Nightmare in The Cave

Grace was in a truly VILE mood at bedtime last night. When she gets this way, she doesn't whine, cry or even speak actual words. She growls. After I finally got her settled, I was a bit unsettled myself, and I went to bed in a similarly crappy place. Then I had a series of nightmares. The first one had something to do with me being held captive somewhere and trying to scream loud enough so that I would be rescued. Of course, in dreams like this, you can never really scream, right? I somehow managed to, and woke up in mid-shriek. Not fun. I got up, my little ticker racing, checked on Grace and thought about sleeping with her, but she would have none of that sharing her bed nonsense. So I went back to bed and immediately fell back into more nightmares, the really fun kind where I kept dreaming I was getting up and turning on the light, but the light wouldn't come on, then I'd realize I was still dreaming. So I'd try to get up and turn on the light again, to no avail, and on and on until I was so pissed in my dream that I threw the lamp and went for the wall switch. Still no light. Still dreaming.

When I finally managed to wake up, I realized I was in a house alone with Grace, and I, the responsible adult, was scared shitless. Even Brady, The Canine Security Detail, wasn't there. I got up and tried to stay awake as long as I could, but eventually gave up and laid in bed, wide awake. I can honestly say I can't remember a single time in my life when I felt so utterly alone.

I did get back to sleep, and wasn't bothered by any more nightmares. But I woke up this morning with that same feeling of being alone, and haven't been able to shake it all day. Why? Because the bottom line is that when Grace is here and I'm in charge of taking care of her and making sure she feels safe and loved, there's no one here to do the same for me. All of a sudden, that's kind of blowing my mind.

Clearly a little girl's room.

Grace was demoted to a twin bed when we moved, but she didn't complain. In fact, she tends to stay put more now, possibly because of the electric force field I installed around the perimeter.


She will tell anyone who will listen that she has a "girly" bedroom, and she can name all of the princesses (I don't know how). Then she'll brandish her pirate flag at the dog, as if it's a sword. Is it wrong to encourage the pirate behavior?

Lady B.

Brady has been performing her security duties exceptionally well lately, so we got her a brand new bed, a tiffany-blue collar/leash combo and a sassy little haircut. She seems pleased, although she'd probably prefer more food and treats.


That fabulous tail, pre-grooming.


I think they did an especially nice job on her posterior.


Now her paws are nice and tidy, although she still has a tendency to step in her own poo.

Happy holidays, 2009.

For those of you whose address I couldn't track down...




Very last-minute cards, because a friend once told me only a HORRIBLE MOTHER would neglect to send out cards with pictures of the kids...

Big girl bed.

Grace slept longer than usual in a crib because I was waiting to settle somewhere before getting her a real bed. She was a good sport about it, but I'm pretty sure she couldn't completely stretch out, and we all know how important stretching is. Anyway, now she's in a queen, and I finally bought her some girly bedding. She's already decided the top sheet is pointless (I agree); we're going with warm jammies and lots of quilts.


She does NOT want to sleep alone in this giant bed. Fortunately, she has many friends to snuggle.


This is a friggin' miracle, because it's not staged. Grace called Brady up on the bed, and Brady obliged. Grace actually likes Brady now, and would love to spend the night with her, but Brady works the night shift as the asylum's security detail, and must position herself between the front door and the bedrooms. I honestly never thought these two would get along, but putting Gigi in charge of feeding Brady, and doling out treats, has created a sort of food-based bond that only dog people can understand, yet still know in their hearts, "My dog really, really loves me." Damn straight.

Good clean fun.

Sometimes, there's just nothing left to do but torture the dog. She's usually game, and happy enough with the attention to show me her good side.


This may be the last photo of Brady in the old (new) house. Her fur, however, will remain forever.

The canine contingent weighs in.

Brady has a few things she'd like to get off her, uh, chest.


The Food Lady isn't as much fun as she was before. She used to take me to the dog park every day and let me check out the new smells, and pee on anything that needed my own mark. We went even when she got fat and had to waddle after me, and we'd usually pick up a friend on the way there. (Sammy, are you out there?) I used to sit on her lap every night while she read or watched TV, and she always sang me to sleep at bed time. (I let her sleep on the bed.) She could have been more chill about me eating poo and dead animals, but I did my best to act guilty so she wouldn't totally freak.

When they brought the Small Human home, I knew things would change, but OH MY DOG! I got shoved in the back of the car with BARS to keep me there, and no way to stick my nose out the window. And park visits? Well, let's just say I was lucky to go once a month.

Then we moved and I lost my backyard! I got some great walks, and the Treat Lady started taking me to the park once a week (Jodi, are you out there?), but the Food Lady spent all day playing with the Small Human, and usually by bedtime she was too tired to sing to me.

