Recently, we decided to get a family dog. It had been a long decision and I was reluctant to get a dog. We already had 2 cats and two parakeets.
We eventually had to bring one of the cats (Lizzy) back to the shelter because she was tearing up the house. Later, one of the parakeets died, leaving us with just one cat and a bird.
So, we decided to get a dog.
Simon is a cool dog. Although the humane society in Coon Rapids, where we picked him up from, said he was a collie mix; I believe he is a golden retriever and German Shepard mix. He has a think coat. His head is all golden with more of a Shepard snout. His body is stocky and powerful and he has the Shepard looking chocolate brown coloring on his back that resembles a saddle.
A very shy dog at first, we had to carry him into the van and into the house. He has mellowed quite a bit and is very affectionate.
Monday, June 06, 2011
Friday, June 03, 2011
Moomies
Two-year old Bella watches me begin making a smoothie by adding strawberries and other stuff to the blender and squeals -
"Moomies!"
"Moomies!"
The Annika and Bella Goodbye
Annika is now nine and Isabella is two!
One of the most satisfying parts of parenting is watching your two children, seven years and a generation apart, say good bye to each other at the start of the day when I bring Isabella to daycare before Annika leaves for 3rd grade.
Annika goes down to her knees, opens her arms wide for a big hug, and says "Bye Bella! Come and give me a hug!"
Bella squeals "Bye!" and rushes in for a hug.
"Can you give me a kiss goodbye?" asks Annika and gets a goodbye kiss in return.
I see siblings who fight and do not like each other. Then I look at how Annika views her baby sister and feel so proud. Sure, they bicker at times and sometimes Annika gets tired of Bella clinging on when Annika's friends are over. Sometimes Annika doesn't like Bella taking one of her toys and crying "Mine!" when Annika tries to retrieve it. Yet Annika has been very loving and supportive of Isabella. Bella adores Annika and calls her "anka".
One of the most satisfying parts of parenting is watching your two children, seven years and a generation apart, say good bye to each other at the start of the day when I bring Isabella to daycare before Annika leaves for 3rd grade.
Annika goes down to her knees, opens her arms wide for a big hug, and says "Bye Bella! Come and give me a hug!"
Bella squeals "Bye!" and rushes in for a hug.
"Can you give me a kiss goodbye?" asks Annika and gets a goodbye kiss in return.
I see siblings who fight and do not like each other. Then I look at how Annika views her baby sister and feel so proud. Sure, they bicker at times and sometimes Annika gets tired of Bella clinging on when Annika's friends are over. Sometimes Annika doesn't like Bella taking one of her toys and crying "Mine!" when Annika tries to retrieve it. Yet Annika has been very loving and supportive of Isabella. Bella adores Annika and calls her "anka".
Battlefields of My Childhood
I am struggling with my past.
I wrote a paper for a current class; the paper was about what I learned from my upbringing about work and how my experience as an adult has changed (or not). In writing my paper, I briefly recounted my parents life and what I learned about work.
It has been hard for me to do this because I have had to remember what I missed and it makes me sad and angry. Positively, I also see how far I've come and have been able to work through some things:
As a teen my father offered to pay me to scrape off decades of old paint from our three-seasoned porch one year during summer break. Excited at the prospect of earning money and praise I created an elaborate time-sheet to keep track of my hours and went to work. On my own and without guidance, support, or encouragement I soon became frustrated with my progress and failed to complete the project. My learned expectation for disappointment combined with not knowing how to ask for help doomed the project. I was later shamed by my father when he chastised me for not following through. For the rest of the summer I sulked around in confusion, guilt, and shame.
I also recounted my mom and found out some things from my Aunt Carol. Mom was extremely intelligent. Carol says she had an IQ in the high 130s.
This has highlighted parts of my life I had not uncovered and I have learned from it.
I am sad because each time I uncover more of my past, I understand more that my parents never dealt with my oldest brother's death as an infant. It's tartly poignant that my parents, who had so much to offer and so much life in them withered afterwards. The consequence to my brothers' and I - who came after - was that we were emotionally neglected.
I am angry because I cannot change the past and until I learn to grow away from it, I am forced to relive parts I don't fully understand. For many years I have held shame and guilt over my perceived failure to finish scrapping the damned house that one summer. Yet I never included my parents in the blame reserving the most acidic parts for myself. Now I can mourn what I lost and move on.
What really sucks is that it feels like I'm visiting the battlefield of my childhood. Strewn with the covered corpses of my past, I uncover each - one at a time - and gasp at what I learn. As I recover that past part of me and weep for what I lost, I move on to the next. Part of me relishes the growth and freedom that comes from understanding and urges me rush on to the next and the next until I am over-gorged, over-whelmed and sick on the morbid atrocities of my past. Part of me sighs and looks to the horizon for an end.
I wrote a paper for a current class; the paper was about what I learned from my upbringing about work and how my experience as an adult has changed (or not). In writing my paper, I briefly recounted my parents life and what I learned about work.
It has been hard for me to do this because I have had to remember what I missed and it makes me sad and angry. Positively, I also see how far I've come and have been able to work through some things:
As a teen my father offered to pay me to scrape off decades of old paint from our three-seasoned porch one year during summer break. Excited at the prospect of earning money and praise I created an elaborate time-sheet to keep track of my hours and went to work. On my own and without guidance, support, or encouragement I soon became frustrated with my progress and failed to complete the project. My learned expectation for disappointment combined with not knowing how to ask for help doomed the project. I was later shamed by my father when he chastised me for not following through. For the rest of the summer I sulked around in confusion, guilt, and shame.
I also recounted my mom and found out some things from my Aunt Carol. Mom was extremely intelligent. Carol says she had an IQ in the high 130s.
This has highlighted parts of my life I had not uncovered and I have learned from it.
I am sad because each time I uncover more of my past, I understand more that my parents never dealt with my oldest brother's death as an infant. It's tartly poignant that my parents, who had so much to offer and so much life in them withered afterwards. The consequence to my brothers' and I - who came after - was that we were emotionally neglected.
I am angry because I cannot change the past and until I learn to grow away from it, I am forced to relive parts I don't fully understand. For many years I have held shame and guilt over my perceived failure to finish scrapping the damned house that one summer. Yet I never included my parents in the blame reserving the most acidic parts for myself. Now I can mourn what I lost and move on.
What really sucks is that it feels like I'm visiting the battlefield of my childhood. Strewn with the covered corpses of my past, I uncover each - one at a time - and gasp at what I learn. As I recover that past part of me and weep for what I lost, I move on to the next. Part of me relishes the growth and freedom that comes from understanding and urges me rush on to the next and the next until I am over-gorged, over-whelmed and sick on the morbid atrocities of my past. Part of me sighs and looks to the horizon for an end.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)