Last week was a hair-pulling, teeth-clenching, fist-making, on the verge of screaming kind of week. Chad was gone most of the week for work and I was left at home with, well, you know. . . I was left at home.
Really, I typically enjoy the very rare time he is away for a few days for work. It is a special time with the kids when I am perfectly happy to have p.j.’s on by 5:30, serve cereal for dinner, and veg out in front of the t.v. for ABC Family’s 25-days of Christmas movie.
This year was a bit different, though. Because, well, we’ve added a fourth child to our family.
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(Yes, she’s our fourth child.)
And while she may be cute and cuddly, have sweet eyes, and an absolutely adorable face. . . she’s anything but easy.
Much of my week was spent pulling socks, shoes, headbands, and Meadow from Taza’s teeth. I refereed Meadow and Taza’s play and declared Taza the winner most every time. Taza has developed a special liking for all the wood in our kitchen as well as a special spot on our living room floor to use as her, well, you know. . . .
It’s not like I didn’t anticipate this. I did. I know that puppies are a lot of work. I grew up with dogs who came to us in their puppy-hood. But still, I was the kid. My parents did most of the work. Now, I’m the parent and all I saw last week was the destruction of our house. Messy carpets, wood engraved with puppy teeth, and Meadow’s socks and Chanelle’s shoes constantly being used as chew toys that quickly became a game of keep-away when I tried to retrieve them.
When Chad checked in my texts were short and to the point (okay, and mildly bitter). . .
I’m done. She will be the death of me.
To my sister I said. . .
Taza is going to kill me. I don’t think I’ll survive.
(I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again–I tend toward the dramatic.)
Thankfully, we saw a little progress toward the end of the week. Taza had some ah-ha moments, which reminded me that soon, very soon, things will be better. By the time Thursday evening came and Chad walked through the door, I was breathing a bit easier.
As soon as Chad walked in the door his eyes were immediately drawn to the puppy teeth marks that are now displayed on the woodwork at the bottom of our kitchen counters. Wow, she likes these doesn’t she, he observed.
My eyes followed his gaze and lingered over the damage. I noticed the puppy teeth embedded deep into the wood and, for the first time, I saw them differently. In that moment, I no longer felt the frustration of the destruction of the house I felt something else. . .
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I felt our story continuing to unfold.
Like a mini movie playing in fast forward in front of my eyes I saw Meadow coloring with orange marker all over Chanelle’s bedroom carpet the very first day we moved into our house. I saw the tear in the paint where Chanelle hung her art gallery in the kitchen. I saw the bent nails from the mistakes that Chad and my Dad made while putting in our wood floors. I saw the leftover pen that I couldn’t quite wipe off from the time Meadow decided to turn our walls into a canvas. I saw the fork marks that cover our kitchen table from 1 and 2 and 3 year olds who liked to drum on the table for entertainment. I saw the tear in the back of our couch from the time when Chad and his brother decided that grown men should play football in our living room. I saw the speckle of homemade canned tomato soup that remains on our curtains from the time a jar was dropped and spattered bright red soup all over our kitchen.
I saw so many things that have become a part of the fabric of our life–our history–our story. In that moment the movie in my head fast forwarded years down the road. I saw myself sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by a 19-year old Charlie, a 17-year old Chanelle, and a 13-year old Meadow. I saw the scene as clear as if it were right in front of me. A large apricot dog with a graying coat and old eyes rested her head on my leg while we all stroked her tired body. We sat, stroking Taza and our eyes wandered over to the marks on the corner of the kitchen story and we laughed as we retold the story. . . do you remember when Taza chewed that when she was just a tiny puppy?
Suddenly, I was reminded. . . our house is so much more than walls and paint and furniture. It’s so much more than keeping everything perfect and pretending we don’t actually live here. It’s so much more than what we see. Our house is full of stories. Stories that will be told and retold. Stories that will be illustrated by all the imperfections contained within its walls.
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When I really stop and think about it, the imperfections are what will make this house ours. Despite how I was feeling last week, today I am certain that I want to do more than survive these days. I want to be in them. I want to be present and in them and celebrate them for all that they are. . .
. . . beautiful, uniquely, ours.
Have a wonderful Monday, Friends.
wise lady 🙂
😉
Sending you love, Morven!
When our lab was a wee pup, I was THAT close to taking her back to the breeders. Then on her first birthday, it was as if someone flipped a switch and suddenly she turned into the couch potato that she is today, nine years later. Weirdest thing ever, but I can't imagine life without her now. Hang in there, a year is only 365 days long compared to a life time. ; )
Kate, I will be honest, seeing "1 year" put me in a bit of a panic. A YEAR??!! I suspect we can do it, though. Thank you for giving me hope. 😉
so sweet. what a good perspective, my friend. "pretending we don't actually live here" – perfection. 🙂 i know that what Taza will bring to you in damaged wood and pee-stained carpet she will exceed (and already has) with love, loyalty and companionship in all the many years to come. you already know this! 🙂 hang in there with that pup.
love you, Miss
Could not agree more, Miss. Thank you my Friend.
Love you!
Amen and yes.
And amen again.