We brought Minnie home from my Dad’s pet store in March of 2000. She was just eight weeks old, full of puppy energy and the sweetest puggy face you could ever hope for; she was our dog baby and treated as such. She was promptly showered with gifts and love; lots of toys, a new bed, and all the food she could handle. Minnie was driven three days a week to “Doggy Day Care” in her early years. She would be buckled in with her special dog seat belt to the back of my car or my husband’s and dropped with all her friends for a day of fun and frolicking. Then, we would pick her up and she would pant with sheer joy as we were reunited; she would pull us to the car and hop up with glee every time.
When Minnie was two years old, we had our daughter, Emma. Minnie had been saddened when my belly got too large for her to sit on my lap during my pregnancy and when it was gone; she understood that she had to share my lap as I nursed Emma. Pretty soon, she stopped trying to jump on my lap until the baby went to bed for the night. She would save her snuggle time for then. She was an understanding and loyal friend. While Emma grew, Minnie became ever vigilant at her side. I would put the baby down for tummy time on the floor and Minnie would watch over her, not moving from the spot until I picked Emma back up and safely put her in her bouncy seat or crib. And then Minnie would move to that location to stand guard. If I left the room while Emma was rolling around on the floor, Minnie would bark until I returned. I think she was shocked that I would leave my puppy alone and unguarded.
As the years went by, Minnie remained Emma’s faithful guardian; she protected the baby at night until she was too tired and then she would hop up in my bed until Emma woke up in the morning and then it was “time to make the donuts” all over again. Minnie was thrilled every time we said, “Get your coat, we’re going for a walk”. She would prance around in her favorite coat like she was on a runway in Paris. She would pull us throughout the walk, Ron, me, the stroller in tow, exhausting herself but relishing every moment.
When our son, Jacob, came to join our family; Minnie welcomed the new baby with her usual motherly attention. Although, her hands were pretty full with a toddler at that point, she always managed a drive-by lick of Jacob’s face or to clean up whatever cereal or spit up he had around him.
Minnie maintained her matriarchal position over time and was personally offended if we tried to leave her for a weekend with someone else for travel. She once clawed her way out of my in-laws window, jumped out of the house – about a four foot drop and chased after us as we pulled away. We learned to kennel her from then on; feeling that she needed to be protected from her unabashed love of us.
When we moved to St. Joe in 2006, we enjoyed taking Minnie to the beach and downtown; she loved to meet new people - little children and babies particularly loved her long tongue and pug-face. Often she was sporting a new sweater or vest, and she clearly felt like the bell of the ball. She was a beauty and kind to all that she met. Even other dogs; she would rush right up to them to say hello and make a friend.
In the winter of 2008, we noticed that Minnie wasn’t jumping very well; she was missing the couch and having to take a couple tries to get up on the furniture; her normal hangout. One night, she was sleeping with Emma as she usually did then and she wasn’t able to get down from the bed. I had to come and get her and realized, too late, that she had needed to go out. We took her to the vet thinking that she just had a small problem that needed attention. That was not the case for our sweet Minnie. She was diagnosed with hip dysplasia and the doctor also found a spinal cord injury, probably from a jump; maybe out of a window perhaps, or from a million jumps on and off the couch?? We asked what we could do to help; the vet told us there was no treatment. She said we could try comfort measures but that this was a degenerative and painful disease. The vet told us there in her office in 2008 that we needed to get our heads around the inevitable. We looked at Minnie and thought, “No way, she’ll be fine; we’ll make her fine”.
Over the nearly three years since her diagnosis, we fought that damn disease. We didn’t want to say good bye to our darling girl. Soon, though, her gait slowed and she couldn’t get up and down stairs without great pain and effort. She could no longer sleep with us because she had become incontinent and had to be crated at night. She was no longer able to take her beloved walks and when we tried strollers, she struggled with the jerking movement. Roles reversed as her illness got worse. Emma and Jacob became Minnie’s guardian; watching over her if people came over or giving her extra love if she was fussed at for making a mess. Often, Jacob would remind us that she couldn’t help it and then he would lean over and tell Minnie that she was a good dog.