Then we moved again. The new house was awesome, with a fenced backyard, carpeting on the stairs and top floor, and all the mulch I could eat. (Food Lady wasn't too crazy about that.) The Small Human started disappearing some days, and I STILL got to go to the park with the Treat Lady. I could totally have gotten used to that, but then all kinds of crazy things happened, I lost track of the moves, and Food Lady got super cranky. Thank Dog for the Bone Guy. He snuggles with me, walks me, talks to me, lets me outside all the time and best of all GIVES ME FOOD FOR NO REASON. So now I stay with him most of the time and it's okay, but I miss Food Lady when she's not around, and sometimes I even miss the Small Human. Except when she barfs and Food Lady is all, "Oh Gigi, are you okay? Poor thing, let's get you cleaned up." When I barf, she glares at me when she cleans it up and mutters something about, "...staying out of the goddamn garbage."

I like it when Food Lady and Bone Guy are in the same room and the Small Human is sleeping. If only I could figure out what I do that makes that happen.

Zen masters.

I'd give anything to be in the moment like these two.

Makeshift doghouse.

Michael dashed into my office one afternoon, grabbed the camera and said, "Promise you won't be mad," before disappearing back outside. Yup, this is my pinhead of a dog, perfectly content to make her bed and lie in it.


She blends. My dog is the color of dirt.


We've decided to let her keep it. Think how handy it will be if we decide to plant something.

Grace's spaces.

Grace would prefer to be outside almost all of the time now, and I can't say I blame her. I've actually had to chase her around the yard to get her to come inside, usually with one or both of us in various stages of undress. Brady's the same way, even if it means putting up with the shrieking human child stroking her back with a stick.


Gigi totally digs the fountain.


Yes, she got quite wet right after I snapped this shot.


Tending to her flower bed. It's starting to bloom now.


Brady skulking around the perimeter of the compound making sure every square inch has her scent.


This looks like some sort of apology, if I recall correctly. Brady doesn't look too impressed.

A love story.

When Michael first met Brady, I believe he said something to the effect of, "I can't stand it when people spoil their dogs. I don't feed them scraps and I won't put up with any crap." Guess who now pours chicken broth over her dry kibble, feeds her leftovers, lets her outside twenty times a day and buys fancy dog biscuits? She L-O-V-E-S him (duh), but she also obeys his every command — in German.


When Michael sits, so does Brady. On him.


She's a shameless tart.


They just want to be alone.


It's just embarrassing, isn't it?

The stuff that Brady's dreams are made of.

The squirrels relentlessly pilfer seeds from the bird feeder inches from our kitchen window. I've seen ONE bird, but at least three squirrel heists. (The underbelly of a squirrel is not nearly as cute as you might think when it is dangling outside the window while you eat your granola.) Grace goes into some sort of spastic overload when this happens; if Brady ever sees what's going on IN HER OWN YARD, she will likely launch herself onto the kitchen table and through the window.


Boldly eyeballing us through the window. Cheeky bugger.


Even Grace's hysterics didn't deter him.


Pretty nimble.


Seriously, how is this possible?


Greedy little dude just kept eating. I can relate.

Gittin' down and dirty.

We spent lots of quality time with Mother Earth this weekend. Grace was not nearly as helpful as I thought she'd be, given her experience planting vegetables and fruits on day trips with her old school. Mostly she wanted to pick up dirt, rocks, watering cans or garden tools, then either throw them or put them in her mouth. Also, no matter how many times I insist plants are living things and that I can hear their screams when she rips off their leaves, she remains unconvinced. (I'm kind of glad she's not that gullible.) But it was good exercise running after Grace to keep her from inflicting serious harm on herself, us or the plants, and meanwhile Michael got the entire front bed planted. I suspect we irritated a few neighbors with Gigi's shrieking, Brady's barking at everything that moves and my yelling at both of them to BE QUIET FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!


I got Grace some of her own gardening tools so she would feel like a valuable member of the team (okay, I got them because they were cute). When I told her to go get her blue bucket, she disappeared, then came 'round the corner of the house like this. Swear to God.


Monkey see, monkey do.


Grace kept picking up dirt and sprinkling it on the plants. I asked her to stop but she informed me that the plants were hungry and she was feeding them.


I was not allowed to wear my hat. It looks way cuter on her, anyway.


Both were tuckered out after lunch, Grace from "planting weeds" and Brady from carrying out her duties as the compound's security detail.

Sick kiddo.

