Reeking Realities

Relationships with others are some of the most rewarding experiences we have as humans. Unfortunately, they're also some of the most confusing and painful.

Years ago, I crossed paths with a woman whom we will call Laura. My heart really went out to this lady. She was the mother of a boy about Tobias's age, 7-ish. "Zack", was intelligent and willful and she had the difficult task of raising him alone.

I genuinely wanted to be a help and blessing to this woman so when she suggested we get the boys together I was ready to do so.

It didn't go so well.

I'm not one of those moms who is blind to her own children's faults, always blaming the other kid, but it didn't take long for me to deduce that Zack's presence was hard to enjoy.

Many times I overheard Tobias tell him, "Stop that!", "Don't do that!" "You're gonna hurt it!", etc. (These weren't statements I commonly heard coming out of his room when he was playing with other companions.) Zack's response? Laughter and a continuance of the undesired behavior.

I understand this kid had a difficult row to hoe. His father had expressed no interest in being involved in his life and his mom was trying to figure out how to provide for all of his physical necessities in addition to the emotional and intellectual ones.

If it had just been me having to deal with his less-than-winning personality, I would have stuck it out longer. Being an adult, I can remind myself that hopefully the good from the relationship is outweighing the bad.

But how much should I expect my kids to endure? 

The third or so play date was the final straw. Just before Zack arrived, Tobias informed me that he really didn't like playing with him. Of course I want my kids to learn how to deal with difficult people, but forcing them to play for a few hours with someone who disregards their feelings constantly is above and beyond the call of duty and since my kid was expressly telling me that he'd had enough, I couldn't ignore it.

"Okay," I told him. "Just get through today since he's already on his way and then you won't ever have to play with him again and I'll keep an eye on him to try to keep him in line."

Soon after, Zack arrived.

Tobias told him to stop doing things. Zack laughed. I intervened.

*loop*

*loop again*

Toward the end of Zack's time with us (envision me staring at the oh-so-slow clock), the kids went outside for a while.When they returned, Tobias came in first at a normal speed. A few seconds later, Zack rushed in, laughing. (That should have been my first clue that something bad was afoot.)

Within seconds, I heard a loud noise and Delaney (who was 4 at the time) began bawling.

I rushed into the front entryway to see her grabbing her arm. "What's the matter?"

"He shut the door on me!" she wailed, pointing at a simpering Zack.

Embracing my weeping daughter, I informed Zack that he was not to shut a door if he knew someone was coming in directly behind him. I would have been more upset had I known then what time would tell: later, two long thin bruises, one on either side of Delaney's upper arm, emerged, revealing exactly where the door and its jamb had brutally sandwiched her. He hadn't just shut the door on her. He had slammed it and this wasn't a flimsy inside door; it was a heavy duty front door.

I felt horrible. Her delicate little four-year-old humerus could have snapped between the big solid wooden door and its unrelenting jamb.

Did I hope to be an encouragement to Laura and to provide a fun, safe place for her son, Zack? Absolutely. I genuinely cared about them and wanted to be "Jesus's hands", so to speak, in their lives.

But at what point does reality make that impossible?

I didn't want to plunge my own son into miserable positions in which he grew to hate the very mention of the name "Zack" and I certainly wasn't willing to sacrifice my daughter's physical safety.

A week or so later, Laura stopped by and asked when we could get the boys together.

Now I'm all for fobbing people off when it's the best option, but sometimes being honest and direct is better.

(What? You don't know what fobbing someone off is? Yes, you do.

It's when you answer someone's party invitation with, "Oh, sorry. We're not going to be able to make it." instead of with, "Do we want to come to your party so we can witness you drink way too much and make a complete idiot of yourself in front of everyone present like you did at your last party? I think we'll pass."

See, you've fobbed people off many times.)

Well, I knew that since Zack and Tobias wouldn't be hanging together anymore this was probably a time for straightforwardness even though my knees started knocking as I faced this woman.

As politely and warmly as I could (though I'm sure both were completely lost on her 'cause who wants to hear what I was telling her? It's the stuff of which nightmares are made.), I told her that Zack seemed to have a difficult time knowing when to stop and that he had bruised Delaney through being too rough so the kids weren't going to play together anymore.

