelm a child) and – oh, yes – answer their questions about whether you will ever die.

If you haven't already done so, you need to make a will and appoint guardians for your children. That way, when it occurs to your little one like a thunderbolt that, if Blackie can die, MAYBE MOMMY AND DADDY CAN DIE – you can reassure them that, while you don't plan on going anywhere for a long, long time, if something does happen to you, Auntie Sue and Uncle Don will take care of them. Doing this will bring you enormous peace of mind, as well.

Because you know and I know that Blackie didn't see that car coming, either.

Requiescat In Pace, Sprite. You were loved.

Parental Ponderings

Goodness me, Maggie here, alive and kickin'! If it seems as though I've been Missing In Action.. well, it's because I have.

The youngest member of the clan is now three months old and doing great. She's at that cute stage where she'll grin at just about anything, loves to suck her thumb and ... sleeps through the night! This is huge, people, as her two year old sister does not sleep through the night.

Having four so close together (6, 4, 2 and 3 months) at my age (...ahem, 27), gets lots of big eyes from those slightly older than me with "only" one or two children to their names. Having them this close together creates an interesting dynamic, not only between the children themselves, but between us as parents and the children. They say that "Comparison is of the devil," and I have to agree--but it is SO hard not to do! Especially between sexes! When Laureli was four, she was helping around the house and cleaning up after herself without much direction from me. Her brother though? He's four and it's more of a chore to get him to do anything than the actual chore in question! I know a lot of that has to do with the fact that I can depend on his big sister to get it done, so the pressure isn't on him as much as it was with her. That being said, however, his little two year old sister tends to help more than he does.

I find that the years and milestones all get a bit muddled. I probably expect more of the younger two (not the baby--yet) because their oldest sister is capable of so much. That's not very fair to them, and I try to catch myself before I make assumptions and demands past their capability.

There are times I have more patience with the younger ones, simply because I've been there before and know what to expect. But then, there are times when that patience is scarce--because I've been there and my expectations are shot full of holes.

If there's one thing I've learned from having four children, it's that expectations are all fine and good, so long as you aren't counting on them to be fulfilled when you, well... expect them to. Case in point: I expected my baby to be asleep by now, but she's not, so this post will have to be cut short. Thanks for the example, Kayla!

Gardening and Parenting

Mollie writes:

Sometimes, it just seems like my brain is full.  I went outside to weed my front yard last week; it took me four sessions of four hours each.  Times past, I didn't have this kind of time to focus on pulling each and every weed in my yard so I'd head out with my hula hoe and just whack everything I saw that wasn't easily identifiable as something I bought at nursery.  But once my kids were raised, I started to find snippets of time where the weather was willing, my flesh was willing and I had a little time.

So I became a weed meister.

I used to weed as a cover for listening to my young'uns  playing in the yard.  You can overhear so much that you can lose track of the job at hand.  My kids had wild imaginations and sometimes I'd laugh so hard they'd look up from their play.  But now I can focus on weeds, their identification, and deal with them individually.  Most weeds I eradicate by hand, but the occasional few I resort to chemical warfare.

Example, today, 10:45 am.  John comes in from the deep dark environs of the only shady place in our yard, under the gunnera plant.  The gunnera plant is one of John's little (BIG?) experiments in the back yard (for specifics on gunnera go to   http://www.righthealth.com/topic/gunnera? ).  It's his pride and joy, a plant that dates back to prehistoric times with huge leaves.  He was checking out the status of his gunnera when he found, underneath, a suspicious looking weed growing.

It resembled marijuana to him (don't ask - we are both pure) but he wasn't sure.  I wasn't sure either, so I went to my "Weeds of the West" book and ultimately identified it as conium maculatum, a weed common to the Pacific Northwest, tolerating poorly draining soil, streams and ditch banks.  It's no surprise it started on this hill that slopes to our pond.  It has purple green stems and pinnate leaves that are segmented.  I also googled marijuana plant identification and ruled it out as the dreaded weed.  Even though we live on an island that seems to have pot growing anywhere there is an expanse of shady, moist, dark areas, the random seed hadn't found its way into my garden, despite the efforts of local birds to "poop" it everywhere.

Its common name is poison hemlock.  Now, if I had to choose what popped up in my yard, marijuana or hemlock, I'd ultimately choose marijuana.  It's a relief to know I don't have to choose.  But this hemlock is extremely poisonous, so we went at it with all guns blazing.  Someday, we'll have grandkids and I don't want a bunch of poisonous plants invading my back yard.  Ditto to controlled substances.

When all was said and done, the hemlock was removed and I placed a leaf in my book on the page that describes conium maculatum.  I probably won't forget this little gardening factoid, but it will be nice to have a sample for future reference.

My point here (and, ala Ellen, I do have a point), learning to identify plants is a good thing for a parent.  I'm trying to imagine raising kids without a few domestic hobbies and it boggles my mind.  For me, it's been a sanity saver; something that challenges my mind while the kids are building forts in the back yard.  But it has also prepared me to identify the random 'weed' that can crop up anywhere!

Sleep Tight . . . Right?

Millie writes:

Swaddling – also called “bundling” - is the practice of wrapping a baby up tightly with his arms and legs bound to his body so that he can sleep. Swaddling has been going on for centuries, with many parents swearing it was the only way they could get their newborns to sleep.

