Last weekend our good friend Nicole agreed to take pictures of our family.  I had talked to her about it in the spring, but I pushed it to the back burner and sort of forgot about it.  Actually, I had a million excuses in my head why it wasn’t a good time to take pictures.

When we heard Ollie’s diagnosis it suddenly became urgent that we capture our family in this moment.  It’s probably not the first thing most people think of when they find out their dog is terminally ill, but we have no photos of the four of us together. 

It was also important to take these pictures before Ollie gets sick.  I didn’t want to be holding him up.  I didn’t want him to be laying there complying only because he’s too weak to move.  I wanted to get photos taken before playing in the park becomes a chore for Oliver instead of something he loves.  As an added bonus, she got some pretty great shots of Addie too.

Ollie and Addie had a great time running around the park even if we did have to bribe them with chicken sticks and M&M’s (respectively) when it came time to snap a photo.  I am so grateful to have these images that capture my family while it’s still whole.

One day in August my Mom called me and as soon as I answered the phone, she told me excitedly, “I’ve been working on Addison’s Halloween costume!”  I was about to climb atop my parental high-horse and give her a talking to about how I’m the Mama and I get to decide those things.  Instead I took a deep breath and said, “Oh really?  What is Addison going to be for Halloween?”  (See?  I’m evolving.)  “Dorothy form the Wizard of Oz!”  She was talking in exclamations that day because she was excited about the costume.  I suspect, from her tone of voice, that this was supposed to be a surprise for us, but she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer.  Since I thought that Dorothy was the perfect Halloween costume for my pig-tailed girl and her little black dog, I got excited about it too.  Good thing she didn’t picture Addie as a genocidal maniac.

Since we were having a Halloween themed party for Addison’s second birthday, her costume would also double as her party outfit.  I was thrilled to see how cute it turned out, no alterations needed.  Addison’s Nana flew in from Pittsburgh for a visit a few days before her birthday.  She was a huge help in setting up the festivities and Addison was pretty psyched to have her here so she could show off all of her new tricks.  We invited a lot of Addie’s friends and everyone really got into the spirit by showing up in costume. 

And for the adults who didn’t wear a costume but still wanted to join in on the fun, we had moustaches. 

I was worried, as I always am, about the kids being BORED at the party.  I had some organized games planned in case I caught them sitting around staring at each other, but they weren’t, so we never got around to playing them.  Besides, I don’t think toddlers are crazy about being rounded up for a game of pin-the-nose-on-the-pumpkin when they’re all playing nicely together.

My main goal was for Addison to have a good time at her party because the atmosphere in our house has been a little sad over the past few weeks while we’ve been dealing with Oliver’s medical issues.  For a few hours, I wanted her to have fun and play with her friends and just be 2.  And I was happy to have something else to focus on for a little while too.  I made sure Ollie got lots of love during the party.  He was walking around shaking hands and holding babies and enjoying the attention. 

(photo by Julia S.)

Addison had a blast at her birthday party.  I had been talking to her all week about how her friends were going to come over to celebrate her birthday but I could tell she wasn’t really comprehending what that would mean.   After she got over the initial shock of dozens of people in our home, I could see it all click for her and she really let loose.  I think every kid should look this happy on their birthday.

I was hoping the only blog post I would write today would be one wishing Addison a happy birthday.  I know that when Addison reads this in 20 years, she’ll understand why, on her second birthday, I couldn’t focus to edit pictures of her eating her special “A” pancakes, playing at Gymboree, picking out her birthday toy or dancing around in her Halloween costume.  Addison is having a nice birthday.  We are celebrating her and all she is becoming.  The pictures and the stories are coming, they are, but not today.   The cloud hanging over this day is too dark to ignore.  Oliver’s vet called this morning to let us know the results of his biopsy.  Ollie has high-grade malignant lymphoma. 

