A fish tale (of sorts)

If you know me personally or have read my blog for any length of time (don't all three of you wave at once) then you know the incredible way that Brandon appeared in our lives and was grafted to our family tree.

Fast forward.

Brandon will be 3 in December. Three! Goodness, it's the most true cliche out there; they grow up so fast (I tell mine all the time to "stop growing this very instant", but kids being kids, they never listen.) Brandon is a character, let me tell you. He's very smart and able, 'gets' humor (it's a hoot to share a funny with him because he truly gets it), and he is independent in ways that our other children weren't at the same age. I suppose he's farther along developmentally because of the age gap between him and his older siblings? It's my best guess anyway. But it makes interacting with him a lot of fun.

Tonight, Brandon asked me to play Let's Go Fishing with him. It's a battery operated game where little plastic fish open and close their mouths as the "pond" spins, while you try to catch them with a tiny plastic fishing pole. Oh believe it, I looove playing this game (not really, but more than Old Maid anyway.)

So we got things set up and Brandon began to run the show almost immediately.
"Dis is my pole. It's not broe-kin."
I'm thinking, "What the heck, he gets the good pole?" I immediately had reason to believe I was going to be fishing for plastic fish with a toothpick. Not off to such a good start, know what I mean? And that's when he shoved a dinky plastic yellow pole in my hand and commanded, "Dis is yowze, Momma. You fish heeuw!" whereby he literally pointed to my "area" of the pond.

Great.

Just great.

I've been banned to a specific "spot."

In a plastic pond.

Kid's taking this game waaaay too seriously.

And tell me, do you think that's where the fish are known to be biting? Oh, I'm certain not.

(Let me interject something at this point; Why is it that all toddlers sound like Asian elderly men speaking broken English? "I tell you go NOW," or, "I no play wit you any more." 'Nuff said.)

Okay, so. I was sitting there (in my "spot" and all) contemplating the many skills needed to be an almost 3 year old master angler (which basically, as I see it, amounts to controlling the game and getting away with it) when he suddenly flicked on a switch to start the action, then quickly demanded, "Wait!"

Wait???
Did he just start the game and demand that I wait?
Oh no he did NOT tell me to wait,...only to proceed to fish his little heart out,...right?

Oh. Yes. He. Did. Too.

Every time I attempted to stick my stinkin' toothpick pole in the pond, he whined convincingly, "No, momma. You wait!"

Okay, what the heck am I waiting for?
Because seriously?
I'm ready to catch me some plastic walleye already.
But nooOOoo! Mr. Tiny Tyrant 2009 has not granted "permission" to enter the plastic pond.
So I sat miserably on the bank, losing the "early cast" advantage, while Brandon proceeded to rack up a score of THREE-ZIP before he'd even entertain the thought of allowing me to enter the pond.

Finally, he gave me the green light and away I went, putting my years of trout and walleye fishing to the test. Could I do it? Could I catch up to Mr. Advantage or was I destined to tell the proverbial tale of the one who got away?

Oh no, it's o-o-o-o-on!

I fished and I fished. And I caught some too. And it even appeared at one point that I might at least tie for the big plastic win.

That is, until Brandon decided that wasn't ever going to happen. He started with a little something I like to call the whine tactic.
"StooOOoop, Momma. Stop dat wight now. You don't catch doze fish, okay Momma?"
But I tell you, it's hard NOT to catch plastic fish when you've been an angler for many years. It's in my blood, I tell you. Like a hunting dog who just has to fetch the duck from the pond because it's what he does, I had to catch those fish. And I had to make up for lost time in the pond too.

That's when Brandon pulled out the heavy guns.
Enter....the man handle. In a moment of clear frustration with the gains I had made (even though he had done everything in his toddlerhood power to give himself the advantage), he reached for his secret weapon, the dreaded men handle.
Grumbling and with eyebrows scowling, he barked, "Dis fish won't git on my pole!" And with skill and timing that would rival any Bill Dance fisherman, he grabbed a plastic fish by its googly head and man handled him right out of the plastic pond.

No pole.

No fisherman's patience or luck.

A total man handle.

Score one for the little guy.

Then, to make my own fate sealed even more, he gloated, "Haha! I got DIS one wiiiight heaw. You don't haff dis many, do you, Momma! And you don't catch deeze eeder, okay? You oniy catch duh pink ones."

Come again?
Did my boy just pull the "traditional roles" card on me, banning me, a woman, to the pink fish only?
Are you kidding me?
Hmmmf!

I tell you, it's a lonely spot on the plastic pond when you're banned to the area where the action is nil and you're limited to a pink catch only.
Need I tell you who won?

Like I said, this boy's sharp. No wool growing over his eyes. But I'm going to have to teach him a lesson or two where his little attitude is concerned. I'm thinking a pole in the "big pond" might be just what the doctor ordered.

Ever see a 3 year old try to bring in a real walleye?

HA HA! (evil grin)

I'm just sayin'.

Toni

What were the chances?

Reece has been asking for one specific thing for quite some time now. This "thing" happens to have four paws and fur. Uh huh, I know. But since his last birthday, the idea has not died. A whole year and he's still asking for a dog.

