Lou Turned 9

Lou-dog,

You're nine years old bud and we partied it up multiple times to celebrate your life. Dad was out of town on a business trip for your actual birthday so you guys went and had a special father/son date to make up for it. He took you gaming at Play Live Nation for about four hours and then shopping at the GAP, you also helped him pick out some Christmas presents for me along the way (great taste! :). You're still your daddy's little buddy, always joining him on late night adventures and being night owls together.

On the morning of your birthday you wanted waffles for breakfast so I went all out and threw some in the toaster and then in the evening your siblings and I had a little party for you at home. You were over-the-top thrilled with your simple presents and were entrenched in your new DS games until bedtime (pretty boring dude, but I'm happy you liked them). For your party with friends you wanted to see the movie Trolls. Since you started attending a new school this year, most of the invitees were pals from TVCS. I LOVED YOUR LITTLE REUNION! You were perma-smile. Your new friends, Kyle and Hunter, got along well with the old gang, Beck, Paisley, and Kendall. Since I don't own a bus and Dad was out of town, Buckabu and Papa helped me take 12 kids total (including your siblings) to the movie. It was a hit and I loved seeing you so happy. You had really been missing your best friends. There's something about being reunited with the people who get you and really know you, and I loved observing you feel so complete.

Lou, you are a treasure. When I went to your parent teacher conference this year your teacher flat out told me you're perfect. And not just once. I think five times... which was enough to make me feel uncomfortable and a little sympathetic to all those other students who may not be getting such a great review. She told me everyone wants to be your friend and feels special when they get to sit at your table. Please be gentle with this gift. I know thus far you are. You are kind, and compassionate and aware of those in need. Continue to be so. You have the power to change lives my friend.

You are chatty. I think you got the gift of gab from your Grandpa Patton, but it's the best kind of gab. Just like him you're not a surface guy. You're a let's get deep and talk about real stuff, real feelings, 100%- care- about- you- conversation- guy. It's fun, unless it's bedtime, and then it takes everything in my power to get you off to sleep.  

You have your own room but you like to sleep in bed with Little C at night. I love that you guys are buddies and make each other feel safe. You have a special relationship with each one of your siblings. Everyday before school you watch over Moo, making sure he gets to Kindergarten safely. Your lunch coincides with the time I pick him up from class. You're usually keeping an eye on the front door so you can run and give me a hug real quick. I love those moments. 

You're an entertainer and when you attended TVCS you decided to dress up as Donald Trump and lip sync Rihanna's song, "work, work, work" for the school talent show. Oh my gosh.... So funny! You did an impressive imitation. You were adorned in Little C's suit jacket and had orange make-up smothering your face.  I still laugh thinking about it.

Something else I can't stop laughing about happened just last week. We've been really sick around here, which is not the norm. Last Thursday Dad took the morning off to help out at home because I was feeling horrible. He started out the day by cleaning up Sweetrotten. She had thrown up in bed and had a serious diarrhea-leaking diaper. Before you younger boys left for school I reminded you that you were having hot lunch. You asked, "So what should I do with the lunch Dad made me in my backpack?" Dad said, "I didn't make you a lunch." You replied, "Yes, you did. You handed me a sack and told me to put it in my backpack." Dad said, "No, I handed you a sack and asked you to throw it in the garbage because it was filled with vomit and poop."

OH my gosh! We died. We could hear your sensitive gag reflex going to work as you took your "lunch" outside to the receptacle. I keep picturing what could have been had we not discovered the mistake. I keep saying to you, "Hey Lou, remember that one time you took a poopy diaper and vomit to lunch? That was hilarious." And you roll your eyes, gag a bit, and tell me I'm not funny.  But, I think I am. And it's so disgusting that I can't help but bring it up. 

And on that uncomfortable note  I just want to say -

I love, love, love, you!