When we first met Oliver he wasn’t supposed to be a permanent fixture in our lives.  We were supposed to give him a home for two weeks to free up room in one shelter before he was moved to another shelter.  Two weeks.  It was perfect timing; not long enough to get attached, and he would leave our home just days before we were going on vacation.  We were doing a good deed – helping a dog and the over crowded shelter – but not making any commitments.  After one day in our home, I knew that Oliver was meant to be a part of our family.  I don’t know how  but I knew that he belonged here with us.  

As soon as we could we inquired about adopting Oliver and were told he was promised to another shelter.  He may already be spoken for by someone else.  But, if we couldn’t have Oliver they would find us “one of the other dogs”.  That wasn’t an option for me.  I didn’t another dog, Oliver was the one.  I called my Dad very upset (after 2 days!) at the thought of having to give him up to an uncertain fate.  He could end up with some other family that I knew would be totally wrong for him.  My Dad started scheming with me, “Dog’s run away, you know,” he said.  That’s it!  If they try to take Oliver back I will say he ran away.  If they come looking for him, I will hide him!  I don’t know if it was the pregnancy hormones that inspired the insanity in me but I was 100% ready to carry out the runaway dog plan.  It all worked out with no deceit necessary.  My point, is that I knew Oliver was meant to be a part of our family for the rest of his life.  I never imagined that life would be so short.  I know dogs die.  I know that they will eventually break your heart.  But I was picturing a decade with Oliver.  I was picturing Oliver walking with me – and the little girl in my belly - to the bus stop.  I was picturing him sleeping on the floor next to her big girl bed.  I was making plans that are never going to happen. 

I’m trying to find the lesson in all of this.  I know this must be happening for a reason and I’m trying so hard to figure out why, but it’s not clear yet.   Thank you for all of your prayers.  Please continue to pray for our boy and for us; that we will have the clarity to always do what’s best for him.

 Ollie is at the vet for his biopsy for most of the day and the house is too quiet without him.  Even with Scott home from work and Addison’s demands the house seems empty without his presence.  I decided that instead of sitting here thinking about what’s missing, I would get out of the house early this morning to pick up some supplies for Addison’s birthday party.

I reluctantly headed to Wal-Mart, having been through the Halloween aisles of Target more times than I care to admit.  I found a some cute activity books for the party favor bags and headed out.  While I was wrangling Addie into the car and she was screaming something  about a cracker (yes, a cracker) Scott called with an update on Oliver.  I was trying to talk to Scott and get my little octopus buckled into her seat at the same time.  Mission accomplished.  I got in the car and drove off.  I made it across the street when I realized that my purse was not sitting on the passenger seat in it’s usual spot.  I hopped out to check the cargo area – nope – not there either.  I jumped in the car and sped back over to Wal-Mart.  Three, four minutes tops had passed since I pulled away.  I went right back to my parking spot – still empty! – but the purse was gone.  GONE!

Some low-life scumbag took my purse right out of the carriage.  Couldn’t have taken what they wanted ($7?) and left it.  Couldn’t have turned it in to customer service.  No, they took it.  I hope they enjoy my $7 and my favorite headband and my Bonnie Bell Lip Smacker.  Ugh…and my new hoop earrings.  I hope they choke on Addison’s graham crackers. 

The credit card companies have been notified but I’m steaming mad.  Would anyone like to come over and kick me in the shins?  Pull Addie’s pigtails?  Break in and steal my wedding albums? 

This is not my week.

I feel like life gave us  a lemon.  Don’t get me wrong, I would never want to give it back.   This is MY lemon and I love it very much but it’s…well, it’s broken.  What’s frustrating is that no matter how many times I try to make lemonade, I just can’t get it right.  I need a new recipe.  Maybe I’m not adding enough sugar.  Am I not paying enough attention while I stir?  I want to fix it, but the harder I try the more I’m reminded that life gave me a lemon and I am failing miserably at making lemonade.