All of us nursed her through and tried to make her as comfortable as possible, we gave her cushy dog beds she was able to get on to replace the couch she loved so much. We brought yummy treats to her so she didn’t have to get up for them; we moved her food and water within inches of her bed.
We considered ending her suffering many times but didn’t have the courage to be unselfish. We wanted to be with her and couldn’t bear the thought of her being gone; even in the frustration of cleaning up after her multiple times daily. Soon, she was not able to get around much anymore, only occasionally being able to hop through the house to see us on her really good days. Every time she moved she was clearly in pain, her legs gave out from under her often. Finally, we could bear watching her pain any longer.
With our hearts breaking, we made the long drive to the vet. Even in the last moments, she tried to comfort us. She even gave us an impatient bark to tell us she was ready to go home. I had to say a hasty good-bye, because I knew if I stayed I would stop the vet. I gave her a final kiss and pet and left quickly. My husband stayed until the very end, cooing at her and stroking her head the whole time. We drove home, just the two of us, in near silence. We drove home with crumpled hearts, missing already the sounds, sights and even smell of our girl, Minnie.
And in the short week since her passing, as gut wrenching as it has been, we have been sharing our Minnie stories with each other, remembering the vibrant dog and family member she was and being infinitely grateful for having had her in our lives. She wasn’t here long enough, but I’m sure glad we got each moment with her. I am grateful for the 10 years, 9 months and 20 days that my canine friend, Minnie, was on this earth.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
For Vivian
For the first time in awhile, I took my family to church. It was the 2nd Advent Sunday this year and I started by proposing it to my seven-year-old, Emma. Once Emma was on board, I had her work on her Grandmother. Once Grandma was on board, we all influenced the men; my Dad, my husband and son crashed down like dominos and before too long we were sitting in our ‘family pew’.
As I was sitting there, pleased at myself for conspiring to bring our family to church instead of letting yet another lazy Sunday roll by, I was struck by how much I missed my own Grandmother. I looked down the pew at my children, my husband and my parents and I remembered coming to church throughout my life and sitting in that same pew with my Grandmother. That was where I could find her every Sunday. I would come in from the back and see her; her hair in a perfect coif of silver curls. She was tiny, only 4’ 11” tall and yet she was bigger than life to me. As I looked at my family that Sunday, I found the memory of my Grandma overwhelmingly poignant. Christmas was always one of her favorite times of year. I find it fitting to write about her during this time of year.
To say that my grandmother was a large part of my life would be like saying that Mount Everest is a nice little hill. She was there for me throughout my life; from the moment I was born until the moment she died. I have so many memories of her. When I was a child, my grandparents were with us nearly constantly. Through thick and thin, she was with me; with us – her family. She cared for me when I was ill because my mother was a new teacher and because my Grandmother never would have wanted it any other way. She would take me to after-school events or pick me up from church activities or go with me anywhere I needed to go. She was like my third parent.
My sister and I stayed nearly every weekend with my grandparents when we were little, because they wanted it so and we loved being there. I remember watching Saturday Morning Cartoons while the sounds and smells of my Grandmother’s cooking would fill the house. For our birthdays, my Grandmother would take us, separately, to the toy store and say, “Pick out whatever you want”. She never said no to anything we asked for on our special shopping trip. We went camping with my grandparents all the time in the summer; we would take golf cart rides around the campground, make Jiffy Pop and wish to never return to our regular lives from camping.
When my Grandfather died rather suddenly, it was my Grandmother that consoled me. I came in from school and found the whole house crying quietly, in a very somber mood. I have always been the most emotional of my family and when my mother told me of my Grandfather’s passing, I wailed and ran to my room. My grandmother quietly climbed the stairs and sat on my bed with me while I let out anguished cries for my Grandfather. She stroked my back and told me it would be ok. This woman, this little rock, she had just lost her husband of 45 years and she was consoling her 9-year-old granddaughter.