That was honestly one of the most difficult statements I've ever made to anyone because I knew it was going to break her heart. But what could I do? Continue to throw my kids under the bus of Zack's disrespectful and somewhat dangerous behavior? No way.

I never mentioned to anyone who knew them what had happened (aside from my husband) although I was tempted to cover my own butt in case she, in her pain and sadness, was telling people tales about me and my kids.I knew that informing others would just throw fuel on a fire that I wished had never started in the first place.

I didn't befriend this woman in order to school her in harsh realities. That's just what reality eventually required of me, much to my dismay.

Not long after that, Laura and Zack moved away. I recently heard from someone the good news that in the last nine years, Zack has grown into a polite young man. Laura probably still feels hurt at the thought of me and my family. That truly saddens me, but I still have a heavy-hearted conviction that I handled the trying situation properly.

While relating to others, we need to accept the fact that sometimes, by doing the right thing, we are going to inadvertently anger or hurt them deeply even though that's the last thing we want. We need to remember that we are going to be misunderstood, misrepresented to third parties and that we can't make everyone happy all the time.

In the words of my dear friend, Shari, "I don't have control over what others think or say about me. I can only control what I do and say."

These facts really stink, but it's better to accept them and move forward knowing that God knows the truth behind what happened and what your intentions were than to flail around trying to create something that can't exist.

Knowing that I am innocent before God (which often requires me to do some serious soul-searching and repenting) is the greatest peace I've found...

...and I'm very pleased to affirm that it's available to everyone. (Romans 5:1)

Yes, I AM a Snob...

...at least I am when it comes to spelling, grammar and punctuation.

I admit that fact with much fear and a bit of trembling because now, of course, any time that any one of you sees an error on my blog you will snicker at my self-righteous failure. But go ahead, snicker away. What's the fun of noticing snobbery if you don't mock it?

However, I feel I must speak up about something since this season is rife with a specific spelling/punctuation error. Perhaps I should have said something before the Christmas cards were sent, but hopefully anyone learning from this post will remember for next year.

The issue at hand is the tricky little act of referring to one's family in the plural form.

Par example:

With much love--the Smiths

or

With much love--the Smith Family

The above signature samples are correct.

If you thumb through that stack of Christmas cards on your kitchen counter, I can pretty much guarantee you'll see multiple examples, like the following, which are incorrect:

With much love--the Smith's (The presence and location of the apostrophe indicate that there is only one Smith and that some object possessed by said-Smith to which you were about to refer has been forgotten.)

and

With much love--the Smiths' (Here at least more than one Smith exists, but there is still a forgotten possession.)

If you're one of those lucky few whose surname ends with an 'S', you have even more things to keep in mind as you sign off. For example, Mrs. Jones would write:

With much love--the Joneses (Yeah, I know it looks a bit odd, but it's correct.)

or

With much love--the Jones Family

Don't let one of those rascally apostrophes sneak in there:  the Jones' 

or even worse:  the Jones'es

Names that end in -ch, x, or z also require an -es for the plural, thus:

the Crouches, the Nixes and the Martinezes are all correct.

I could go on with a few more tips regarding plural possession (such as: "We're going to the Joneses' house." <-----correct because the Joneses possess their house), but I'm sure this is already turning out to be the most boring post I've ever posted. (At least, I hope it is!)

In fact, if you're still reading this, you're probably as much of a grammar/punctuation/spelling freak as I am and therefore didn't learn anything new.

Everyone else is already logging back on to Pinterest.

Happy New Year!!!

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Have you ever had such a positive customer service experience that you wanted to sing a company's praise from the cyber-rooftops? 

 *Ahem*   *mi-mi-mi-mi *

Let me begin this merry tale by saying: I heart gemstone jewelry.

Not the super expensive kind. Personally, I don't want any thing that can fit in my hand but costs more than my monthly house payment. What if I lost it? Yikes!