One night not too long ago I couldn’t sleep so I was doing some late night reading on the couch with my constant companion Oliver by my side.  I was absentmindedly petting him and trying to turn my brain off in the hopes of getting some sleep when my hand felt something odd on his neck.  I checked the other side and I felt it over there too.  I sat there wondering if maybe this was something that had always been there and I had never noticed it before.  But how could that be?  With all the time Oliver spends up in my face I don’t know how I could have missed that.  It felt as though his glands were swollen.  Like maybe he had a cold or a sore throat and needed a little Nyquil and would be good as new.  Do dogs get sore throats?  Come to think of it, I needed a little Nyquil too.    I opened my laptop, turned to my friend google and settled in for a long night of worry.

Ollie’s vet ran some tests and since his blood work looked good, we were sent home with an anti-inflammatory and an order to call back in 5 days to let the doctor know if the lumps had gone down.  They hadn’t.  In fact, they seemed to be getting bigger.  When I reported back Ollie’s doctor said he wanted to see us immediately.  After a test to rule out heart worms and exposure to ticks, I was told that they believe Oliver has lymphoma and has 2-6 months to live.  Huh?  Wha?  But that  blood test was normal?  And he just has swollen glands.  I looked at him laying on the floor taking a treat from Addie’s hand.  He was chasing his ball around the yard just this morning and he ate Addie’s waffle right off the table at breakfast.  It was hard to hear that Ollie was terminally ill when, hours earlier, he was outrunning my kid around the house.  I felt like I had been kicked in the chest.  I don’t remember how I collected Addie’s books from the exam room floor, or paid for our visit, or got all three of us home in one piece.

It’s been a long three days since hearing that news.    I am sitting in my living room looking at my dying (!?) dog and I am so angry.  I am angry because he’s only three and three year old dogs don’t have these problems.  I am angry because he’s been through more in 2009 than most dogs go through in their entire lifetime.  I am angry for selfish reasons too: because Addison is going to lose her best friend.  I am angry that I’m going to have to decide when to end his life and that is not fair.  That’s not what I signed up for.  It’s not fair because he’s only three and he’s a good boy.  A few weeks ago I dropped a bottle of wine onto the kitchen floor and a shard of glass flew into one of Oliver’s good legs.  He didn’t make a peep.  We didn’t even know he had been hurt until the mess had been cleaned up and we were sitting at the table eating dinner and noticed blood on the floor.  Ollie doesn’t complain, he doesn’t ask for much and he doesn’t expect anything from anyone. 

So I’m angry, yes.  But mostly, overwhelmingly, I am sad.  Oliver goes in for a biopsy tomorrow and I am praying that his doctor is wrong.  I am praying for a miracle.   I am praying that I don’t have to explain death to a two year old who, right now, is sitting on her best friend’s bed, putting a shiny purple necklace around his neck.  And I am, again, humbly asking for your prayers.  You really came through for us back in January when Oliver had his stroke and we thought we were going to lose him.  Whether you pray to God (or a few gods), or wish on a star, or rub a statue’s belly, or throw pennies into a fountain, could you please keep our boy in your thoughts while you do it?  Life gave us the sweetest lemon and we are not ready to give him up just yet.

A glimpse into a typical evening at our house.  Addison uses the dog and his bed as her personal doll house and Ollie – so used to it by now – barely responds.  Most days he doesn’t even flinch until she starts poking him in the face saying, “Ooohhh…pretty eye!” 

http://www.vimeo.com/7223588

A few weeks ago I bought a journal.  Nothing fancy.  A cute little journal with a brown and blue swirly design on the cover.  It’s the perfect size to fit into the over-sized purse I carry everywhere in lieu of a diaper bag.  I suppose it wasn’t a few weeks ago that I purchased this journal, it was last month.  Or possibly late July.

It doesn’t matter.  The point – yes, there’s a point! – is that I bought this journal to carry with me to write down all of the thoughts that flow through my head that I may want to blog about.  Sometimes Addison will do something I want to write about.  Or Addie will be playing at the bookstore and I’ll be daydreaming over a latte and a partial train of thought will flow into and out of my head before it fully forms.  And sometimes I’ll grab a napkin or a receipt to write down what I can pull out of it before it leaves me entirely.  I want to save that stream of consciousness for later when I have time to sit devote more attention to it.  I bought a journal for those instances.   It’s supposed to help me remember the things that I so often forget.