Our relationship really evolved as I matured and I looked forward to seeing her but I don’t believe I ever matched her enthusiasm. When I looked at my Grandmother, I saw absolute love looking back at me. She looked at me like I had dropped out of heaven into her lap. She lived just down the block from my parents and would literally come to our house within five minutes of my arrival as an adult coming in for a weekend visit. She was always brimming over with excitement to see me and hear the latest from my life.
When I was 25 years old, and she was 83, we discovered that she was in the middle stages of Alzheimers Disease. I had no idea what would take place after that diagnosis. I had never been exposed to this devastating disease; and I had no clue what to expect. Selfishly, I was engrossed in my own life at the time; something that I regret now more than anything. I didn’t visit her as much as I should have; I didn’t do as much as she would have done if the roles had been reversed. I spent time with her, I cherished our conversations and our relationship, but not with the passion that she did; I was too busy with me to think about her as much. I regret that my children didn’t meet her, that my husband never really knew her; she was too ill to speak when he met her. We lost so much time with her; she lived six years after her diagnosis but she was gone long before that. Only in the years since her death have I come to appreciate how much she meant to me and what an influence she was on my life.
And now, so many years later, I remember all the fun we had at the holidays. My grandmother loved singing Christmas hymns; I love singing them just as much but she knew each one by heart and would hum them or sing them as she worked around the house. She could play the piano only by ear and would sing Christmas carols at our house every year, plunking away at the keys and my sister and I would join in. She always cooked Christmas dinner; either at her house or later at ours; no matter what time we started the cooking, she was there to help with all of it, from beginning until the last fork was put back away. And then there was church; where she was a constant image sitting in that pew, six or seven from the back, right in the aisle so she could see clearly. She would be there, saving seats for us, smelling like Wind Song, Oil of Olay and other wonderful Grandma smells. She would sit with her arm around me or holding my hand and I felt completely loved.
And as I looked at my daughter and my son, two weeks ago, sitting in that same pew; I know that I look at them the way my Grandmother looked at me and I thank her for that in my prayers. I hope that she knows, wherever she is now, that she has lived on in me and that I am cherishing each Christmas as she did; with my family around me.
As I was sitting there, pleased at myself for conspiring to bring our family to church instead of letting yet another lazy Sunday roll by, I was struck by how much I missed my own Grandmother. I looked down the pew at my children, my husband and my parents and I remembered coming to church throughout my life and sitting in that same pew with my Grandmother. That was where I could find her every Sunday. I would come in from the back and see her; her hair in a perfect coif of silver curls. She was tiny, only 4’ 11” tall and yet she was bigger than life to me. As I looked at my family that Sunday, I found the memory of my Grandma overwhelmingly poignant. Christmas was always one of her favorite times of year. I find it fitting to write about her during this time of year.
To say that my grandmother was a large part of my life would be like saying that Mount Everest is a nice little hill. She was there for me throughout my life; from the moment I was born until the moment she died. I have so many memories of her. When I was a child, my grandparents were with us nearly constantly. Through thick and thin, she was with me; with us – her family. She cared for me when I was ill because my mother was a new teacher and because my Grandmother never would have wanted it any other way. She would take me to after-school events or pick me up from church activities or go with me anywhere I needed to go. She was like my third parent.
My sister and I stayed nearly every weekend with my grandparents when we were little, because they wanted it so and we loved being there. I remember watching Saturday Morning Cartoons while the sounds and smells of my Grandmother’s cooking would fill the house. For our birthdays, my Grandmother would take us, separately, to the toy store and say, “Pick out whatever you want”. She never said no to anything we asked for on our special shopping trip. We went camping with my grandparents all the time in the summer; we would take golf cart rides around the campground, make Jiffy Pop and wish to never return to our regular lives from camping.
