*Sigh*

Honestly, for lack of any better subject heading there!

I'm surviving the new lifestyle...  Sort of.  I'm no longer drooling as I pass Starbucks, no longer dreaming about frosting, no longer missing cheese or feeling as though I'm missing out.  I've been hitting the gym (yay me!), eating better, and just really trying to be better. The GF cooking isn't going too badly, and so far, my menfolk haven't complained (pretty sure they're too scared to....).  It hasn't been too difficult to revamp most of our favorite dishes, and I've just steered clear of the of the ones I can't.  I still have yet to completely embark on the dairy-free part of this (licking the homemade whipped cream off the beater is just too good to resist!), or the adrenal diet.  Quite honestly, I'm resisting the adrenal diet.  I'm not looking forward to three weeks of eggs, boiled chicken and brown rice.  Ick.  Along with my usual gluten-full baked goods, I've also been bringing GFDF dishes/breakfast casseroles to "work" on Thursdays.  Again, no one has complained yet!  These dishes have been well-received, and I've been encouraged by my fellow volunteers.  One friend even asked for one the recipes, and I kind of giggled to myself, as I had just kind of thrown things in the mixing bowl, in true Amy fashion.

I did hit the wall this past weekend, and sort of skidded into the Chik Fil A parking lot, barely remembering to put the Jeep in gear before screaming up to the register to order a sandwich, complete with mayo, American cheese, cole slaw and Coke Zero.  I followed it up with a milkshake, after I finished hugging the ice cream machine, of course.  When I was finished with that, I begged my husband to take me by Starbucks (he refused).  And the next morning?  I couldn't get out of bed without a Percocet first.  So, I've learned my lesson.  I'm definitely on the right track, even if I can't tell on a day-to-day basis.

The one thing I cannot seem to get my head around though, is this GLUTEN FREE BAKING.  Pretty sure I'm going to die trying. So far, every single loaf of GF bread has gone in the trash.  One loaf was okay enough to make into bread crumbs, but certainly not good enough for actual bread, and definitely not up to my usual standards.  The others weren't even good enough for bread crumbs!  Last week, I actually turned out five absolutely perfect and gorgeous loaves of gluten-full rosemary-olive oil and italian bread, just to remind myself that I am great at baking, because it's been so horribly disappointing for me.  There have been tears, there's even been screaming and stomping of my feet, and yes, I'm still scraping GF pizza "dough" off the wall after I threw it in frustration...  Or tried to, but it had the consistency of mashed potatoes, so it kind of stuck to everything.  For the record, my family's gluten-full pizzas turned out just beautifully that evening.  Ugh.  All I wanted was pizza that night, and I was just really upset about yet another failed GF baking attempt.

After I stomped headed off to sulk in the bath tub, my dear husband decided he was going to save the day.  He researched another recipe from a website I frequent, and set to work.  I saw the result--a cracker-like crust, no sauce (tomatoes are nightshades, which cause/contribute to inflammation...), rice-based cheese, and broccoli as a topping--and immediately declared it Crap On A Cracker.  Being the two year old brat I felt like that evening, I flat out refused to even touch it.  No.  You can't make me.  Uh-uh.  

Soooo....  You know how sometimes as a parent you say something and immediately are made to regret it?  Yep.  Avery picked up on what I was calling the GFDF pizza, and thought that was the real name.  Unfortunately, we haven't been able to convince him that it's pizza, so whenever he asks for it (he seems to really love the stuff!), he asks for....  Crap On A Cracker, with absolutely no clue that it's a bad word.  Oops.  When we try to correct him, saying "Oh, you want pizza?"  He is adamant, "No!  I don't want pizza!  I want Crap On A Cracker!"

The other side of that story is that, as it turns out, I'm allergic to some part of that pizza.  We're not sure which ingredient yet, but Shawn was certain at first that I was exaggerating or making it up, just because he'd made it and I didn't want to eat it.  At first it was just my tummy that hurt, then my chest got tight and I felt like I had a lead weight on my chest, then my mouth got fuzzy, and finally my lips got numb.  When he realized my NP friend was screaming across her texts "TAKE BENADRYL NOW," he knew it was for real!

*Sigh*

My Personal Theory, Why I Have Sons

Surprisingly (or not, if you know me well enough), I've given this topic a lot of thought.  Over twelve years of deep thought.  And I've finally arrived at a satisfactory conclusion:  I have sons (rather than daughters), because I'm supposed to teach them how to be proper husbands and daddies.

A-ha!  Gotcha--bet you were thinking to yourself, "Wow, that's the shortest blog she's ever written!"  Sorry.  I'm not finished yet!

When I found out I was pregnant with Noah, my first thought was, "Dear God, please let this child be a girl, I have no idea what I'll do with a boy."  There were a lot of stressors throughout Noah's pregnancy,  the least of them being that he was a bit of a surprise.  I thought for sure if I had a girl, I just might be able to get a slight grip on motherhood.  We went in for our first sonogram, and lo and behold, there were boy parts up on the screen.  I even argued with the tech, telling her in no uncertain terms that she sucked at her job because it was obvious to me that was an umbilical cord.  Then I wanted her to double check and make sure she'd taken down the previous client's screen.  Then I wanted her to double check my child and my screen.  Then I wanted it confirmed by the doctor.  To say Shawn drove home with a shellshocked Amy in the passenger seat, mumbling, "What am I going to do with this BOY?" the entire way would be an understatement.

When we were finally pregnant with Avery, I remember telling Shawn that this time I was certain we were having a girl!  God wouldn't give us TWO boys!  And again...  We both walked out of the clinic a little shellshocked that time after seeing boy parts on the screen.  Another BOY???  What am I going to do with TWO BOYS????

Well, I'll tell you what I'm doing with them--I'm loving them, teaching them, raising them up in the way of the Lord, caring about them, and caring for them.  I play with them, I laugh with them, I live with them, and I cherish them.  They are my gifts.  That's not to say we always get along, or they always love what I'm teaching them, but we are making work for us.  And now, I could never even begin to imagine life without them.  I don't want to imagine life without them.  And really, I'm not sure I can imagine raising a daughter!  I love these boys more than life itself, and the things they bring to my life are innumerable, and immeasurable.  Along with teaching them, there are the countless things they teach me about myself, about life, and about themselves.

I've shared a bit of my past with my father before.  I wanted to be cherished, I wanted to be loved, I wanted--needed--to be Daddy's Little Princess--but I wasn't.  I tried lying to myself, and others, for a long time that I was; I made excuses for my father, but the truth is that he was never emotionally available, and there was never a connection, nor the real relationship I craved and needed.

This is where it becomes about my grandchildren and my future daughters-in-law.  I love them already without even knowing who they are, and I want my sons to do the same.  I want them to treat their wives and children the way their dad, my husband, treats me, and the way I treat them.  I want them to understand respect and love, the need for relationships, attention, and playtime, the need to be brothers now so they can be great brothers, dads, husbands and uncles later.

This is why God gave me sons rather than daughters....  So I can help raise up a new, better generation of husbands and daddies.

(And you never know, there's still a chance Shawn will get his little princess, if it's God's will--I haven't given up hope yet!)

The Devil is in the Ingredients

Sooo....  It's been a while.  I think this is the longest I've ever gone without posting.  It's not for lack of having something to say--you know me, I always have plenty to say!  I've been more tired than usual, busy with the boys, busy with life--and yes, avoiding things.  Too many things are too painful to discuss, so I've been hibernating.  That's typically what I do during winter, anyway--hibernate.  If I believed in such a thing, I might believe I were a bear in a former life!

I have distributed the video games to the boys (bad Mommy!), and sent them to Noah's room, so maybe I can have a few minutes to myself to update y'all on the latest.  Heck, if I have a few moments to myself, maybe I should go sneak in a nap....

I recently saw a new doctor.  After researching and searching, I figured out that what I really needed is a hormone specialist.  For the past year or so, I've been trying to get my doctors to pay attention to my thyroid and a few other things (like the fact that I've been having a period 2-3 times a month...), but they've all sworn everything is fine.  THEN HOW COME I DON'T FEEL FINE??????  I mean, besides all the ways I already don't feel fine, of course.  Apparently no one has the answer for that--or they do (it's all in my head), and they just aren't willing to tell me.

I ventured out of my comfort zone and found a holistic hormone specialist.  I really wasn't sure what to expect, but I knew that having tried just about everything else, and having seen every other expert at world-renowned hospitals, I owed it to myself and my family.  We had nothing to lose, and maybe even something to gain.

This doctor began her career as a traditional MD, which I liked, but quickly realized she could not treat her patients "the way they deserve to be treated, and need to be treated within the confines of traditional medicine," which I loved.  She sat with me for two hours, took a more detailed medical history than any other physician ever has, and carefully explained to me we're not dealing with just twelve years of crap, we're going all the way back to my first ear infection, and dealing with 36 years of crap--asthma, allergies, antibiotics, steroids, other various medications, life stressors and unhealthy ways of dealing with them--and so on.  I'm telling you, just having her listen to me released a huge weight from my shoulders.  I no longer felt crazy, I felt validated and reassured.  I also dared to feel hope, and to think that there could be pain-free, weakness-free, exhaustion-free days in my future.

Pending lab results, she has tentatively diagnosed Hashimoto's (I KNEW there was something hinky with my thyroid!), hypoglycemia (which should clear up with lifestyle/dietary changes), adrenal fatigue (which actually sounds more like adrenal COMA in my case), gluten intolerance and possibly dairy/casein intolerance.  She is keeping the fibromyalgia diagnosis for now, and people--WE ARE DITCHING THE POLYMYOSITIS DIAGNOSIS!  Most likely, the muscle inflammation originally diagnosed as Polymyositis is caused by the gluten problems.  That's interesting to me, because it's been a theory of mine for a while--and I finally have a doctor confirming it.  I went through a gluten intolerance checklist she gave me; scoring a 4-5 meant there could be a problem, go ahead and try a GF diet and see what happens, anything over 9 meant you most likely have a problem.  I SCORED A 20.  Yes, you read that correctly--a TWENTY.  Gluten intolerant much?!?!

So what does all of this mean?  Well, for starters--I've got to revamp my dietary lifestyle.  Completely.  My doctor recommends a dairy free diet at the same time one tries gluten free, and honestly, that's the part that is truly killing me.  There is nothing I love more than CHEESE.  And cooking with butter?  Oh yeah.  I've only been at it (and if I'm being honest, it hasn't been full-on at it yet) for about a week and a half, but the first few nights I actually dreamt about cake, frosting and Cheez Its.  One night, I even dipped the Cheez Its in the frosting in my dream.  I haven't had my chai, or Starbucks, in nearly two weeks, and it's been six days without soda (I'm dying.....). I have yet to really get a handle on the baking and cooking aspect, so I'm kind of surviving on spinach, coconut milk yogurt, carrot sticks and apples (why have I not dropped 30 pounds yet??).  Along with the GDDF lifestyle changes, I also need to start an adrenal diet that lasts for 2-6 weeks.  This is a very bland diet centered around changing your brain and your body to new ways of thinking and eating, ridding yourself of the sugar cravings, resetting the hormone imbalances that have occurred due to eating improperly, and so on.  There were also some exercise recommendations, but seriously, I don't really have the energy yet for that.  I know  exercise and energy are related--you get the energy when you exercise--but you also need to have that energy to begin with!  And while it's still a matter of having the energy to play with my kids or do what needs doing as a mom and wife, vs. exercising, we'll see.   Dr H has also started me on a few new supplements and vitamins, replacing some of the ones I was already taking, removing some of the others, and keeping a few I still need.  For now, I am still on all the other prescription meds as well (and I'll continue to see my other doctors), but the hope is that we can undo all that's been done inside of a year, and I will be able to come off those meds!  I just can't even imagine a life without pain, mood swings and depression, prescription medications, doctors upon doctors and everything else we've been through.  Wow!

I will tell you that withdrawal from all of this SUCKS.  I know I will be healthier for it, and around longer because of these lifestyle changes, but seriously, I'm the one who has always chosen frosting over a carrot stick.   I would love to pull into Starbucks and order several gallons of chai. I would give my right hand for brie that won't make me sick. And right now, there's a gluten-FULL loaf of bread on my counter that looks delicious, and homemade buttercream frosting in my fridge....  Yep, you know where I'm going with that one!  I've been a super b**** on wheels since starting all of this (thank goodness for Shawn's patience!), and I do feel a little deprived.  At the same time, I know that will go away as I learn more and expand my food horizons.  My pain has increased quite a bit, and I've had headaches almost every day, but again, I'm sure that's related to my desperate body trying to hang on to the last bit of crap left inside it.

I do plan to keep up with my regular gluten-full baking.  As of right now, I'm the only one on these diets (although, if it works for me, I'm tempted to switch the boys over to it also and see how they do), so my family still needs to eat. Family meals will be GFDF, and they'll just have to deal, but otherwise, their foods will not be GF for the most part. I also still need to do my baking for work, and I can't expect everyone to switch over because of me.  I will continue to learn new recipes in the gluten world while I learn how to conquer the GFDF world!

I have been blessed with others emptying their pantries into mine with their unused GF cooking and baking products, and I am so grateful for it.  There is a lot of good advice out there, and another mom in Avery's class has been a wealth of help and encouragement.  My support network has expanded, and I feel very positive about this.  There's definitely been some frustration (realizing that if something is GFDF, it's probably not soy free!), and a little bit of anger.  I'm going through the whole grief 'thing,' but really, this is just another new normal I need to accept in the ever-fluctuating trials of life.  And truly, I'd rather have to accept this new normal than take more pills that don't work, and see more doctors who haven't a clue.

Looking forward to feeling better... In left field.

Explaining Things, Thinking Them Through

There's a lot on my mind.  It needs to get out, or I'll never get past this.

Our nation is mourning the loss of 28 lives, 20 of them children under the age of 7.  This is hardly something any of us can explain or even begin to comprehend.  We are lifting these families up in prayer, holding our own families a little tighter, all of us eager for the answer to one question:  WHY?

I'm not sure we'll get that answer.  At least, not one that satisfies any of us.  How could it?  The inexplicable, every parent's worst nightmare, has happened, in one single breath.  It is possible this is something we won't ever understand or receive answers to.

I do know that this is not a time for platforms or debates on gun control, or even mental health care. This is not a time for guessing or pointing fingers, or spreading hypotheses and unconfirmed diagnoses.   We all need something, someone, to blame, but this is not the time.  These were lives, loved ones, human beings--children--not political forums.  Some will argue with me, if not now, when?  I don't know, but I do know now is not the time.  Now is the time to mourn, to allow for prayer, healing and blessings.  Then we celebrate the lives lost, and honor them properly.

As a mom, I still continue to weep openly for the loss these other parents are feeling.  It is incomprehensible to me.  I can't even begin to imagine what life would be like without my children. I don't want to imagine life without them. This is how the reality has hit us, me and my two closest friends: reading through the names, there was a Benjamin, a Noah, and an Emilee.  My heart hurts in ways I never knew possible--it physically hurts.

Avery was with me Friday and he sat snuggled in my lap all afternoon, but I waited all day, impatiently, for Noah to arrive home.  It took everything I had to not run up to his school and pick him up early.  It took everything I had to not run up our street to grab him up in a hug the second his bus pulled up.  When I saw him coming down our driveway though, I ran out of our front door and grabbed him up, crying openly and gratefully for the safety of my own child.  I explained to him a little bit of what had happened, and just told him I was glad he was safe.  Shawn and I had already agreed we'd talk with him further after Avery went to bed, and hopefully, after we'd learned more.  As the day wore on, I watched my kids closely, just grateful they were within reach and there for me to hug and smother with love.

That evening after Avery went to bed, we sat down with Noah in his bed.  Many of the things we talked about with him were the same things other parents were discussing with their kids that night.  Things we shouldn't have to talk about with our kids, but in our society, they've become topics we have to address.  Things like, if you hear something that sounds like a gun, it probably is, get down and stay safe; if you hear someone at school threaten violence, even if you think they might be joking, notify an adult immediately and allow the adults to make that sort of decision; if you see someone at school who doesn't look like he/she belongs there, tell an adult immediately.  It boggles a parent's mind to have to talk about these things, to have to say "Stay safe today, I love you" as our children leave for school, a place they should naturally be safe.  Something else we addressed with Noah was personal responsibility and self control; how something might seem like a good idea at the time, but you always have to think of the long term consequences.  It is never okay to hurt someone else.  Accountability, self control and responsibility are not options for Noah, they are MUSTS. We also talked with Noah about the tragedy itself, how we need to pray for the families, that there aren't any answers or reasons why; we kept the details simple and short.  I found myself thinking this was a conversation I shouldn't have to have with my child, but there were we.

And, true to form, this is where my post takes a turn.  This is where it becomes about my family.

Because of many of the rumors going through the media, Shawn and I couldn't be sure what Noah would hear when he returned to school today, so we felt we needed to address those with him also, for his sake.  There are many rumors circulating that this man had a personality disorder and learning disabilities, that he may have had Asperger's Syndrome, OCD and ADHD (several news outlets have even incorrectly identified AS, OCD and ADHD as learning disorders and disabilities).  The media have described him as mentally ill.  He was described by family friends and acquaintances as brilliant yet shy, genius-level yet solitary and closed off.  The media have pointed their fingers at these descriptions and possibilities, saying, "There's your answer, folks.  That's why he did it."  We have yet to hear a physician confirm any of this, yet to hear an actual diagnosis from the police investigators, but the media are running wild with it.  Without facts, without anyone coming forward telling us for certain these were this man's diagnoses, these friends, acquaintances, family members, teachers, reporters and so-called experts are engaging in pure speculation and gossip, all in the name of being part of the spotlight, and trying to answer the unanswerable. In trying to answer the unanswerable, they are inadvertently providing excuses for this man's actions, and in some ways, any future actions someone else might take.

This truly has my Mommy Hackles up.  I'm feeling extra protective of Noah right now, as his mom I'm feeling more defensive than I have in a long time, ready to pounce on the first person who looks at my son cross-eyed.  These are all words and phrases that have been used to describe my son by one person or another.  Noah does have Asperger's, OCD and ADHD.  Noah is highly intelligent, he's socially awkward, he can be solitary, there are times he can be a bit of an odd duck.  He has also been diagnosed with depression and anxiety.  Noah receives medication and counseling, and his needs are more than taken care of.  My son is not a bad person, nor do any of these diagnoses make him so.  My child is not mentally disturbed, he is not learning disabled, he is not disordered or diseased or ill.  Noah is not bad.  This man was bad. He made truly awful, bad, tragic choices.  If, in fact he did have one or any of these diagnoses, they were not what made him bad, they did not make him make these choices, they did not lead him to murder 20 children, 6 adults, his mother, and himself.  What it comes down to for me is teaching our children personal responsibility, self control and rules.  It is not about providing excuses for one's behavior.

These are the things we covered with Noah.  We've never allowed Noah to use his diagnoses as excuses for not being able to do something.  It might take him a different way, or a little longer than others, but he can do just about everything anyone else can do.  We've made it clear to Noah that in a court of law, and in life in general, he would be/is held to the same accountability as everyone else, and it's something we continue to reiterate with him due to his lack of inner filters.  My child is capable.  My son is compassionate, he's loving, he's funny, and there are some things that can only be attributed to Asperger's that are my favorite things about him.  We stressed to Noah that he is not bad, we talked about the rumors being circulated in the media, things he might hear at school, things he might be told by others.  We talked with him about choices, about the difference between being good and being bad, and how his diagnoses have nothing to do with any of that.  We are very upset, very concerned, very disturbed by how Autism and Asperger's are now being perceived by the media, we are discouraged by how this could affect Noah's view of himself, upset that others who are just as ignorant will feed off this media coverage and see something in Noah that isn't there.  Again, as we were talking to Noah about all of this, I found myself thinking....  "I shouldn't have to have this kind of conversation with my child."  But there we were.

My prayers are for our entire nation, for the families immediately affected by this tragedy, for the first responders, for the entire Newtown community.  My prayers are for a better understanding throughout our world of Autism and Asperger's Syndrome.  My prayers are for healing and hope, peace and strength.

At the end of the day, I am grateful for the safety of my children, and I'm grateful for them--chaos, craziness, Asperger's, toddlerhood, and all.  I am grateful to live life in left field.

My Grown Up Christmas List

Shawn knows my heart.  He (usually) does his best to protect it.  Several months ago, I heavily petitioned him for a little girl through Compassion International.  Her name is Anastasya, and she's beautiful.  I've never met her, but I love her and care for her as if she were my own.  I pray for this precious little girl, I pray for her parents, and I'm grateful for the blessings in our lives that we are able to share with them.  Shawn set her up through the year in our name, but when it came time for her birthday, we weren't able to contribute the way we wanted to.  The deadline for Christmas gift donations rolled around shortly after that, and it didn't look as though we'd make it.  I have had tremendous guilt over this; when we committed to Anastasya, I really wanted to be able to support her and celebrate with her properly.  When we couldn't, it just really hurt.

This season has been difficult for me for several reasons, and my depression has worsened to a great degree.  Our marriage has been rocky for the past several months, and life has been far from easy around here.  I have not looked forward to Christmas, and quite honestly, I could've done without celebrating it at all.  It just doesn't feel right this year.  I had a difficult time buying presents for the boys, and it wasn't until Shawn insisted we go out that it finally got done.  I'm one of those people who typically has these sorts of things done by November, and I normally find great joy in buying gifts for others.  Shawn has asked for gift ideas for myself, and I haven't been able to give him any.  I just don't have the joy in me this year.  I know he's upset because he hasn't known what to give me and is feeling empty handed.  I've explained to him that with the depression as bad as it's gotten, gifts really won't make much sense, or even make much of a dent in my Christmas this year.  I know that's hard for some people to understand, but that's just how it is.  It's difficult to explain that the only way Christmas would be the way I need it to be is for my best friend's world to be righted, for my extended family to be "normal" (ha!) and functional, for life to just be easy to live--pain free, full of answers, forgiveness, communication, and other "grown up" things.  Santa just can't deliver those.

Today we got a letter from Compassion.  It was a receipt for Anastasya's Christmas gift, something my husband took care of because he knew how much it means to me that she has a good Christmas, because he understands how important and special this precious little girl is to me.  It is meaningful to him because it's meaningful to me, knowing that Anastasya is taken care of....  And it's by far one of the best grown up Christmas presents I could ever hope to receive.  

My Christmas is complete.  That's all I needed.

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

"'I must do something' always solves more problems than 'Something must be done.'"--Anonymous

My husband is always telling me I don't have to save the world, but sometimes it seems as though the world--or at least parts of it--shows up on my doorstep.  I don't want to ever be the person who says, "I thought someone else was going to help."  It's not my style.  No, I don't have to save the world, but I am called to help the ones who cross my path.

By now you've read enough of my posts to know that I'm a "pets are people, too" kind of person.  I'm a pet parent, not a pet owner.  My pets will never be as important to me as my boys are, but they come in close.  They are living, breathing creatures and deserve the best life I can give them.  After all, I'm the one who brought them in to my home.  Just like my boys, these creatures are gifts to me, brought into my life for my happiness, for me to care for, love and cherish.  I baby these animals, I spoil them, I lavish them with treats, with love, with homemade food, with beds and warmth and shelter.  I've often joked that if I believed in reincarnation, I'd want to come back as one of my cats.  

So, it deeply upsets me when I see animals mistreated, when I see them abandoned, unloved, unwanted, hungry, and left to their own defenses.  We--society--have domesticated these animals, so it is up to us to provide for them.  Unfortunately, not everyone thinks the way I do.  We have two kitties in our home that were strays in our neighborhood, one of them in the middle of a very cold winter.  Very often in our neighborhood we see dogs wandering loose without collars, most of them aggressive, untrained and unloved.  I see my neighbors yelling at their pets, hitting them, leaving them outside without proper shelter and water on hot days, and generally mistreating these pets they claim to have wanted and brought into their homes.  It hurts my heart and quite honestly, makes me angry.  It annoys me when people make a commitment to a pet, then fall short of that commitment out of laziness.  Once they realize the pet is more work than they realized, but they aren't willing to try to give it a better life, so the dog is relegated to the backyard, or the cat is left to its own devices.  If you can't keep a plant alive, if you don't have the time to devote to watering that on a regular basis, then you shouldn't have pets (or children, for that matter).