I grew up with all kinds of pets; fish, turtles, ducklings, rabbits, kittens, cats, puppies and dogs. We've had mixed breeds and pure breeds, hunting dogs and companion dogs and cats. You name it. At one point, my parents had four kids, 3 hamsters, 2 cats, an dog and a rabbit. What can I say, we loved our little zoo.

Sure, pets are hard work. They can be expensive (though generally speaking, cats are waaaay less expensive to care for than dogs.) They get dirty. They make messes we must clean. They can be smelly, sometimes even when they're clean (have you ever smelled a wet dog? Ick!) Some shed. Some aren't well suited for children. And you know, they can infringe on your freedom to come and go. All this is true.

But there is a flip side. A good pet is a good companion, and a good companion is wonderful company. When you've had a bad day, a good pet is happy to see you. When you're at your worst, a good pet doesn't seem to mind. When you're sad, a good pet can really be a source of comfort (something about that unconditional love.) And children can learn so much from a good pet. Compassion. Caring for "someone" outside themselves. Patience. And lessons about living and dying, and learning that good memories are ours to keep forever. These are just some of the terrific things about having a good pet.

So you see where I'm going with this, right? This whole, "I want a dog," thing with Reece. He just wouldn't let it go. And his birthday is in two more days. Last week I explained to him (and read the resulting disappointment in his eyes yet again) that I was sorry, that he would not be getting a dog this year either.
It wasn't that we were totally against the idea.
It's just that we had our,.......our rules.
Rules like, "No dog until all people in the house are potty trained first."
Or, "No dog until we have a run added to our backyard fence."
Or how about, "No dog until summer, when we can devote more time to training."
But yet......sigh. Reece was just sooo looking forward to "a real dog." Have you ever read the Debbie Maycomber book Where Angels Go? Among other dilemmas in the book, a little boy wants a dog with all his heart (trivial note; the angels' names are Surely, Goodness, and Mercy, lol.) Anyway, the boy in that story wanted a dog in the worst way, just like my Reece.

Fact is, I've been checking local humane societies, rescues, and breeders for quite some time now. We definitely have a preference for one particular breed, the Lab Retriever. For us, there simply is no better dog for kids (you're entitled to your own preferenc and opinion, but for us Labs win, hands down.) I occasionally would find a Lab mixed breed. Or a very senior Lab (which would be fine for Carl and I, but there's more to consider there with four active kids around a senior dog.) But otherwise, I didn't have much luck on locating a pure breed Lab and the local rescues' fees were more than we could afford at this time anyway.

The other night, I tucked Reece in and again reminded him that a "real dog" would not be unwrapped for his birthday again this year (he often brings the topic up as I tuck him in.) On a whim, I decided to check rescues and humane societies further away from us, something I had not done in the past. I found a humane society several counties away and noted that their fees were much more reasonable than our local area. "That's good," I curiously thought, "but I'm sure I won't find the dog we're looking for." I mean, I'd been searching for a year. What were the chances? Famous last words (literally.)

I began searching through the list of available dogs. A very cute Lab mixed breed caught my attention. "Hmmm, could make a great pet. I mean, she's cute as can be, on the small side, and....maybe." I was curious about her, but continued on down the list. As I neared the end, I came across a dog that made me lean in to my screen for a closer look.
I was truly surprised.
There it was, a purebred Lab Retriever, and only 10 months old.
"No way! Can't be!" But it was. We have a preference for female dogs and this was a male. But wait, does it say his name is..........Cleveland?

Really???

Okay, my heart raced a bit as I began to think it was meant to be. We moved to IN several years ago from Cleveland, and now we were coming full circle, metaphorically speaking. Yes, this dog's kennel name was Cleveland. I felt compelled to run this one past Carl and we both agreed we should "just go look." HA! As any Lab lover knows, there is absolutely NO SUCH THING as, "Just go look." If you're looking, a Lab is coming home with you. This is why Carl and I have avoided "just looking" for soooo long now.

So we did. We packed the kids into the van on Monday and made the drive to the humane society, over 90 minutes away. Our intent was to check out the female mixed breed and the pure male Lab. When we pulled in though, Carl said, "Ut oh. There's the female now, walking with those people out in the field." Sure enough, it was her. While we waited in the office to see the available dogs, hoping the Lab was still there, the couple came in and announced they would be taking the female mix. I'm glad we got to see her. She was very sweet, gentle, and great on the leash. But I'm fairly certain we would not have selected her. That's because the male Lab was indeed still there and we all fell in love with him immediately.

We took him out of his kennel and ventured outside with him on a leash. Carl took him for a walk through the field. He loved on our kids. They loved on him. He was HAPPY to be with us and we noticed our kids were happy to be with him. A "pros and cons" discussion quickly followed, the result being that I went back inside and stated, "Our family is in love with Cleveland and we would like to adopt him."

Paperwork was started as I chatted with the office worker. She informed me that we were "lucky" to see and adopt our dog, as Central Indiana Lab Rescue had been notified and he was scheduled to move there within 24 hours. We had visited in perfect time. She also told me that they weren't sure he knew his name, Cleveland, or if it was even his official name. She asked if we would change the name. We all kind of liked Cleveland, but it was by chance that so many things fell into place and so we decided that CHANCE should be his new name.