When my Grandfather died rather suddenly, it was my Grandmother that consoled me. I came in from school and found the whole house crying quietly, in a very somber mood. I have always been the most emotional of my family and when my mother told me of my Grandfather’s passing, I wailed and ran to my room. My grandmother quietly climbed the stairs and sat on my bed with me while I let out anguished cries for my Grandfather. She stroked my back and told me it would be ok. This woman, this little rock, she had just lost her husband of 45 years and she was consoling her 9-year-old granddaughter.
Our relationship really evolved as I matured and I looked forward to seeing her but I don’t believe I ever matched her enthusiasm. When I looked at my Grandmother, I saw absolute love looking back at me. She looked at me like I had dropped out of heaven into her lap. She lived just down the block from my parents and would literally come to our house within five minutes of my arrival as an adult coming in for a weekend visit. She was always brimming over with excitement to see me and hear the latest from my life.
When I was 25 years old, and she was 83, we discovered that she was in the middle stages of Alzheimers Disease. I had no idea what would take place after that diagnosis. I had never been exposed to this devastating disease; and I had no clue what to expect. Selfishly, I was engrossed in my own life at the time; something that I regret now more than anything. I didn’t visit her as much as I should have; I didn’t do as much as she would have done if the roles had been reversed. I spent time with her, I cherished our conversations and our relationship, but not with the passion that she did; I was too busy with me to think about her as much. I regret that my children didn’t meet her, that my husband never really knew her; she was too ill to speak when he met her. We lost so much time with her; she lived six years after her diagnosis but she was gone long before that. Only in the years since her death have I come to appreciate how much she meant to me and what an influence she was on my life.
And now, so many years later, I remember all the fun we had at the holidays. My grandmother loved singing Christmas hymns; I love singing them just as much but she knew each one by heart and would hum them or sing them as she worked around the house. She could play the piano only by ear and would sing Christmas carols at our house every year, plunking away at the keys and my sister and I would join in. She always cooked Christmas dinner; either at her house or later at ours; no matter what time we started the cooking, she was there to help with all of it, from beginning until the last fork was put back away. And then there was church; where she was a constant image sitting in that pew, six or seven from the back, right in the aisle so she could see clearly. She would be there, saving seats for us, smelling like Wind Song, Oil of Olay and other wonderful Grandma smells. She would sit with her arm around me or holding my hand and I felt completely loved.
And as I looked at my daughter and my son, two weeks ago, sitting in that same pew; I know that I look at them the way my Grandmother looked at me and I thank her for that in my prayers. I hope that she knows, wherever she is now, that she has lived on in me and that I am cherishing each Christmas as she did; with my family around me.
October Spooky Assignment
As the church bells were ringing in 4 o’clock in the afternoon, Tessa and Camille were just finishing up their girls afternoon of antique shopping. “Pull in there,” Tessa said quickly to Camille. Camille pulled her Jeep Cherokee into one of several slots open at the small store marked, “Aunt Ellie’s Antiques and Fineries”.
While her eyes adjusted to the claustrophobic darkness of the small, crowded shop, Tessa followed a ray of sunlight beaming in from the windows to a dusty and neglected ladies vanity. The mirror was aged and pitted, the table in need of a good dusting and possibly a coat of varnish, but otherwise in great shape. As she approached the small elderly woman reading a Reader’s Digest behind the counter, she called out, “Excuse me, ma’am?”. The woman looked up and replied, “Yes, dear. What can I do for you?”.
“This vanity over here, do you know when it was made? And how much are you asking for it?”, Tessa asked her. “That vanity, let me see.”, the woman came around to the area the vanity was stored and touched the item with thoughtfulness. “Why, this is one of the last items from my family actually. I started this business because of the number of antiques I had accumulated in my storage barn. This was my great-Aunt Rose’s vanity. Her husband bought it for her as a wedding gift or an anniversary I believe around 1912. She would have only been about 20 years old then, so that seems about right.” She paused to consider her long lost relative, or to gauge Tessa’s interest or to set a price in her head. Finally, after a moment, she said, “I think $100 should be a fair price; it does need some work”.
