Moet: 2002 - 2012

Moet at the cottage with his constant companion, Winston.

We have one of those 'family organizer' calendars that hangs on the wall in our kitchen. It's a handy thing on which there are several columns so you can devote one to each family member. The days of the month run down the side and you can make notes in everyone's individual column and keep track of who is doing what when.

Our family calendar has four columns filled out. One for me, one for Cairn, one for Bella and one for Moet. I usually fill them out a few months in advance, satisfying my need for order and control via list-making. It helps calm me when I feel things are starting to get out of hand. I rarely look ahead at future months once they are filled in, but the act of doing it settles me down. Makes me feel like I've got a grip on what can sometimes be a hectic work-life schedule.

As any dog-owner will know, in spring begins flea and tick season. We all haul our pets off to the vet for a check up and drop insane amounts of cash on heart-worm pills and flea prevention meds. They are meant to start taking them on June 1st and take them again on the first of every month straight through until November. In order to help remember, the meds come with stickers. Bright red, heart-shaped stickers that you can put on your calendar to help you remember to give your dog his medication.

We were late starting Moet on his medication this June. It's so telling of how crazy our lives have been lately. And especially illuminating of the fact that, sadly, unfairly, regrettably, when things get really nuts in our house, Moet is always the first family member who gets bumped down the priority list.  His walks get more rushed, his bed gets cleaned less, he gets left for longer periods of time alone while we're out running around like chickens with our heads cut off.

I remembered mid-month, while digging through Moet's stuff to find his ear-cleaning solution, that he hadn't started his heart-worm and flea routine on time. It was June 14th. We gave him his treatments and the very next day I sat down with my handy calendar and started to "organize" my thoughts. I picked up those cute red heart stickers and I stuck one in Moet's column on the 14th day of every month from June straight through to November. And afterwards I felt better. I crouched down to pat him and scratch behind his ears and I told him, 

"There we go Lil' Boss, now we're all set. Now we won't forget again." 

Well, in true pug fashion, ever striving to be the center of attention and refusing to be ignored for long, our Lil' Boss made damn sure that we were not going to forget about him again.

He took ill on July 12th. A Thursday. I arrived home late from work that day, as I'd been doing for a while, only this time I went straight to him. To investigate for myself why he was was vomiting up God-knows-what and hadn't eaten his supper. He'd been perfectly fine that morning, or at least, so far as we all noticed. I sat with him for a minute on the floor and tried to convince myself that it was just something he'd eaten. But although our boy had been sick many times in the 10 years he's been part of the fiber of this family, this time for some reason I knew.

On Friday morning he was worse and we checked him into the hospital at our beloved vet's office. The news was not good, and they told us as much. And I knew. In my heart and my soul I knew this was it. On Saturday it was clear that his organs were shutting down and that no matter what we tried next he was done fighting. We made the utterly heart-wrenching and searingly painful decision that it was time to end his suffering as humanely and swiftly as we could.

It was July 14th. When we came home from the vet that day -- as a family shy of one -- I leaned back against the kitchen wall gutted and exhausted with grief, and found I was staring right at our family calendar. And there, in the column marked Moet, on the very day that he left us, was that bright red heart sticker.

Me and Moet on his very first day home. September 2002, 10 weeks old.

My wee fur baby, sleeping with Hippo.

On his very first walk, Trinity Bellwoods Park, September 2002.

Running with Cairn. Thanksgiving 2002.

A windy day at Ipperwash Beach.

Pay attention to me, or give me a cookie. Now.

Man's best friend, Moet was never far from Cairn's feet.

This sums up exactly how he felt about the winter. Took after me that way.

Sure did love the cottage though. Also took after me on this one.

Exploring Ipperwash Beach. 

Barely putting up with his jaunty scarf on grooming day.

Never strayed far from his much-loved bed for long.

An ever-loyal companion, he sure loved him some Bella.

Gazing longingly at another of his favourite humans, Uncle Matty.