You are a gift from Heavenly Father. Remember you are His son and always strive to be good. You're pretty close to perfect (hey, we both know you aren't killer at brushing your teeth) but remember to forgive yourself when you fall short. I love your guts! 

Love,

Mom

Opened up his new coat before school.

Waffle breakfast.

Birthday party at home.

DS presents.

Friend B-Day Party.

I love this picture because it shows the little smile you had on your face all evening long.

Eating cupcakes and opening presents. 

At the Movie:

George, my 7th Baby

George, my love for you has caught me off guard. You see, I'm not a pet person. I'm actually still working on being a people person. And up until recently I wasn't even able to choose my favorite animal because I was afraid of the made-up risks involved. For example, if I confessed my favorite animal was an elephant then I would have to adopt it, nourish it, and then clean up it's enormous poo for the rest of its life. Plus elephants live for a loonngg time - so, no thank you. No room at the inn, Mighty Elephant. Sorry not sorry.  But, your dopiness is endearing George. If you could speak I think you'd sound like a slightly happier version of Eeyore. You chum around with my groupies, Sweetrotten and the Baby. And when I'm working at the computer, there all of you sit, under my desk, by my feet, in a neat little row. I don't get it, but you three seem to, and it makes me smile. My three youngest babies being weird together. Adorable. :)  

Here are some George pictures:

George watching the humans go by.

Filling his  days with awkward sniffing.

He isn't allowed upstairs and "hides" when he gets busted. 

I say, "George, we can see ya buddy."

After Snowmageddon 2017 -

What the? Is that falling from the sky again? 

Stop it.

Go away.

He's my car companion.

And Sweetrotten's nap companion. 

(Which happened upstairs, but he was so cute I let him break the rules. Naughty, manipulating doggy.)

Snowmaggedon 2017

A few facts:

*Being cold and living amidst snow for weeks on end feels like death to me. Not an exaggeration. 

*I enjoy driving to the snow, going skiing down slopes covered in never ending white, and then leaving to normal, comfortable land.

*I comprehend that you don't have to be cold if you dress appropriately.

*Confession: I'm lazy. I don't want to adorn all the gear. It's the same reason I don't order crab, lobster, or ribs. Way, way too involved.

*I may have been on the verge of a serious anxiety attack on consecutive school snow-day #5.

*I'm a super dependable fun mom in warm and mild temperatures.  

*Since Snowmaggedon graced us I've made hot chocolate like nobody's business and have rocked the indoor activities thing.

But not outdoors.

*The Beloved is the dependable fun parent, regardless of temperature.   

I embrace this.

*The Beloved is an animal at shoveling snow.... plus, he really likes it. He likes it as much as I enjoy mowing the lawn. Kind of has a therapeutic feel.

*The Beloved has still gone jogging almost every night even with all this snow. Twice I've joined him. That's true love.

*Both the Beloved and I like driving over crazy snow piles in 4 wheel drive. Mostly we do this after church on Sundays. We laugh, I'm still warm. Win, Win.

Icicle beard after jogging.

L-R Lou, Ruckus, and Little C playing on the snow-pile in our cul-de-sac.

Had to take a selfie after cleaning out the ice filled gutters with my friend Damahr.

The Beloved shoveling the driveway for me so I may exit the car comfortably.
Pretty chivalrous.

Little C saw him shoveling and then came out to help.

I love these guys.

Snow Day Play:

Sweetrotten, Ruckus, and Moo using their supreme imaginations to play house.

Sometimes we stayed in our pj's all day long. 

Fun sisters.

Lou's clay creations.

Lou, Moo, and Ruckus hard at work being crafty.

Moo and Ruckus making their clay art.

Snow-time Baby

Ruckus ready to play outside.

Lou, Ruckus, Moo, and Sweetrotten built a little friend.

Then Daddy came home - 

and they built a gigantor friend.

Moo and The Beloved

Way to go guys!