Tessa quickly calculated the price along with the dimensions of the space she was considering for this piece. She was thinking this would be an excellent vanity for her guest room and the shabby chic theme she had started in that area. “Camille, do we have room in your Jeep for one more large item?”, Tessa called out to her friend. Camille absently replied, “Sure, I think we can or I’ll strap you to the top; either way, we’re good.” With some team work, and $100 lighter, Tessa and Camille headed out with the vanity.
Later that night, after Camille had left, Tessa began to place her newly purchased antiques around the house. She placed a new old watering can near her arrangement of houseplants; a silver brush/comb set went on her guest bathroom counter, a wrought iron magazine holder in the master bathroom and the new old area rug in the foyer. The vanity sat in her garage until she could get some varnish. Satisfied with her day’s work, Tessa headed to bed around 11pm.
Distantly she heard the tinkle of a glass chandelier in the wind or maybe wind chimes. Then quickly following that she heard music. Faintly at first, then a bit louder, muffled yet distinctly music. Tessa’s eyes opened from her dream. She looked over at the clock which told her it was 3:06 am. Darkness shrouded her vision as she tried to figure out what woke her. Oddly, she heard the soft music again. Assuming that she was hearing a version of her ring-tone on her cell phone, Tessa forced herself out of her bed. It wasn’t until she arrived at the hallway between her bedroom and the living room that she realized the music was not coming from her cell phone. She stopped and listened and then the music was joined by a quick laugh or giggle. The hair rose on the back of her neck as she felt with certainty that she was not alone in the house. She pressed her back to the hallway wall and listened to the sound of her own breathing for several seconds trying to decide what to do. The soft, muffled music continued. Tessa tried to pinpoint the location of where the music and that one burst of laughter had come from. She strained to listen to the music, not able to place it. It was that moment that she realized the music was coming from her garage. Quickly, she ran to her kitchen and grabbed her Mag-Lite flashlight and her telephone.
Approaching her garage for a better listen, her eyes darting around her house, the music softened rather than getting louder. She was now listening as closely as she could but her own breathing was deafening compared to the faintness of the music. She began to wonder if she was hearing things or if she had somehow left something on in the garage. She remembered the vanity and thought maybe there was something inside it causing the noise. Convinced that she had overlooked something in the new item, she cautiously opened the garage door; peering inside the darkness for signs of either the mysterious musical source or, at the worst, someone’s presence.
Tessa’s heart was racing as she craned her neck around the garage for a better listen and look. The music abruptly stopped as she looked in the direction of the vanity. She walked nearer, now convinced that there had to be an item in the vanity; a music box perhaps. She sat down at the stool of the vanity and searched the contents of the drawers. Empty. She bent over and looked underneath the top of the vanity, nothing. Defeated and feeling a little silly, Tessa turned on the Mag-Lite and swept the flashlight beam around the garage, just for reassurance. She was, indeed, alone. Sighing, she got up to go back to bed.
Re-entering her house, she turned to look at the garage one last time; all was in order. She chuckled at herself as she shut the garage door and when she chuckled, a delightful giggle brushed past her ear and tinkling music began to sound from the garage again. Startled, she looked at the vanity only to see a beautiful young lady in the mirror smiling at herself as she sat in front of it. In the instant that she saw the glimpse of the woman, the garage door thumped shut on Tessa like the wind had shut it the rest of the way for her.
After a restless remainder of the night, Tessa nervously returned to Aunt Ellie’s the next morning, vanity in hand. “Ma’am, I have to return this to you.”, Tessa said. Armed with reasons of more logical basis, Tessa set the vanity back in it’s original location. With a knowing look, the woman, said, “Oh no, you met Aunt Rose didn’t you? I keep telling her to stay here but sometimes she likes to follow her things.” The little woman moved over to the vanity, running her hands over the top of it while she clucked at the item saying, “Tsk, tsk, Rose. I’ve told you people don’t like it when you just show up uninvited like that.” She looked up and smiled at Tessa in a way that said she’d had this conversation a few times before.
While her eyes adjusted to the claustrophobic darkness of the small, crowded shop, Tessa followed a ray of sunlight beaming in from the windows to a dusty and neglected ladies vanity. The mirror was aged and pitted, the table in need of a good dusting and possibly a coat of varnish, but otherwise in great shape. As she approached the small elderly woman reading a Reader’s Digest behind the counter, she called out, “Excuse me, ma’am?”. The woman looked up and replied, “Yes, dear. What can I do for you?”.
“This vanity over here, do you know when it was made? And how much are you asking for it?”, Tessa asked her. “That vanity, let me see.”, the woman came around to the area the vanity was stored and touched the item with thoughtfulness. “Why, this is one of the last items from my family actually. I started this business because of the number of antiques I had accumulated in my storage barn. This was my great-Aunt Rose’s vanity. Her husband bought it for her as a wedding gift or an anniversary I believe around 1912. She would have only been about 20 years old then, so that seems about right.” She paused to consider her long lost relative, or to gauge Tessa’s interest or to set a price in her head. Finally, after a moment, she said, “I think $100 should be a fair price; it does need some work”.
Tessa quickly calculated the price along with the dimensions of the space she was considering for this piece. She was thinking this would be an excellent vanity for her guest room and the shabby chic theme she had started in that area. “Camille, do we have room in your Jeep for one more large item?”, Tessa called out to her friend. Camille absently replied, “Sure, I think we can or I’ll strap you to the top; either way, we’re good.” With some team work, and $100 lighter, Tessa and Camille headed out with the vanity.
Later that night, after Camille had left, Tessa began to place her newly purchased antiques around the house. She placed a new old watering can near her arrangement of houseplants; a silver brush/comb set went on her guest bathroom counter, a wrought iron magazine holder in the master bathroom and the new old area rug in the foyer. The vanity sat in her garage until she could get some varnish. Satisfied with her day’s work, Tessa headed to bed around 11pm.
Distantly she heard the tinkle of a glass chandelier in the wind or maybe wind chimes. Then quickly following that she heard music. Faintly at first, then a bit louder, muffled yet distinctly music. Tessa’s eyes opened from her dream. She looked over at the clock which told her it was 3:06 am. Darkness shrouded her vision as she tried to figure out what woke her. Oddly, she heard the soft music again. Assuming that she was hearing a version of her ring-tone on her cell phone, Tessa forced herself out of her bed. It wasn’t until she arrived at the hallway between her bedroom and the living room that she realized the music was not coming from her cell phone. She stopped and listened and then the music was joined by a quick laugh or giggle. The hair rose on the back of her neck as she felt with certainty that she was not alone in the house. She pressed her back to the hallway wall and listened to the sound of her own breathing for several seconds trying to decide what to do. The soft, muffled music continued. Tessa tried to pinpoint the location of where the music and that one burst of laughter had come from. She strained to listen to the music, not able to place it. It was that moment that she realized the music was coming from her garage. Quickly, she ran to her kitchen and grabbed her Mag-Lite flashlight and her telephone.
Approaching her garage for a better listen, her eyes darting around her house, the music softened rather than getting louder. She was now listening as closely as she could but her own breathing was deafening compared to the faintness of the music. She began to wonder if she was hearing things or if she had somehow left something on in the garage. She remembered the vanity and thought maybe there was something inside it causing the noise. Convinced that she had overlooked something in the new item, she cautiously opened the garage door; peering inside the darkness for signs of either the mysterious musical source or, at the worst, someone’s presence.
Tessa’s heart was racing as she craned her neck around the garage for a better listen and look. The music abruptly stopped as she looked in the direction of the vanity. She walked nearer, now convinced that there had to be an item in the vanity; a music box perhaps. She sat down at the stool of the vanity and searched the contents of the drawers. Empty. She bent over and looked underneath the top of the vanity, nothing. Defeated and feeling a little silly, Tessa turned on the Mag-Lite and swept the flashlight beam around the garage, just for reassurance. She was, indeed, alone. Sighing, she got up to go back to bed.