I don't remember how exactly I stumbled across semiprecious.com  a year or so ago, but I'm glad I did. Their abundant display of handmade pendants, bracelets, rings, etc. makes me drool every time I click on for a visit. Now, whenever Christmas or my birthday or whatever upcoming-Aimee-gets-a-gift-from-Jeff day is rolling around, I go to semi-precious and put a few things on my wishlist.

This week, a bracelet that I ordered arrived in the mail.

Gorgeous, no? Actually it was even prettier "in person" because I could see how skillful the silver work was and how clear the lovely carnelian stones were.

There was only one problem. The gems were considerably more orange than I had expected. Orange is about the worst color for my complexion. I can honestly say that I have never owned a single orange article of clothing in my entire life. So holding the bracelet in my hand, even though I saw how beautiful it was, I knew that since I had nothing to match it with, I'd never wear it.

I felt lame calling the company and telling them this, but I did.

This is where the amazing thing occurred. Laura-of-the-Office took my call and assured me that they wanted me completely satisfied with my purchase, so she'd give me a refund or allow me to exchange it for something else.


I knew what I hoped to exchange it for, having already seen this little beauty:



However, I had bought the first one on sale for a bit less than what the amethyst bracelet cost. I told Laura that I'd be happy to pay the difference, but she brushed that aside.

"'Tis the season," she said.

Well, alrighty then!

This happy little once upon a time isn't the first positive experience I've had with semiprecious.com, just the most surprising.

They have a lot of sales. I'm on their email list so they let me know when prices are coming down. In fact, I don't think I've ever paid full price for anything there.




One example is my purchase of this bit of chalcedonic loveliness:

The original price was $34, but somehow I got it for $13! I swear I did nothing illegal or improper to accomplish this feat of commerce, yet I feel a bit guilty about it, nonetheless.



(Hey, Anup Pandey, if you Googled yourself or your business's name and therefore have stumbled upon this inconsequential little blog o' mine, please enjoy this happy customer shout out. I love your hand crafted jewelry and I genuinely hope your business prospers. This bit of free advertising for you (I think I can guarantee that 4 whole people will read this post--Christy will read it for sure) is not a shameless ploy to get free goods.

However, Anup, if you would like to give me a discount on item # 1039 then I certainly wouldn't mind. It would add a touch of class to my slightly hairy, very unmodel-like wrist.)

Our Sweet Little Debutante

Ever since Bruiser's departure, Duncan has spent a lot of time parked at the back door, staring through the glass at us.

All day long.

Even after I've just taken him for a 3 mile run and fed him breakfast, he'll still just sit there with those dreadfully pleading eyes, his ears perking and head tilting at our every movement.

The poor, manipulative darling is lonely.

It's funny to me that he didn't do this when Bruiser was alive. You'd think his loneliness would have been a factor for years because, frankly,  they never really liked each other that much. I mean, they didn't actually fight. They just sort of...coexisted.

Duncan tried often to engage the old "cur"mudgeon in play, but Bruiser would rather just be left alone, thank you very much. And he clearly resented the little bossy upstart of a puppy's obvious bid at Alphaism, even though he never really exerted any claims of his own.

Anyway, now that his crabby elder is gone, Duncan needs a friend.

(Surely when I hinted a few posts ago that we were considering getting another dog from the shelter, you must have known that the end was nigh for our one-doggedness.)

I figured that during our weekly volunteer time at the shelter, Delaney and I would keep an eye on the dogs that seemed like a possible good fit for our family and (perhaps more importantly) a good fit for this guy:

I knew the qualities I was looking for:

a) It would have to let Duncan be the Alpha (or our backyard would not be a pleasant place) but we wouldn't want it to be too timid either.

b) It couldn't be too small or fragile since it would be an outdoor/garage kind of a pet.

c) We didn't want it to be overly furry because we all have better things to do than sweep up dog hair.

d) It couldn't bark at every gust of wind or bird.

e) It needed to be athletic enough to keep up with Duncan on walks.

f) It needed to be trainable.

And of course it would be nice if:

g) It was soft and sweet.

Keeping all these things in mind, I took note of the available dogs and waited to see if anyone else would swoop in and adopt them. If they did, then great because my main desire is that the homeless doggies get a family.