Meet George - The new family member

He is a pure Valley Bulldog - A newer breed blend between an English Bulldog and Boxer

 He is a 4 month old rascal

Wait, I Thought Since I Voted Third Party That was a Vote for Hillary...

But, Trump still won? And today became the 45th president of the United States? Weird. This is not the outcome my conservative friends passionately warned me about when I voted for Evan McMullin. This is also not what my unconcerned liberal friends predicted.
So, where does this leave me? Feeling a little unenthused honestly, and although I'm sincerely grateful Hillary didn't win, watching President Trump's spray tanned face and Plaster of Paris hair as he addressed the nation left me feeling like America has really "amused itself to death". But whatev.
I get why the middle class voters supported him for president. They do feel forgotten, exactly as Trump addressed in his speech today. I understand why the majority of the population voted for Hillary because they're worried the "forgotten" found under Obama's administration will be lost again. All of these labels we create put us at war with one another. These labels become our idols. Americans worship them, and in turn encourage political extremism. Fight for the minorities or the majority, but not both. No guns or all guns. Global warming or no global warming. Tax cuts or redistribution of wealth. Acceptance of all until you disagree with me! 
What a mess.
But, I feel grateful to live in this mess. This mess of America where we can express our extreme views freely and safely. Surrounded by millions who deeply love their country. A place where we can be friends even when our ideas of what the perfect America is may be polar opposite. What an honor. I thank God I get to experience it.
So, chillax people. I'm going to. 
And now, I'm going to sit here with my new little heater on my feet and bust out some homework before my baby wakes up from her nap - but first I'm going to tell Sweetrotten she may get out of time out because I forgot she was there. 
Happy 2017 people!

Meet George. Better than a space heater!

Sweetrotten. Another year older.

Sweetrotten, 

My little diva, you're a fireball. You turned three in November and rocked it by sporting a crown all day. In the morning you picked out a balloon from the $ store and then we went to Walmart where you used your birthday money to pay for a new Barbie toy. You styled her gigantic head all day long and then moved on to styling mine. I've never looked better. Buckabu and Papa joined our family in celebrating your life and you were ecstatic when you received another Barbie doll! You played with your new treasures in your birthday pop up tent that Daddy set up. Seriously life cannot get much better for you. You love pink. You love everything girly and frilly. You love to be in charge. Your brothers played with you in the tent while you ended the night watching a Barbie movie. They catered to your every need, being patient while you bossed them around and endlessly complimented you on your new toys. They adore you. 

 When you're feeling generous you'll tell the men in your life that they are handsome. A step up is cute, a step down is awesome. It's never a great compliment to be called awesome. You refer to yourself as always being cute, and we agree. You love being a princess, but sometimes you opt for Super Girl. 

One of our favorite things to do together is paint our fingernails and toes. You hold perfectly still (unless Daddy is distracting you) and take this art work very seriously. You wish we could paint the baby's but she is still a little too wiggly. You love to dance and sing and your favorite movie right now is the Disney musical, "Descendants". You call it "core, core" because of the first song "Rotten to the Core." But this song will never outdo Frozen's "Let it Go". You sing it from the top of your lungs at home or in public. You have no shame, and why should you? You especially love dancing while I sing and play the guitar. You always say, "again!" I'll play for you while you're in the bath with your sister, and she follows your lead by splashing to the music. Other times you just want to stand on my dresser in front of the mirror watching yourself move to the beat. I love it. 

But this softness and girlishness should fool no one. There's a fierceness underneath. You can take out Moo most days and Ruckus every now and again. You love to wrestle and play rough. You are also very fond of the stink eye. It takes you awhile to warm up to people, and by awhile I mean years. Your social anxiety gets the best of you which is too bad because people miss out on your sweetness. But, I completely understand. Strangers make you nervous. They should. Strangers make me nervous too sometimes. Heck, even people I know fairly well heighten my anxiety, so never fear. You can do this. And it will get easier. 

