Pet Parade

Pet Parade.  That's what we call our motley crew of canines.  The phrase "pet parade" comes from a birthday bash Michael Jackson threw for his chimp "Bubbles".  The party included a parade.  This gave us fits of laughter to no end.
If you are like us and have pets, they are part of the family.  We "humanize" them.  Our first born, Moose, is a three year old 145-150 lb Rhodesian Ridgeback.  The poor boy is so big that when he sits on the couch, he rolls way back on his rump exposing his Buddha belly.  This is what we call "people boy" because he looks like a fat person sitting on a piece of furniture.
He isn't the peppiest of pups because of that huge body he has to lug around.  So some of his friskiest moments are on his side or back as he's waking up at the foot of our bed.  This is when he's playing his "reindeer games".  Then there is the scent of such a large beast.  When he is in need of a bath, we say he "needs to change his boxers".  Fortunately, he steps right into the shower for me.  But I have to get in with him because he's much too large to reach around from outside of the tub.  Bath time includes plenty of singing to keep him relaxed.  From the outside looking in, we'd probably look suspect.

It would be remiss of me not to mention something from his puppy-hood.  When he was little and in training classes, he had quite the reputation.  He had issues with self-control.  For instance, every night around 8pm was his bewitching hour.  He'd terrorize the house with reckless abandon and we didn't know what to do to stop him.  The trainer decided to teach us how to "settle" Moose and show him who is boss.  This called for restraining him.  When the trainer restrained Moose for the first time, he sprayed, squealed and cried so loud that everyone in Petsmart came running to see what the ruckus was all about.  But this technique worked!  As a matter of fact, it worked so well it put him to sleep.  He slept through most of training classes from that point on.

Our next born is Leo.  He might as well be a Siamese fighting fish; the Betta which needs a lot of space and does well alone in a bowl.  Leo is the smallest of our three, so he is now the loudest and meanest in order to exercise an attempt at dominance.  It's futile and annoyingly loud.  He was a cute puppy with wiry terrier fur and a sweet demeanor.  Now, his fur resembles a dirty mop.  His saving grace is large black, button eyes.  Because of him, we've coined a new greeting: "Allo, Buttons!" (must be done with an English accent).
At six weeks of age and against all odds, Leo survived Paarvo.  This little guy is a fighter.  However, his sharp bark, constant whining and growling at our other dogs has kept us from completely adoring him.

Our youngest dog is Ozzy the Pit Bull / Boxer mix.  He's entertaining beyond measure.  Talk about Tasmanian Devil moments!  This dog tears around literally running into and bouncing off of walls. Oddly, his preferred method of snout-to-snout combat is through a blanket.  He also has telepathy when it comes to us leaving the house.  Before we even touch the car keys, he's on us about coming along in the car.

Ozzy loves water whether it's in the pool or a bathtub.  He chases balls in the pool, but loves blowing bubbles in the water just as much.  Our pool is half-drained at the moment so it's not uncommon to find Ozzy on the first step staring down into the water wondering where it all went.   When he's on the step and you are watching from a distance, his tail resembles a submarine periscope going back and forth the length of the step.  I watched the periscope doing it's surveillance the other day and suddenly it submerged!  All I could think was "yuck".  The remaining pool water is green.  As I approached, though, I saw the reason for this insane behavior.  There was a yellow ping pong pool floating just out of reach of the step.  It had to be "got"; and so it was.  That water was 36 degrees!

One last thing I'll share about Ozzy (and I could go on forever) it that he adores lazing around and looking at things upside-down.

Of course there are the pet "nicknames".  Moopers, Weewee, WeePants, BabyBoy, BabisBoy, PeopleBoy, Buttons, Poopooz botts, and many more; a couple not suitable for print.
But the bottom line is, as crazy as these pets and their shenanigans are, they keep their owner's sane.

Muffin Tops or Dog Rolls?

Last night, as my husband and I lay in bed with our three dogs, he commented on the mid-sized dog's pin head.  I got the urge to doodle as soon as I heard this so I rolled over, sat up, and grabbed pencil and paper for a quick sketch.  I drew our dogs, exaggerating their physical shortcomings.  I started laughing so hard that I was gasping for air and snorting before I even turned around to show my husband.
Simple minds are easily entertained.  (I wanted today's blog to be light).
On a different note, but similar subject:  I've been submitting my article links to various websites.  What's with these captivas apologizing for asking me if I'm human?
I'll admit that the fat rolls around my dog's neck are eerily similar to my muffin top, but really now.

Love is liberating; ego holds on.

I love, love, love this saying.  It’s my new mantra.  Primarily because I make everything about “me” and I need to stop doing that.    It’s easy enough say “other’s people stuff is their stuff, mine is mine”.  But in real life, my ego has a tendency to make everyone’s stuff about me (see projecting blog).

I have to remember to love everyone enough to let go so I can be free.  I do not have to be “Marge in charge”.  Holding on doesn’t change other people, places and things and letting go doesn’t either, but it offers me the peace of mind I need to be centered and healthy.

I am not all-knowing enough to be the director of life.  Quite frankly, pretending to be is exhausting enough because, try as I might, I don’t have that kind of control.

There’s a line in a Van Wilder movie that has always stuck with me – “Worrying is like a rocking chair; it gives you something to do, but doesn’t get you anywhere.”  Man, said like that, worrying doesn’t sound very attractive and I can find better things to do with my time.

It’s ironic how when I stop making other people’s issues about me, I’m forced to look at myself.  So there’s the “selfish  me” and then there’s the “just being with me”.  WTH?

Traffic Jam

I'm a gal who can hit the ground running first thing in the morning. And that's just my brain; my body catches up quickly. As a matter of fact, my brain starts before my feet touch the floor to get out of bed.
My brain used to start whirring in the wee hours of the morning if I got up to use the restroom. Fortunately, being on meds has stopped that.
My husband is tolerant when I blurt out thought after thought, idea after idea and nonsense after nonsense. He patiently listens as I tell him about the dreams I had the previous night (there are often many and they can be pretty wierd).  It has to drives him nuts. It does me.
I'm working on refraining from vocalizing every thing that enters my mind.  This reminds of something I used to tell my son.  As early as elementary school, he started getting in trouble for blurting things out in class without raising his hand. I told him to, first of all, respect the teacher; it was her show and not his.  Secondly, I told him to really think before he spoke; he needed to evaluate the importance and/or relevance of what he wanted to share. It's funny, but I find myself using that same technique now.
Unfortunately, even though my mouth has slowed down, my brain has not. I finally had a visual the other day that explained my brain perfectly. It's as though all my thoughts are cars on the expressway. The more cars that hit the on ramp, the more congested the traffic becomes. Until, finally, there is a traffic jam and it all stops. My brain is much the same. Thoughts trickle then pour in. Then as a coping mechanism, my brain just kind of shuts down - it "jams". After the thoughts are still for a while, we go in to clear out the jam. Then the brain reboots.
Funny how my traffic jam is always later in the day after all the real freeways have long since cleared out theirs!

Projection; Plug Me in and Turn on the Lamp!

I was in a meeting the other night when someone shared about their projection of things always being negative.  I could really identify with this.  It's so true, isn't it?  If you break projection down, it's nothing more than our imagination.  Our imagination can take us to beautiful, far away tropical isles or paint us rich and famous doing what we love for a living.  So why then, does it conjur up the dark and negative things when we project?  If you refer to the two definitions below, the first one listed indicates our visualization as being objective.  Yeah, right.  Perhaps in the Cleaver's world.  The second definition suggests we see in others what exists in ourselves.

pro·jec·tion

the act of visualizing and regarding an idea or the like as an objective reality.

-or-

the tendency to ascribe to another person feelings, thoughts, or attitudes present in oneself, or to regard external reality as embodying such feelings, thoughts, etc., in some way.