Re-entering her house, she turned to look at the garage one last time; all was in order. She chuckled at herself as she shut the garage door and when she chuckled, a delightful giggle brushed past her ear and tinkling music began to sound from the garage again. Startled, she looked at the vanity only to see a beautiful young lady in the mirror smiling at herself as she sat in front of it. In the instant that she saw the glimpse of the woman, the garage door thumped shut on Tessa like the wind had shut it the rest of the way for her.
After a restless remainder of the night, Tessa nervously returned to Aunt Ellie’s the next morning, vanity in hand. “Ma’am, I have to return this to you.”, Tessa said. Armed with reasons of more logical basis, Tessa set the vanity back in it’s original location. With a knowing look, the woman, said, “Oh no, you met Aunt Rose didn’t you? I keep telling her to stay here but sometimes she likes to follow her things.” The little woman moved over to the vanity, running her hands over the top of it while she clucked at the item saying, “Tsk, tsk, Rose. I’ve told you people don’t like it when you just show up uninvited like that.” She looked up and smiled at Tessa in a way that said she’d had this conversation a few times before.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Beast Within
There is a girl I know who is simply amazing. My daughter, Emma, is an incredible person. All parents say that, I realize, and we are all correct. Emma is incredible in many ways; as an example, she is hilariously funny. At two years old, she used to not just wave “bye bye” but instead would blow a kiss and say “Ciao!”. She did it once and got some giggles and it stuck for nearly a year. At eight years old, she has perfected her comic timing so that very unexpectedly, she can bring us all to laughter. She also puts on shows for us, lip syncing every Taylor Swift song and acting out the lyrics in an interpretive dance. Another example is that Emma is a voracious reader; I actually didn’t believe her when she read her first chapter book in less than three days. I made her do a verbal book report to prove she had read it. And she had. That was two years ago.
But Emma is not all sugar and spice. She and I continually work on what we call “Taming the Beast” within her. Emma, in spite of her calm and sweet demeanor most of the time; loving and kind to all who know her, has a wicked temper. Particularly when it is time for school or if she wants a pajama day on a weekend, Emma can turn into a Tasmanian devil; hissing and biting at all who come into contact with her. During those times, her father and I feel like lion tamers with a whip in one hand and a chair in another. I have actually said to my son, her younger brother, “Stay away from her! She’s going to hurt you!” And then, when the temper passes, she crumples into tears and sobs of “I’m sorry” and “I love you”.
The beast within Emma, I have told her, is absolutely genetic. The same beast lives within me; dormant for many years now, only coming out on rare occasions and usually around housecleaning. I have told Emma, one of the things to remember is that she has to learn to tame her beast; to breathe deeply and calm herself before she lashes out. This is nearly impossible at her age, but she is trying to manage it. Often, in the moments after a temper flare she will say, “The monster just got out. I couldn’t keep it in” and it reminds me of scenes from the ‘Incredible Hulk’. This temper of ours, it truly is a beast within; and comes out for no real reason at all. This beast of Emma’s, it really just wants love and to have its’ own way. The fact that she feels so badly about it breaks my heart, a mother’s heart who cannot take that sting away for her daughter. And to know that she, like me, will have to learn to calm herself because the good part of Emma, the angel side, is so much larger and she should not allow herself to be defined by her temper.
Luckily, she really only shows the beast within to her immediate family; and I know that is because we are her most cherished and loved. At times, it is difficult to remember that during the temper tantrums of “I hate you. You are the worst mother ever. You are stupid.” But I know that when the storm passes, she will feel terrible and take back all the hateful words and we will be able to get to the root of what is bothering her. She, like me, has to guard against being overwhelmed by her emotions. She, like me, will cry when she sees other people’s pain. She is a tremendous friend, who will fight any injustice leveled at her crew, and she wants to be loved by all who know her. She feels all of it immensely and it is that feeling; that giant heart that Emma has that ultimately makes her so incredible.