The worst part about Grace being sick (like, barfing sick) is knowing how awful she feels and not being able to do anything about it. That, and the fact that she is heartbreakingly stoic. Also, since I can't bring myself to force her into the bath, I clean her up as best I can and then later, while she's watching "The Secret Garden" for the four hundredth time, she says, "I smell barf." We all smell barf, honey — IMAGINE POOR BRADY. (Who, while we're on the subject of vomit, recently got into the compost, came into the house and promptly threw up coffee grounds and egg shells. Good thing it's a rental.) Anyway, send healthy, stomach-settling vibes Gigi's way.

Happy Mother's Day, I think.

I'm fairly certain that nobody explained Mother's Day to Grace, or I can't imagine there would have been nearly as much shrieking and carrying on today. She's sick, so sick in fact that she let me put her hair in pigtails, so I'll cut her some slack. This year. (Brady was extra-special nice to me all day.)


This is Gigi, pretending to be me. Her exact words? "I'm working. Go away." Ouch.

Believe it or not, this is progress.

I can't believe Brady stayed put while I got the camera.


I wish I could say that Brady and Grace have a love/hate relationship, but there's precious little love going on. Usually, when Brady dares venture into Grace's room or near any of Grace's things, Grace gestures wildly and yells, "Go away Brady! Don't touch that! Mommy, SHE'S STEPPING ON MY BLANKET!" For some reason (possibly because I've begun comparing her to Colin in "The Secret Garden"), last night Grace relented and had a little fun with the canine creature. Brady may look miserable, but believe me, she's so happy to be getting attention, she allowed this to go on for quite a while, tolerating Grace feeling her forehead and pretending to give her medicine. (Grace has been sick, I've been sick, we've all been sick, so the taking and/or giving of medicine will be a part of Grace's playacting for weeks.)

Cute kids...

When I began this blog, I emailed friends and family to let them know I'd be posting pictures of Grace from time to time. (I did this because I am lazy, and I was tired of emailing photos to each person individually.) I also promised to keep the rambling to a minimum, but because I am a writer I broke that promise almost immediately. I love to write, and blogging helped me feel connected and gave me a medium in which to vent my frustrations and share my joys of parenting (in that order, it turns out). Now I feel as though I've reached a plateau, where my frustration and joy remain at fairly constant, unremarkable levels. I suspect that's because Grace is older and more predictable, or maybe I've finally hit upon the correct combination of mood stabilizers. Either way, Grace is old enough that I feel she deserves some privacy, especially while she's making the transition from toddler to little girl, and from a two-parent household to a two-household parenting situation.


All dressed up for a birthday party. Yup, those are tights, and we wrestled for about fifteen minutes before I prevailed.


A corner of one's own. (That photo above her is my first dog, Dutchie.)

My girls.

They can be challenging, particularly in crappy weather and when they team up on me, but they're both so frickin' cute and give such good cuddles. I love the stuffing out of them.


Gigi, looking as if she's just smelled a fart, or perhaps the aroma of wet dog.


This rug was just cleaned. Damn dirty dog.

Boo's balls.

I wasn't the slightest bit surprised when Brady welcomed Boo into our home without a hint of territorial behavior (she's usually a marker, very tomboyish of her). I'll give you a hint: check out the bottom left corner, above. Yup, he's intact, and Brady has always been partial to a real man. I don't remember if I've mentioned it, but when an unneutered male makes an appearance at the dog park, Brady becomes a completely different dog, prancing, wagging and doing flirty little body slams. It is embarrassing, really, and hard to watch if her affections aren't reciprocated. But now she has this stud muffin to share sunny spots on the bed with. I wonder what they do when we're not home.

Coupla things...

First, I want to share this dooce.com post, because it perfectly articulates how I feel about this election year. And I have intentionally kept my head as far up my ass as possible to avoid hearing anything that will cause me even more despair than I already feel about politics in this country, but a girl can ignore only so much.

Also, I've been thinking a lot lately about finding joy in the little moments when life takes a U-turn and becomes more stressful than enjoyable. And it's so much easier to do than I imagined. Recently: Grace in bed next to me, reaching out in her sleep to make sure I'm still there; a good friend's little girl recovering from a serious illness; going by myself to a meeting and being embraced by a group of perfect strangers as if I'd known them for years; knowing exactly where I want to be in six months; family and friends who care enough to call every day because they know I'm going through a difficult time; watching Grace run up and down the sidewalk squealing with delight; Brady letting me fall asleep with my head on her butt before making herself more comfortable. And the thing is, I could go on and on. (I'll spare you.)


Grace loves shoes, and while we don't always agree on which pair will best complete an outfit, I'M JUST SO HAPPY SHE LOVES SHOES!


Obviously, that megawatt smile will always be one of my life's greatest joys.