If we consider projections in the business world, they are based on past facts and stats; real numbers and situations.  Why is it, then, when we project it's all subjective conjecture.  That would get us fired from a corporate job!

Lately, I have turned just about every daily occurrence into a sick guessing came.  I project so frequently that we have a standing joke in the household about plugging me in and switching on the light.  And never, ever are my projections objective or about some positive trait of my own.  That whole "people are our mirrors" thing should be enough incentive for me NOT to project!

That being said, I think I need to be more like the first definition and less like the second.  But to be safe, perhaps I shouldn't project at all!

Unexpected Empty Nest 101

Our unhealthy family was co-existing in an increasingly volatile environment for about a year.  Everyone was frustrated, sick and tired.  No counseling, therapy or family meetings would make a difference.  As long as we were drinking and our son was drugging, there wasn't a point.

When things came to a head one morning (four months ago) our son ran out the front door only to never come back to live.  He has visited the house two times since then, but lives with his half-brother who is 11 years older than he.  Since his departure, we've all cleaned up.  He us abstaining and in therapy (as far as we know).  His father and I are in therapy and recovery by attending 12 step meetings.

As parents, one of our biggest and least expected issues is that of being empty-nesters.  For me, it was initially unbearable not have my son at home; no matter how impossible it had become.  The prospect of "losing" him was more than I could bear.  I bottomed out.  However, had it not been for hitting that bottom, I wouldn't be in recovery now.  Everything really does happen for a reason!

Being sober, properly medicated and in recovery leaves me eager to explore this new chapter in my life.  This journey is bittersweet, but has seemingly endless possibilities.  Although my options are somewhat limited due to financial instability, my heart and  soul feel liberated.  I am looking at myself not as a mother or a wife, but as an individual with specific talents, abilities, likes and dislikes.  My ambition is no longer about what I can do for others so much as it is about personal growth and what I can do to contribute to others.

I was born an artist.  Now, I intend to pay full attention to that part of my soul.  An opportunity was presented to me in which self-sufficient people with behavioral health issues (Bipolar II being mine) can use a warehouse and art supplies, for a monthly nominal fee.  The goal is to create, share and recover through art.
It's so important for us, as empty-nesters, to tap into a true heart-felt interest and/or talent so that we can connect with like-minded people.   When we are feeling pushed aside and less needed by our children, it is time for us to feed and foster the child in ourselves that has been neglected for so long.

It's not unusual for me to want to migrate back into major mothering mode.  As God would have it, my child reminds me this is not wanted or needed.  It hurts at first, but pushes me back into the direction I belong.  As time goes on, I imagine the pain lessens more and more until I automatically remain where I belong most of the time; with me.

Loading Personal Settings

As the fog lifts and I begin to interact more with those around me, I’m less starry-eyed about this adventure.
Letting go of people, placed and things has not been easy for me.  Making the decision to let go is not too hard.    Actually doing it, however, is a process.

It recently come to my attention that I truly believe I am not enough; not for others and not for myself.  At 46 years of age, you would think I already knew this about myself.  Perhaps I did, logically.  But it hit my heart yesterday when I was in therapy exploring my overriding feelings of guilt and shame.

When I looked at what I do to feed into this belief, I saw with the clearest eyes that I cared about others perception and judgement of me.  So much so. that it would be impossible for me or anyone else to measure up to everyone out there.  Then I realized I have people in my life who validate my belief that I am not enough.

As a result, I have chosen to reset my personal opinion of myself on a daily basis.  Throughout the day, I have to tell myself, “I am enough”.  Enough for what or who doesn’t matter.  I am enough just by being; just by breathing.  And I am choosing to accept that giving myself time each day does not come with a deadline.  It is an indefinite action.  And then my favorite new choice is to live life with an exclamation instead of an explanation.
I owe "me" more to myself than I do others.

So as the new year approaches, I am choosing to load new personal settings!