If they didn't get adopted, then we'd look at them a little closer...

Well, since October, there has been a sweet little girl that fits all of my discerning criteria and as of two weeks ago no one had shown interest in adopting her. It's kind of hard for me to believe considering some of the other dogs that have been flying off the shelves.

She is so precious. She has natural "Cleopatra eyeliner" and very soft fur. She's compliant yet playful. Surprisingly, she has a very low, resonant bark, making Duncan sound like Mike Tyson.

Two Wednesdays ago, we took Duncan down to the shelter to meet her, wondering if they'd get along or not. At first it was as awkward as any blind date is likely to be. She was a bit shy and he was somewhat tense, but within five minutes they seemed at ease in each others' presence. They ran around the play yard and seemed happy enough. Duncan was definitely the dominant one and she seemed fine with that.

One weird thing was that Duncan began drooling profusely and, by the way, it was not normal drool. This stuff was foamy and thick. None of us had ever noticed him doing that before in the two and a half years we've had him, but get him in the presence of a pretty girl and strange things start happening.

Once she passed the vital test of getting along with Duncan, I felt pretty good about bringing her home. The next day, Delaney took some treats and a dog clicker to see how trainable she was. One diced hot dog and several clicks later, she was sitting on command and started lifting her paw when told, "shake". Better and better.

With Jeff's blessing, I signed the papers last week. The shelter held on to her for a few more days in order to spay her.

Yesterday, we brought her home :)

She and Duncan hadn't seen each other since that one time at the shelter. It was so sweet to see her pad right up to him and lick his nose. And yes, he started drooling again.

Last night as I was looking over her papers at the kitchen table, I noticed that her breed had been guessed at as a Labrador/Golden Retriever/Great Dane mix.

Great Dane! I laughed outloud and told Tobias who was nearby.

"Yeah," he said, "but it only shows up in her bark."

*Heh heh heh*

So now, that brings us to the amusing quandary of choosing a name.

While naming a pet, you don't have to be careful and considerate like you do while naming a kid. Feel free to saddle that animal with whatever oddity strikes your fancy because whether you choose "Gladys", "Pepper" or "Emperor Zurg", there won't be any therapy bills. (Unless you're one of those people who visits pet psychics and doses their pooch with Xanex, which I am most definitely NOT.)


My first idea was "Poppy" because a) it's cute b) poppies are one of my favorite flowers and c) she's almost the color of the California state flower.

Jeff would have none of it.

He also nixed my next few ideas: Hattie, Dora or Molly. He said they were all too girly. I reminded him that the dog is female, after all.

He had a suggestion of his own. Since before we were married, he has wanted to get a dog and name it...

"Dog".

Yes, you read that right. (I was glad that when Tobias was born, Jeff didn't suggest that we christen him "Boy".)

I pointed out to him, that in addition to being very dull, his name of choice wasn't technically appropriate since male canines are "dogs" and females are actually called...

...never mind.

So, I went to the internet to search for names that weren't too girly and that hopefully described her in at least some regard.

I wanted the name to pop audibly so that when she heard it, it wouldn't easily mesh with all the other jumbled words falling out of our mouths. (For example, "Sarah" is an audibly subtle name whereas "Bridget" is not.) I mean, it'd be nice if she could discern something as important as her name. See what I mean? ------->



Hmmm...think, think, think.

"Dulcie" means sweet. "Nati" is humble.

No and no.


"Rowan" got me all excited because, meaning "little red one", it describes her perfectly. However...I don't really care for the sound of it.

 "Pyrrha" (Greek for "red") is kind of cool and definitely unique, but it just didn't seem to fit her. "Rorie" means "red" as well, but it's kind of hard to say.


I really loved "Tilda" but Tobias said he would refuse to call her that because he disliked it so much.


Finally, we found something that three of us could appreciate. (Jeff had pretty much given up at that point.)


Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present to you our very own...


dear...

sweet...






                                        Elka

Kisses:



Here's a shot of her "eyeliner":






Welcome to the family, sweet girl!