I'll always remember him just like this, my handsome, handsome boy.

Snack time will never be the same without this hot little fuzz ball underfoot.

My loves. Our picture is not quite complete without him, but he's forever in our hearts.

Moet, Momo, Lil' Boss, The Momes. I loved you like crazy, everyday, even the ones where I was too fucking busy or distracted to let you know it the way that you deserved. And I know you loved us too. Through thick and thin you loved us the way only an animal can. Fiercely, loyally, without judgement or jealously or remorse.

Good-bye my old friend.

We'll never forget you.

Love, Mommy

And So This Is (Was) Christmas

I've been describing 2011 as a worthy adversary. Every one of the incredible highs that my family and I experienced this year was met and matched with a difficult low. We were challenged on just about every level in 2011. Emotionally, physically, financially.

I can't say I've ever lived a year that hasn't been a mix of ups and downs. That's just the nature of this life, isn't it? But in 2011 the lows were just a little lower, the tears came from slightly deeper in the soul. Then again the laughs? They came from a little deeper in the belly. Sighs of relief were breathed a little louder. Hugs were held a little longer, a little tighter. Because you know what? For every time I was knocked down, I managed to get up again. Stronger somehow with the knowledge of just how much we can survive, my awesome family and I.

We closed out the year with a month of celebrating. The Christmas season arrived with its fair share of the usual holiday stresses but our home was full of joy. Even the last few days of the year, spent shut in and nursing my beautiful girl through a terrible illness, were warm and lovely and safe. We hunkered down, snuggled in and plowed through it together, all the while reminded again and again just how lucky, how blessed, we really are.

Yes, a worthy adversary indeed, 2011. I believe we'll call it a draw.

Here are the snapshots from Christmas 2011, a fitting celebration to end this wild ride of a year. It was the perfect way to say farewell, to clear the palate and move forward with eyes and hearts open wide, ready to take on whatever may come in 2012.

These two handsome creatures lived on my mantle and made me smile every day.

Also on the mantle, how jolly is this little trio?

Put a berry on it.

Nobody loved our tree this year more than Moet.

Even the doorknobs were in on the festivities. 

Presents!

More presents!

Snuggles!

More snuggles!

Feasting continues on boxing day - our first Christmas dinner in the new house.

Beautiful even after being horribly sick for five straight days. We spent our last day of 2011 hunkered down at the hospital.

But this one's got a fighter's spirit like the rest of us. Bounced back enough to enjoy tacos and giggles on NYE.

Happy New Year from me and mine to all of you and yours. 

Tiny Dancer

Top 40 (before 40): #18 - Put Bella in Ballet classes (to see if she likes it) - Check!

   

Giving me a giddy grin just before her first ever class. 

It was March when I enrolled Bella in her first dance class. Creative Movement and Dance is run through the City of Toronto and it's a precursor to Beginner Ballet which, at our community center, doesn't accept kids under 4 years old.

 

Feeling special after surviving her first class.

I decided to go with city classes for her first time because I was skeptical that she would even participate given how shy she can be and I was not about to drop hundreds of dollars on private dance classes if she was going to refuse to enter the studio and instead cling desperately to my legs the entire time.

  

Warming up at Nana's before class. 

To my surprise and delight my worries were unfounded and Bella left me in the hall and ran into her very first class without so much as a backwards glance. It was one of those moments I like to call happysad. She danced there all spring and then we took the summer off because the class was not offered at our center. We have just started classes up again for fall and will continue right through until spring, when if interested, she'll be eligible to start the 'real' ballet.

  

Mary McCormick Community Center dance studio - charming and full of light.

I am completely impressed with the studio, the teachers and the excitement Bella has for this class and I can't think of any reason not to continue with the city-run classes, until Bella outgrows them or decides that she's really serious about ballet or dancing. For now, this is exactly her speed and mine.

   

At her first recital. 