You are a daddy's girl, of course, and I wouldn't want it any other way. But that doesn't mean you get left out of his teasing. He'll pretend he's going to give you spankings and you say, "No Daddy, don't spank me, kiss me." To which he obliges. He says you have the perfect run. "Great form" he'll say, which is a compliment because he knows his stuff, he's a runner, and I glow over how proud he is of your 3 yr old gait. 

You love your little sister and are excited she can play with you a bit more. You get a little bugged you can't fit into her clothes but you're beginning to understand why.

You are a perfect little gift. I love looking into your big deep chocolate brown eyes. They melt my soul. I love you sister! Thanks for singing, "Super Poop" with me when I change your diapers and growling out the words, "PIZZA BITES!" in a low voice when it's time for lunch. You're a cool cat. Heavenly Father knew what he was doing when he sent you to our home.

Much Love,

Mom

Daddy setting up the tent.

Moo helping you open your present.

Lazy Elf on the Shelf

This morning Lou revealed that he'd asked our Elf on the Shelf, Jo Jo, a question but he never responded. I said, "Well, he can't talk, so don't be too sad." Then he replied, "I know. But our Elf on the Shelf at school, when we ask it a question, he writes the answer back in a letter."  
Of course he does.
Ruckus and Moo began piping in as well, "Yeah, and he didn't move last night, he's in the same spot."
And that's when I explained the beauty of diversity. "Guys, you see, I think we bought a lazy elf. All elves are different and ours is a very tired elf, who just likes to chill and stick to one wardrobe. But, he is also one who has excellent sight and peripheral vision, so he doesn't have to move as often."
He has a similar condition to our tooth fairy, who has been described as pretty overweight and bald, and very forgetful. Like, the worst memory ever. But, it doesn't mean he doesn't love you or care about your teeth, he just needs to eat more blueberries  than other fairies so he can remember things.
We don't judge in this household or take things personally.
We love everyone.
And really, being surrounded by these faulty personality traits builds character and understanding in children.
It's probably a blessing. 

Goodbye Kathy.