Both the good and bad parts of having such emotions make her a joy to have as a child. Most of the time, Emma is nothing but pure love; she is freakishly strong when she hugs me as I come in from work. She asks me how my day was as I ask her the same. She makes up secret girlfriend handshakes and includes me in them with her friends. She picks up her brother, no small feat, and carries him around when her love for him becomes overpowering or she will kiss his cheek until he cries “no more death by kisses!!” And her love for her father spills over onto the floor; she has made up special sayings for them like, “Hers loves hims” and will cry when I sing “Bye Baby Bunting” to her because the song is about a daddy leaving to find a blanket for his baby.
I am comforted in this journey with Emma because I know she has the right stuff to tame the beast within her sweet soul; because she has an infinite palette of emotions. As she ages and matures, I am excited to see what she will paint with that palette in her mural of life. She is an incredible child, and I treasure every experience with her; including the beast within.
But Emma is not all sugar and spice. She and I continually work on what we call “Taming the Beast” within her. Emma, in spite of her calm and sweet demeanor most of the time; loving and kind to all who know her, has a wicked temper. Particularly when it is time for school or if she wants a pajama day on a weekend, Emma can turn into a Tasmanian devil; hissing and biting at all who come into contact with her. During those times, her father and I feel like lion tamers with a whip in one hand and a chair in another. I have actually said to my son, her younger brother, “Stay away from her! She’s going to hurt you!” And then, when the temper passes, she crumples into tears and sobs of “I’m sorry” and “I love you”.
The beast within Emma, I have told her, is absolutely genetic. The same beast lives within me; dormant for many years now, only coming out on rare occasions and usually around housecleaning. I have told Emma, one of the things to remember is that she has to learn to tame her beast; to breathe deeply and calm herself before she lashes out. This is nearly impossible at her age, but she is trying to manage it. Often, in the moments after a temper flare she will say, “The monster just got out. I couldn’t keep it in” and it reminds me of scenes from the ‘Incredible Hulk’. This temper of ours, it truly is a beast within; and comes out for no real reason at all. This beast of Emma’s, it really just wants love and to have its’ own way. The fact that she feels so badly about it breaks my heart, a mother’s heart who cannot take that sting away for her daughter. And to know that she, like me, will have to learn to calm herself because the good part of Emma, the angel side, is so much larger and she should not allow herself to be defined by her temper.
Luckily, she really only shows the beast within to her immediate family; and I know that is because we are her most cherished and loved. At times, it is difficult to remember that during the temper tantrums of “I hate you. You are the worst mother ever. You are stupid.” But I know that when the storm passes, she will feel terrible and take back all the hateful words and we will be able to get to the root of what is bothering her. She, like me, has to guard against being overwhelmed by her emotions. She, like me, will cry when she sees other people’s pain. She is a tremendous friend, who will fight any injustice leveled at her crew, and she wants to be loved by all who know her. She feels all of it immensely and it is that feeling; that giant heart that Emma has that ultimately makes her so incredible.
Both the good and bad parts of having such emotions make her a joy to have as a child. Most of the time, Emma is nothing but pure love; she is freakishly strong when she hugs me as I come in from work. She asks me how my day was as I ask her the same. She makes up secret girlfriend handshakes and includes me in them with her friends. She picks up her brother, no small feat, and carries him around when her love for him becomes overpowering or she will kiss his cheek until he cries “no more death by kisses!!” And her love for her father spills over onto the floor; she has made up special sayings for them like, “Hers loves hims” and will cry when I sing “Bye Baby Bunting” to her because the song is about a daddy leaving to find a blanket for his baby.
I am comforted in this journey with Emma because I know she has the right stuff to tame the beast within her sweet soul; because she has an infinite palette of emotions. As she ages and matures, I am excited to see what she will paint with that palette in her mural of life. She is an incredible child, and I treasure every experience with her; including the beast within.
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