Lately, we’ve been in a phase of rapid development around here.  New words are popping up in Addie’s vocabulary every day.  She’s speaking in sentences which both blows my mind and makes me laugh all day long.  Addison is basically potty trained and gets so much joy out of going to the bathroom like a regular person.  There are so many thoughts running through my Mommy brain in any given afternoon that I can barely keep up with them.  And I always think, ‘Oh, I’ll totally remember this very important moment and write it down later.  How could I forget?  Who could forget this?’ And then later comes and I sit down at the computer and about all my mind can handle is a round of Mah Jong on Facebook.

This journal; it took me weeks to write in it at all.  Every time I went to reach for it in my purse I would decide that whatever it was I was about to commit to paper somehow wasn’t worthy.  I don’t know who I think is going to read this journal.  Barack Obama will never flip through it to read my notes about potty training (but if he did, he would go right out to the store and buy a bag of M&M’s for a potty prize).  It’s also unlikely that Anderson Cooper will ever find my journal and recite, on-air, all of Addison’s new words.   Exactly two pages in my journal are covered with incoherent ramblings.  I have guilt over not writing things down in the journal.  Guilt for purchasing something that is sitting unused and wasted.   Guilt about not following through with my plan.  What bothers me even more than not writing in the journal?  That I actually feel BAD ABOUT IT!  I have to break this cycle.

This.  All of this.  The point of THIS.  Was all to say that I forgot to blog about Addison’s first ballet class because I didn’t write it down in my journal.

Last Friday Addison and I met some friends in the park to take pictures.  We planned this little outing for early in the morning because it’s summer and this is Texas.  I feel like that’s all I talk about on this blog ( Hi!  It’s summer. did I mention we live just south of Hades?  It’s really hot here!) .

Planning activities around the heat is a large part of how I’ve spent every single day since May.  I’m so grateful that it’s September.  The high here yesterday was only 90.  I totally want to make out with September.

We planned our photo shoot for early in the morning and dragged our babies to the park to take some pictures with our ridiculous point & shoot cameras.  We’re Mom’s and the lack of  a DSLR can’t stop us from photographing our babies.  Though, my first purchase when I win the lottery will be a fancy camera.

We’ve had some technical difficulties around our house this summer.  Without boring you with the details, I’ll just say that getting pictures or video from my camera and onto a usable computer in a usable format has been rather daunting.   So daunting, that I’ve just stopped taking pictures altogether because the 47 steps I need to take to do anything with the files are so ridiculous.  Really.  That’s no excuse to stop documenting Addie’s growth.  When she is 34 years old she’s going to want to know what she looked like and what she was doing between the ages of 18-22 months.   Hardware problems be damned!  At least that’s what I tell myself.

Even though we were at the park early to take advantage of the cool temperatures and the morning light, it was still HOT.  We were sweaty and our babies were sweaty. I didn’t think to bring any toys so Addison would, I don’t know, enjoy herself.  It was hard coaxing a smile out of her.

She was pretty happy when I was taking her picture on the rocks and she JUMPED INTO THE POND.  Oh, and it was landscaping day, so there were riding mowers zipping around us and grass clippings flying everywhere.  Both of the kids broke out into rashes.  Oy!

We agreed that real photographers have a rough job.  Especially real photographers who live near us, just south of Hades.  Of the 225 pictures I took that morning I think there were 15 that were worth saving.  Not a great percentage, but even one good photo is worth it.

When Addie found out that today was her Uncle Michael’s birthday, she wanted to do something special for him.  So we tried…

and we tried…

and we tried to wish him a happy birthday…

but we just couldn’t get it right.

And then Scott decided he wanted to wish his big brother a Happy Birthday.  So we tried…

and we tried…

and we tried…

until we finally got it right.

Happy Birthday Michael!