There are many theories about why it works. Some people say that it keeps a baby from “startling” itself away (you know that galvanic “sleep jerk” you get when you're about to nod off? Well, babies get that, too), and some say that it's comforting because it mimics the feeling of being in the mother's womb and makes the baby feel secure.

I bundled my wee ones occasionally (not that they'd stay that way, my babies were all big limb-wavers) and so did just about every other parent I know. However, recent research has shown that it may be time to find alternatives to bundling.

In the September 2010 issue of the International Journal of Childbirth Education, Nancy Mohrbacher (breastfeeding specialist and author of The Breastfeeding Answer Book) cited several studies that seem to show that swaddling at birth not only delays the development of good nursing habits, it can retard overall growth and be stressful for babies. There have been studies overseas which indicate that the enforced lack of movement caused by swaddling can contribute to an increase in lung infections, potentially fatal overheating and SIDS. Parenting magazine's Dr. Williams Sears says that swaddling babies too frequently or after about 3 months of age can contribute to hip dysplasia (deformity and dislocation of the hip joint).

Well, obviously these are extreme worst-case scenarios chosen to illustrate the authors' points; I'm not trying to use scare tactics here. Still, finding alternatives to swaddling seems like an idea whose time is coming, especially when you consider that nothing works all the time for any baby.

Skin Contact

Holding him skin-to-skin is one of the easiest, most convenient, most effective ways to soothe a cranky babe. Tuck a half-naked baby (it's just lunacy to do this without a diaper!) on your naked chest and let them soak up the closeness. It works just as well for daddies as it does for mamas; if you're in a semi-public situation wear a spaghetti-strap tank or a bathing suit top, anything that lets the baby lay his skin against yours. Oh, and dads – if you're furry, you can expect to lose a tiny handful or two of hair to that “grasping” reflex.

Rocking

My ex-mother-in-law calls it “elephanting” - that reflex parents have of rocking back and forth when they're holding a baby. (Experienced parents elephant when they're holding babies, puppies, chicks, dolls or 10-pound bags of sugar – this is how we recognize each other in the grocery store.) It's automatic because it works; babies spent nine months sloshing around in amniotic fluid whenever Mama moved, and they like motion. Rock Baby to sleep in a rocking chair, carry him in a sling, walk around the house or take him for a ride in the car. Many parents swear by wind-up swings; there are even after-market attachments that can turn an entire crib into a rocking bed.

Lullabies

Singing works wonders, so sing away and don't worry if you don't hit all the notes – most babies don't know any better. (Well, Red knew better, but he was a special case.) Hum, read the sports page in a soothing voice, or walk around pointing out the sights - “. . . and here we find ourselves in the famous Living Room. If you look out the right side of the father, you will see the mantel clock, which is a major tourist attraction in our town.” White noise works for some babies, so try static (tune the radio or TV to a spot between stations) or a fan aimed away from the baby.

Customs

Establishing a bedtime ritual isn't just for older kids; even for babies, a bedtime routine will signal that sleep is coming and it's a good thing. Make sure the baby is fed and clean, and then experiment until you find what works for him. Some things I've used are scented-water baths, special bedtime songs, stories, rocking and back rubs. Kisses and hugs should definitely be in there somewhere, too! Of course, with a swaddling-aged baby, feeding will probably send them off to dreamland most often; then the challenge is getting them into bed without waking them back up again, but that's another story!


Parenting: Ask Dr. Sears: Alternatives to Baby Swaddling, Dr. William Sears
International Journal of Childbirth Education: Rethinking Swaddling, Nancy Mohrbacher

Laugh of the day!

Mollie writes:

Go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zse4LJK8OZ0

and see the life of an average mom on any one day!

Sometimes, you just wish you had stayed in bed and NOT baked that cake.   Frankly, I could go through months of this sort of chaos and wonder what was up.  The good news is that once the video of you getting  ambushed by your kids goes viral, you have probably regained your sense of humor.

I have to admit, I LOVE the internet.  There is the ongoing conversation about whether or not you should post something personal on the internet.  Certainly "outing" your roommate's sexual orientation is a big sin, as well as texting naked pictures of yourself.   But I have to admit, I love the zaniness of the spontaneous goof up.  I'm praying that the woman in this video is at peace with herself, knowing that her  37 seconds of pratfalls made even the most frustrated of fellow sisters laugh.

You can spend the day baking a cake, frosting it, gussying yourself up, and make the dramatic entrance to a family party only to end up in some ditch somewhere.  We've all been there.  But to make the ultimate sacrifice and allow it to be viewed (and I hope she did!) by The Rest of The World is daunting.

Millie and I write this blog to let other parents know that they are not alone.  We joke about projectile pooping, parent-teacher conferences, just who gets the remote control on any one day and a myriad of other daily challenges.

We occasionally give out the random super-power.  But most of us have a super-power lurking in our souls and we just do not recognize it.  The ability to laugh at yourself - and it is myself I'm laughing at when I watch this video - is the greatest super-power there is.  And we already have it!

So my love and sympathy goes out to the 'ditched' mom and her wonderful intentions on producing a lovely cake for a family party.  But also goes out my respect for her, for all the cakes she's made in the past and all the little ditches along the way.

This is the quintessential job of mothering.  Bake a cake, lose your dress and end up in the ditch.  It happens to the best of us every day!