He is being neutered and micro-chipped before he comes home with us this coming Saturday. We were glad for the extra time to gather all the things we'll need to make our home his home as well. We found a crate on Craigslist for a good price. Food, toys, feeding and water dishes, snacks, and a chew bone are now purchased and ready. All we need is our handsome boy, Chance. When you see him, I'm sure you'll agree.

Toni

The funny, the scary, the heartwarming!

The fall weather has, for the most part, been dismal here in Indiana. It's rained a lot and the cold snuck in way too early and came on way too strong. Admittedly, these things do NOT make me happy. I praise God in the midst of it anyway though, since abiding spritual joy (unlike the emotion of happiness), has NOTHING to do with what goes on outside of me. Rather, it abounds because of Jesus Christ, who lives IN me. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

So anyhoo, given the ugly weather, I knew there was a very real chance the kids would not get to trick-or-treat this year. I hoped for the best and kept watch via the long term forecast. It rained several days this past week, including on Friday. But thankfully, Saturday was partly sunny and no rain. Chilly, very chilly, but no rain.

After an early dinner, the kids' excitement grew to a moderate frenzy. I think we had to ask them to sit down and chill out a good ten times or more. Reece reminded me of a toy with a short in it, fritzing out in warp speed because he simply could not contain his enthusiasm. After several rounds of hair, makeup, and warm layers, the kids donned their costumes and were transformed. Olivia, a cowgirl. Cierah, "old man Jenkins" (an idea we got from a character on Spongebob). Reece, Spiderman. And Brandon, Thomas the train (isn't that what every 2yo boy wants to be?) I must say, they all looked terrific!

That said,
Cierah was initially less than thrilled about having to dress as old man Jenkins (you MUST click on the photo to get the gist of how cute she really was; can't see it well in the photo but we painted a gray mustache and eyebrows on her as well.) Thatw is, until she realized the attention and compliments her costume drew, then she beamed. And I have to say, she fooled more than one passerby who commented, "Your son's grandpa costume is adorable." People didn't realize a little girl was in there.
What a hoot!

So, everything was going pretty status quo (although candy distribution was noticeably down this year; the recession has now reached the pumpkin buckets of little children all across America, I suppose?) We decided to hit a couple streets we normally don't frequent, as the kids wanted their buckets to be "full like last year." Hey, you're only a kid once, so we figured what the heck!

Away we went.

And that's when it happened.

Now, let me just back up and say Carl had just commented not two minutes earlier that a few kids burned out his retinas with their high powered flashlights. But when our kids headed up a driveway behind those same kids with the mega-beams, we could not have known what would soon occur, even as the doorbell summoned the homeowner.

A shuffle of feet was heard. A slow creak.
And there stood a little elderly lady who very much reminded me of Grandma from Sylvester and Tweetie, only with darker hair. Well okay, that and a grumpier spirit perhaps. Fact is, the glare of one of the mega-beam flashlights caught her eyes, and reflected off her glasses, and....well,...probably acted as a magnifying glass because she suddenly scared the jeebies out of all the kids, angrily screeching, "That better not be a strobe light. Turn that thing OFF!" (I won't even share that I myself was scared to the point of near incontinence. TMI, to be sure.)

But it was too late. It just was.

The mega-beam (and perhaps her banschee cry) had knocked grandma off her game. Shifted her center of gravity. Rotated her universe if you well. I just didn't see her it coming.

Grandma fell out.

Literally.

Yes, that poor old woman fell out of her doorway and onto the outside step, candy flying everywhere. WHOA!
"Are you okay???" My Reece was quickly concerned, bending down to help her pick up the spilled goods. I was so concerned for her myself that it wasn't until long after the incident was over that I realized that something incredible had happened in that moment.
Reece had responded with compassion.
And maturity.
These things don't necessarily come easily to my little man. It's not that he is incompassionate. He is. But Reece has some special needs that make his reactions sometimes inappropriate, though not deliberately unkind. It was entirely possible that he would have "read" that incident as funny and then responded as such. Instead, he realized it was most serious and he wanted to know if the lady was okay. What a great moment to witness.

But he didn't stop there.

He also bent down and began to pick up the candy for her. This too was a mature gesture that Reece might not think to extend in such a circumstance. But he did. He did. And again, this was a big (BIG!) deal. I'm soooo grateful to God for our little man showing us how, in his time, he is learning to gain wise perspective on a situation and to extend compassion.

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:31

Oh, and by the way? I'm listening to PANDORA as I type this. It's absolutely soothing. If you, like me, prefer NOT to miss your blessings, to see your glass as half full, then I will HIGHLY encourage you to head over to Pandora, go to the genre box half way down the center of the page, and select "holidays" and then "peaceful holidays." Then, sit back, a relaxing herbal tea in hand, and be soothed and ministered to by the gifted musicians whom you will experience. No, it's not too early for this Christmas music. Do yourself a huge favor and trust me on this one, would ya? ;)

Toni