Kathy,
You would have really liked breakfast this morning. The baby littered the floor with fried eggs and there were Pop-tart crumbs clinging to her high chair, practically begging for your love and affection. But this morning you weren't available to be my personal top-of- the-line vacuum. And that's hard.
In January you surprised us one morning when you wouldn't eat or walk, and your whole body was shaking. If we tried to pick you up you yelped. The vet told us you had a slipped disc, prescribed you with pain killers, anti-inflammatory meds, and informed us the worst was yet to come. She said you'd soon experience paralysis in your hind legs, that surgery was an option but not a guarantee fix, and gave me an empathetic look that read, it's time to say goodbye. After a week of taking your prescriptions though, our Kathy was back. You were back to being Little C's best friend, our security guard, the binky thief, diaper eater, knocking over the garbage cans when nobody was home, driving me nuts with your constant need for attention, and making us feel like no matter what - you were loyal to your family. Even to The Beloved.
You became part of our family on impulse. The Canyon County Humane Society was giving away dogs for a small fee and I kept feeling this push to go. Instead of talking to The Beloved about it first, I flippantly decided to just drive to the shelter. The kids and I walked in and there you were. Kathy. That's what your name tag read, and I thought, in this household filled with boys, "I really need a Kathy around here." I called The Beloved to confess what I had done and he was mostly mellow. He looked through the photos of animals listed on the Humane Society website and said, "I'm good with any dog except this one." - then began describing you to me. Not good.
But I'm stubborn and refused to give you up. . . that is, until I wanted to. About six months later I was pregnant with Sweetrotten, and when I am prego my nurturing capacity for all things not human and not in our gene pool goes down the drain. It's not that I didn't care about you, I just didn't want to pet you 24/7, which made me feel extreme guilt. I thought, Kathy should be in a home where she can be a lap dog and get the attention she deserves. So, I sold you . . . twice. The first time was to a woman whose dachshund had just passed away, but then after a few days she realized you weren't her dog (what the?) so she brought you back. The second time I gave you to a woman with two young daughters. She met me at a park near our home but acted all sorts of shady. She didn't reach down to pet or love on you, she just kind of stood there, looking bored, then put you in the back of her car and told me she was waiting for a friend at the park. I got in my car and stalked the area for a good thirty minutes. Her friend finally showed up, but no one was paying attention to the black and white dachshund in the back of the car. I felt torn. We were supposed to leave for Utah in about 20 minutes and I had no clue how to handle this situation. Please forgive me for not being courageous. I offered up a prayer, many prayers, asking for you to find your way home if you were in danger.
The morning after we returned home from UT we were outside doing yard work. Our neighbor opened his front door and you came running out. He yelled, "Raisins! Come here Raisins!" thinking you were his new pet, but when our whole family exclaimed, "Kathy!" he willingly surrendered you. You found your way home! What a tender mercy and an answer to my prayer. I never tried to sell you again. Even when you peed on my bed twice, pooped on the floor when it was too unbearably cold outside, chewed up all my ornamental flowers seconds after I planted them, and ate Sweetrotten and the Baby's new adorable leather moccasins they received for Christmas. Grrrr to the grrrr girl!
But mostly, there was goodness inside of you. You never ran away. When we took you outside you stayed right by our side, unless a dog came a callin', then your little woman syndrome kicked into gear and you'd confront them right then and there. You rarely had accidents in the house, you slept in your crate at night, and were excellent on a leash. You cleaned the floor like a champ and sat on my feet, keeping them warm, while I worked at my computer. You were a comforter and companion to Little C. He was the one who'd take you for walks, give you baths, rub your tummy for hours, and feed you his leftover cereal milk every morning. 
Two days ago you woke up shaking again. You walked with an extreme arch in your back and had zero appetite. By Sunday evening your back legs were paralyzed. You wouldn't let us hold you. You pulled yourself with your front legs to try to relieve yourself in the backyard but couldn't. It was devastating. 
Yesterday Little C went with me to say goodbye to you. He was so brave. The vet once again informed us that surgery was an option, a $5,000 option, or we could choose quality of life, aka: put you to sleep. 
Making these kind of decisions sucks. 
Sucks.
I broke down when I told the doctor I didn't want to choose. 
But, then the spirit let me know you wanted to go.
You were ready and you didn't want to hurt anymore.
I felt at peace.
And so did Little C.
They gave you medicine for the pain and wrapped you in an orange fuzzy blanket while we said our goodbyes. Little C held you tight, and told you he'd see you soon. That he would miss you, you were a good dog, and he thanked you for being part of our family.
He held you while they administered the anesthesia overdose and gave your tiny head a kiss after they told us you were gone. He gently removed your BSU collar and let them pull you away.
He wrote this on his Facebook page yesterday:  "Today wasn't easy. Our little dog Kathy has had a slipped disc for about a year and has been great, until yesterday. Kathy's little legs were not able to move. She would be constantly shaking and would cry when you picked her up. But she is in a painless much better place now. We love you Kathy!"
Kathy, want an effect a dog has on the heart.You softened ours'. Your name was hilarious. I used to joke that we preferred to give our kids animal names and our pets human ones. 
Yesterday was my Grandma Smith's birthday. She's been gone since I was in the 4th grade.When I mentioned this over dinner Lou said, "Well, I guess we gave her a present then. Kathy." 
I guess we did.
I told Lou that Grandma and I yell at dogs in a similar voice, so Kathy should feel right at home. He informed me that people don't yell in heaven. He's probably right.
Kathy, please take care of our loved ones on the other side of the veil. Ruckus prayed last night that they'd take care of you.
Miss you girl. We love you Kathy the Cow.

Much Love,
Mom