Sometimes I wake up in the morning and think to myself, "Self, what the heck did YOU do to be so lucky?"This morning was one of those mornings and I started to look around at all of the things that I really enjoy on this Christmas eve. I love the sun coming in the window early in the morning, even when it keeps me from sleeping a little bit later. I love to hear Max jump out of bed and I wait patiently for him to bust in the bedroom and tell me something fantastic. I love it when the puppy cuddles up next to me, as only a houndy puppy dog can, to get his daily fill of lovin'. I love it when Paul calls me at work and introduces himself in some foreshadowing way; "This is animal control services." when he wants to talk about Roger's foray into the world of doggie daycare or "This is plumbing management services" when we had our poo poo flood in the basement. It makes me laugh.
Here are a few of my other favorite things.
First is Max. He is, by far, my most favorite thing. He is becoming the little engine that could, moving his way through new and exciting things, sometimes by nothing more than sheer will power. He is thoughtful, kind, and brave while still being a 7 year old who yells, runs, and jumps just because he can. He has been speaking in an unusually loud voice lately and I told him that I would give him $2 if he could go the rest of the day without yelling for no reason. I believe it is important to let him know that if there is a fire or some other horrible thing going on he can certainly let out a good loud warning. I am sure I don't need to tell you that even with a few extra chances, he never got paid.
He continues to develop a keen sense of humor and fine tunes his special brand on me daily. "Mom, where did the can of whipped cream go?" He said as he slinked out of the room, followed by the tell tail "querrrrrrrrrrrr" sound of the inevitable mouthful of creamy goodness. My most favorite thing right now is when he makes up games and the rules that govern them. We played a game where if you ate your dinner you got points. Max ate his salad and got a whopping 400 points, I ate my salad (twice the size) and got 10 points. See where this is going? Sometimes he actually feels guilty for railroading me and finds a way for me to win. Ain't he just a little sweetie?
One of my other favorite things is Rodger. Max named him. Rodger is all hound dog and if his long ears, jowley muzzle and lots of extra skin doesn't convince you then his loud and mournful bay just might. He is now almost 6 months old and growing like a weed. We are all learning to be patient with each other and I hope that we have taught Rodger more tricks then he has taught us. Rodger is a completely different dog then I have ever had. When I was a kid we had a west highland white terrier. For all of you terrier owners, I don't need to explain the pain and pleasure that you go through with a terrier in your life, for those of you more fortunate in your chosen canine I will elucidate.
F. Scott Fitzgerald was his name and he was the smartest dog I have ever met but he was a terrier. They were used to hunt small animals and were bred for their tenacity and intelligence. Smart little pain in the arse would be the perfect description. He was really the perfect dog for our family, as he could take whatever we dished out and keep coming back for more. Once, when I was in my "girls love rainbows" phase I drew on our white dog with markers and made him all kinds of rainbow colored. He even had a beautiful little rainbow bulls eye that ended at the tip of his tail. Fitz, as we loving called him, was a crazy fun dog with far too many brains for a dog of his stature. He used to torture my father by peeing on his pillow after my father handed down a harsh punishment for one of the many bad deeds that Fitz had in his repertoire. Fitz was born to run and proved it every time he got the chance. Nothing more than a tiny mishandled opening in a doorway were all he needed to take off as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. He had a goal every time that he ran, he needed to make it past the second street light post before he was homefree. If my father saw him running before that second lightpost, my dad would let out this bellowing rendition of Fitz's name that would cause him to duck and cover. We use to joke that my dad could drop our dog from 50 yards. When this would happen Fitz would lay down and wait for my father to come and get him. The funny thing was that sometimes Fitz could be inches from his goal but he wasn't there so down he would go. If however, his nose crossed the line that he had created for himself he never slowed or missed a step as my dad yelled from our front porch. Fitz would run like he had just escaped the most horrid prison and was experiencing freedom for the first time. Then the local police would pick him up and throw him in a crate at the police station, where we would have to go and pick him up among all of the stolen bikes. There are many more Fitz stories, he lived for over 20 years, but this gives you a good taste of who he was.
Did I mention that Roger is not like Fitz? He isn't but he is definitely his own goofy dog personality and as he grows I am sure that I will fill these pages with lots of Roger stories.
Then there is Paul. Paul is my husband and is, as many wives may understand, a typical husband. He hogs the TV remote and does that incessant speed flicking thing that makes everyone want to scream. He leaves a mess wherever he goes, is always late and is generally a noisy guy (creeping is not in his list of abilities). On the other hand he is a wonderful father, he works hard, is a great musician, is patient, kind and loving. He is definitely worth the time that I spend training him and will be the perfect husband in 20 or 25 years. Paul has grand dreams and feeds them so that they will grow and flourish; his dream of being elected to the office of President of the Universe (it is a quiet and calculated coup of sorts), his church of the left-handed guitar player or his delusion that a harem is a great idea and would be an easy thing to manage. (You would think that after trying to manage one and having so much trouble he would throw in the towel on the harem). He is a bit wacky but he is my wacky and sometimes you just have to say "What the farfegnugen!" and go with it.
Finally, I have one last favorite thing. It is temporary with only moments to experience its greatness and feel the warmth that it gives to you from the inside. I speak this way of......
The best spinach cheese souffle I have made to date. I want to give a shout out to the French for this.
That is it for now, as you may know...I will be back, but till then may you experience a little joy every day that will cause you happiness always.
Happy Holidays!!
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