Friday afternoon, we had a two little visitors--two sweet little cocker spaniel mixes.  I watched as they wandered our court for a bit, waiting to see if they went home with any of our neighbors' guests, waiting to see if any of our neighbors came looking for them--just waiting to see what happened.  After an hour, and after one of our neighbors screamed at them and hit them, I'd kind of had enough.  Ready to do something about it, I realized they'd wandered into our driveway and just sat down to watch while Noah played basketball.  They had that "Yep, this is the house!  The sign on the overpass said a nice woman lives in the blue house!" look on their faces (my friend Sharon jokes that when Jethro escapes, it's to paint a sign on the overpass about the kind pet lady in the blue house...  It's right next to her graffiti about my gravy from a jar on Thanksgiving...).  They immediately took to Noah, tolerated Avery, but were very wary of myself and Shawn.  Unfortunately, Lilly didn't like them on her property and actually broke through the storm door to get out of the house.  A chase ensued (in true Furr Family fashion, of course---Noah in the lead, Shawn in bare feet and literally pulling pants on as he ran to catch up, and me bringing up the rear in my stocking feet, trying to keep an eye on Avery, who was still on the porch), Lilly was almost hit by a car (she now wears the perimeter collar of shame), and all 3 dogs ended up back at our house safely.  Lilly went in her crate inside the house, and the other two (No Noah, we're NOT naming them!) went in the garage.  I knew it had to be done, so I called animal control.  Because the dogs were eager to follow Noah around, he fed them, gave them water, and spread towels out on the garage floor so they could lay down and wouldn't be cold.  I wanted to hug the deputy who recognizing Noah's attachment to the dogs and theirs to him, employed his help in getting them in her truck.

That's not the end of the story.  I feel invested in these little guys.  They ended up in our care for a reason.  They need someone to care about them and to fight for them.  They deserve an advocate.  They were kind to my children, even loving. Their fur was in very poor shape, they were very hungry and thirsty, they did not have collars or microchips and posters have not been posted about missing dogs in our neighborhood.  I've been calling the shelter to stay updated on them, and no one has claimed them.  Honestly, with the kind of shape they were in, and how they'd been treated based on their behavior, I'm not sure I want their owners to claim them.  Is it okay to admit that?  Everyone, even a dog, deserves to be missed, wanted and loved.  From what I've been told, the dogs are not adjusting well to the shelter, and haven't been very nice to or trusting of the volunteers.  Their quarantine ends on Friday, and then the "decision" about their futures with the shelter will be made.  The people at our local are very devoted to their jobs, and love animals very much, but with overflow being a problem, sadly, there is only so much they can do.  

Instead of just hoping for the best, I'm not giving up.  I'm calling foster and rescue groups, counting on one of them to come through for these sweet little guys.  They, like everyone else, deserve to have someone fight for them.  No, I don't have to save the world, just certain parts of it.

I think the little gold one was smiling while he sat next to Noah.  He wouldn't leave Noah's side.

Back Off, She's My SISTER!

Just because of personal history, I kind of do a little panic thing when I hear sirens if I don't know where all my people are, or if I hear about an accident that has occurred nearby one of them.  It just scares me, and I worry until I hear back from all of them.

Yesterday I was on my way home with my boys when I heard on the radio about an accident near my friend Mandy's office.  Because I'm me, I panicked.  I worried.  I lead-footed it the rest of the way home so I could check on her.

I'm very grateful to say she's fine, and perfectly safe.

But this brought the three of us--myself, Mandy, and Sharon--to a realization.  We aren't just friends, we're sisters.  We realized--and agreed--that God forbid something were to happen, nothing would stop us from announcing ourselves to emergency personnel as family.  As sisters.

We are family.  And we're just good together.

F-A-M-I-L-Y