What do you get the woman you love to celebrate 16 years of marriage? In my case, I knew the answer. There’s only one thing my wife wants more than anything else, and that’s a healthy future for our son.
Along with being a bright, energetic, playful kid with a quirky sense of humor, our son …
“This is the worst day of my entire life,” my daughter sobs. Her eyes are red and tears are dripping down her cheeks.
Today someone adopted the last puppy we have been fostering for the animal shelter. Today the big beautiful tree that shaded our front yard was taken down. My daughter mourned the birds’ nests …
After successfully completing another big conference for moms, MomCom–this one national (whoot whoot!)–this mom finally got some free time to unwind and reconnect with her patient daughter. This is how the moment went:
My daughter as she’s putting her feet between my legs while we’re reading in bed: I’m not cold. I just haven’t seen you …
Me: I feel really happy right now. I just wanted to tell you that.
Six-year-old son: Why are you so happy?
Me: Well, we have a safe and beautiful home, reliable cars, enough to eat and all the love we can handle. I feel like the richest woman in the world.
Son: Love is what …
Every time it rains my daughter says, “Look mom, God’s watering the plants again, and it sure is a lot of it. Don’t you think he’s wasting a lot of water, like you say when I leave the faucet on?”
Chiamommas are four different mommas who love to blog about our day-to-day life.
My elderly dog, Maggie, is like a daughter to me. She’s 15, and for now, I’m enjoying every last minute with her. As my friend used to say, I “save her life every day,” which is true.
I’ve always loved those little souls whom others will not. Most others would have given her up to some whippet/lab rescue group years ago. In the early days, I would come home from work to a pair of shoes destroyed, a pair of prescription glasses eaten, and once, 1,000 square feet of shredded carpet (including its underlying pad). If I weren’t traumatized at the time, I would have thought it were spectacular. Later I would learn that I was the worst dog parent ever. She was dealing with separation anxiety from me.
In our early days together, I had two other dogs with whom she could play, sleep, enjoy her days while I was at work. There was a doggie door and bowls of unending food and water. Then I’d come home, give them treats, play with them, and all three would sleep in my bed. Every weekend we’d go to the lake or the park. I thought they had a good life. Maggie told me otherwise. Dry wall was eaten. Shirts munched, still in the laundry basket. All was not right in her mind.
After I married, the baby arrived. The day my son came home from the hospital, Maggie anointed herself “The Protector.” She would sit by his Moses basket, guarding him all day. She never left his side. He was her charge and she would alight in the amazingness of being both dog and mother hen. I was no longer her focus. Walls, carpet, shoes and glasses were now safe from gnashing canine teeth and bitter, abandoned jaws.
After I divorced and my other two dogs went to the Rainbow Bridge, it was just Maggie, my baby boy, and me. We were a little family. As a single parent, I was terrified, on my own, struggling to survive. But my son and I had The Protector.