Saying Goodbye

My dog Jackson is coming up on 11 years old.  We went to college together, went to frat parties, had beers at Louise's West, and moved into what seemed like a new apartment every year I attended KU.

He came as part of the package when I moved in with my then boyfriend, and was "best dog" when the boyfriend became my husband. Hubs and Jackson have had a rocky relationship, but my husband knows how important that dog is to me, so he rolls his eyes and admits defeat when it comes to the wonder pup.  We've added another dog, and two children to the brood, and Jackson always gives me his disapproving look like "really? another one?", but accepts the new members into our family.  He's learned to love snuggling with Sloane, because he can always count on her to pull a snack out of somewhere and share with him. Jackson is my life travel partner. We  ride the roller coaster together.

More recently, we've been riding Jack's cancer roller coaster together.  For the past 6 months, we go to the vet, find the tumors, cut them out best we can, and go on our way. It's getting harder for Jackson, and the tumors are getting more aggressive.  We're starting to have long talks of "are you up to this again?" and I'm talking to my husband about "the day".  It's heart breaking and sad for me.

Jackson is more than just a dog to me. He is a friend. He is also the last remaining piece of my "past life."  When I moved here, I wanted a companion to start fresh with.  Jackson has been here through thick and thin, happy days, and heart ache.  My early twenties when I was looking to find my place in this world, and today as I am settling in to my calling as a mother and advocate.

It's going to be hard when "the day" comes, and it's coming sooner than I had planned on.  Even if his time on Earth is coming to a close, he will always be one of my first true loves. My love before a husband, or a house, or children.  My travel buddy through the journey of young adulthood.  My buddy.

I'm Famous! Ish.

My husband works at the local newspaper here, and I've been giving him grief for years that he never publishes anything related to me or our family in the newspaper. "It would appear to others that I am playing favorites", he says. Of course, the minute I get arrested for going postal on a budding sociopath at the local playground, or for refusing to leave the karaoke bar after too many limoncellos, well...I imagine THAT would probably make headlines. But, I digress...

My friend Megan is a feature blogger on the newspaper's entertainment website.  She has zero problem making my newsprint dreams come true, and she does. Often. Have I mentioned to you how much I love that girl? :) When I introduce myself to her friends I've not met, I get the "oh! YOU'RE the Lindsey!" Yes. Yes I am. It's good to be known as something other than "Mother of Mini Messes" or "the totally whacko person who talks out loud to herself at the library".

We like to cook, drink, kick and stretch. We like to cook together and watch shenanigans ensue.  This is one of our recent adventures. Read it. It's funny, and the food was good. I dream of it. You are welcome.

Lowered Expectations, Volume 17

Today I did something I swore to myself I would never, ever do.  I bought my son a leash.

OK, it isn't a proper leash. It's a kid friendly "child safety harness system" that has a loveable cuddly monkey shape to it. Sort of like this one:

But, let's all be honest...it's a leash.  And you know what? It is a gift straight from the baby Jesus. I am tired. I am busy. I have to run errands and buy groceries, and since my husband works a mere 70 hours a week, most of the time my kids are being schlepped all over hell's half acre with me. I'm sure a lot of you have 2 kids and manage just fine.  I bow to you. If my neck bulges any more at the store while Sam is running away, laughing at me, I'm bound to blow a carotid right there in aisle 8.

And so, I purchased the leash. And he loves it. Finally, the store is a little bit more manageable. I can't wait to get "the look" from strangers, or have people feel free to interpret my son's harness as me being a lazy parent.  Seriously. I dare someone.  I pack a mean left hook, and my wedding ring is made of platinum and sharp diamonds. Bring it.

I think I'll put a sign on the monkey that says "If you pet me, I go bananas."  Might as well have a good laugh at my expense. :)