Bella is not the most active child. She's content to sit quietly for hours playing with her toys, books, arts and crafts. Or she'll get lost in her own head inventing worlds for her stuffed animals and dolls - taking them on a train, to the beach and now sometimes to her imaginary dance studio. She's also completely obsessed with TV. OH TV YOU ARE A BLESSING AND A CURSE. She will always ask for TV before anything else. I'm not against it and do allow her to watch when I think unwinding is called for or a lazy morning is in order but her predisposition to vegging means we have to play a big role in making sure she has other activities and pastimes available to her.

 


I am determined to maintain a Saturday morning activity that ensures we all wake up and get out of the house before the glowing box presents her with even a whisper of an option. Swimming didn't work out so well when I took her last fall, not because she didn't like it but because I didn't like it. At her age a parent needs to get in the pool and I hated going in the pool. I already KNOW how to swim, thankyouverymuch. And so we (I) chose dance.

 

Waiting for her turn.

One reason I want her to dance is because it's at once creative, cerebral and athletic, but in a non-competitive way. At least not at this stage. Though she doesn't exactly show signs of being the next Karen Kain, she's not a complete bull in a China shop either. She watches the teacher and emulates as best she can. And she absolutely shines with pride later when she shyly shows off her new moves to friends and family at home.

 Mimicking her teacher and exploding my heart into shrapnel of happiness.

The other reason I want her to dance? Because it's one of those things that I have always wished I was good at. I look at graceful, strong dancer-types and wish that I had the genetics, the training, the what-ever-it-is that allows a dancer to move with precise control and utter abandon at the same time. I never had the drive or desire to pursue it when I was young, and now I look at my daughter and think, maybe she will? Or maybe not and that's totally okay. Because for now I can sit back and simply absorb the utter joy I get from seeing every tutu, every twirl, every hokey pokey.

 

Name me a mother of a daughter who can witness this without melting.  

The Gambler(s)

Motherhood is nothing if not a gamble. From the moment of conception you are betting every last emotion on the outcome. Betting on an easy pregnancy and a healthy baby. Betting that this most complex, life-changing adventure will bring you riches worthy of all the sacrifice and struggle.

Indeed in my experience it has been the greatest gamble I have ever made, but also the most astounding win. But then I'm a betting woman. I come by it honestly, from generations of women who have made this same bet and won.

And so it is fitting that our family tradition is to celebrate Mother's Day at the racetrack. Surrounded by all the people that make me a most fortunate winner.

This year we were soaked in sunshine and clutching our paper tickets as we cheered and jumped up and down, inhibitions laid wayside by the sheer excitement of the race.



Little paper tickets that represent dreams, and it's not such a reach to compare them to all the dreams that as a mom you clutch close to your heart as you cheer your children on through their journey. Sometimes those dreams will be realized, and just as often they will not. But the excitement of what's to come around the next bend is always there, and it's always thrilling.

This year as the glorious creatures came thundering towards the finish line, I looked at my mother, my sister, my glorious little girl, and was easy to see how fortunate I am.

Regardless of which beautiful animal crossed that finish line by a nose -- of whether my paper ticket ended up cashed in or crumpled and tossed in a heap on our table laden with food, drink and love -- I have hit the jackpot. I could not ask for more.

Oh, Mexico

Way down here, you need a reason to move
Feel a fool running your stateside games
Lose your load, leave your mind behind, Baby James

Oh, Mexico
It sounds so simple I just to go
The suns so hot I forgot to go home
Guess I'll have to go now

- James Taylor; because I can't say it any better myself.

And after that brief musical interlude (one of my favourite songs, by one of my favourite songsters), I give you the photos that will make you want to take your babies Mexico. Like. Right. Fucking. Now.

On the plane:

On the beach:

Early morning:


After dinner strolls in beautiful Playa del Carmen:

Posing with Dad:


Morning pastry run with Auntie Sue and Baby Greta:

My tiny tourist:


Beach breakfast!

Hi, lashes:


Beach naps are best:


The beach, again for good measure: