Kidfessions

Yesterday evening, while watching cartoons and eating pasta, Baby Girl said to me, tending to a fire in the fireplace, "I want to give my life to Jesus. So when I turn seven, I want to get bath-tized." She had been hinting at this for a couple of weeks now. The thinking about the bath-tism.

I felt a mix of humbled, ecstatic and slightly apprehensive. I had always thought that when one of my children decided to get baptized, it would be somewhat prompted. That we'd have a conversation about it and maybe start studying the Bible together and talk about what this starting a new life in God meant. This is where I was humbled by my five year-old, doing exactly what I had hoped she would do, just totally out of order. Sigh to the Firstborns.

And of course then there is that whole other wavelength of anxiety that I try not to ride because what if this is not for real. What if she is just a bandwagonner. Or what if this is totally sincere but this is the last time she says this? What if tomorrow she decides to join the Hare Krishnas or swim to Cuba or buy into a ponzi scheme WHAT THEN!?!

But I know those fears are not from Above. I know God rewards a consistent fidelity. I am so happy, so happy for our girl. May her desire to know the Lord grow deep and wide.

After Baby Girl went to bed and Little Man, who has been sick, got up from his fever dream, he was mock-playing with a My Little Pony and he said, "I'm interested in girl things."

So yesterday was just a big day for speaking the truths on our heart, no words were minced, nothing withheld.

Appropos of Nothing

9:21p. Almost two hours ago she was supposed to be in bed. She is standing in the kitchen in her jammies, cutting out a paper fan; she wants to bring it in for show-and-tell tomorrow. Her mother's brow is furrowed, correcting misuse of verb tenses in a paper that needs an extreme makeover.

"Time to go brush your teeth, again, Baby Girl."

"Mama, I just--

"Come on, girl. Brush. Teeth."

"Mama, but I--"

"What??"

"I just have to tell ya something. I wanted to say that...that I think love is the only thing that can mend a hole in your heart."

The mother's grading pen was dropped and arms were outstretched.

Hugs were given.

Teeth were brushed.

Beds were found.

Papers were still graded.

And the thoughts of a nighttime mini-priestess of philosophy were not unspoken.

Pound puppy

As you may recall, there's been a puppy-shaped hole in my heart since last summer when we tragically lost Toby.

Fast forward to last week, my darling granny sent me some birthday $$ because I'm in my twirties and my granny still does this. Geatest. Granny. Ever.

I read the card which chronicled all the places Granny had gone on her senior bus pass. And then that check enclosure spoke to me. It said, "Kendra, nothing would make me happier than to see you happy. Why don't you go buy yourself a puppy?" It was practically a sign from G-O-D (which, nota bene, spells D-O-G backwards!). Seriously, it was now my mitzvah to adopt a dog.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, you are already grumpy, woman!

I cased Petfinder.com and stared at mut mugs day and night.  I decided on a particular pound because it's a high-kill shelter. A part of me thought maybe this would reduce my carbon footprint or whatever if I saved one dog from euthanasia.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking what about Loverpants? I told Loverpants of my plans and ::insert hubby eyeroll:: it was clear he was so over my wet blanket routine about dog ownership. So he said, "Okay, fine. Just don't get an actual puppy. Get an older dog that doesn't need to pee every 4 seconds."

The wee ones and I ventured to the shelter after school. Little Man was completely underwhelmed by the animals because he was overwhelmed by the smell of tinkle.

Baby Girl was completely flipping out, "Ohhh! We're gonna get the puppy of my dreams!"

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, this is not going to end well at all.

The yellow lab mix in kennel #6 threw a lasso around my heart immediately. She licked Baby Girl's hand and was just so mild and lovely.  We took her into the little play area and she whizzed like a racehorse. The police officer dog catcher fellow who was bald with a jolly smile and a big mustache leaned over the play area and explained, "That's what I do when I get excited. I just pee myself!"

We also discovered the yellow lab was probably in heat. Oh. Cool.

Baby Girl informed me that we should name the dog Mirabelle.

Punch

me

in

the

gut.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, YOU CAN'T LET HER NAME THE DOG YET!

We couldn't take Nameless Yellow Lab home yet though because her owners still had 24 hours to come claim her. And also, she was in heat and stuff.

Later that evening, we told Loverpants of our puppy selection and he stood mystified that I really went through with this and then he really felt duped. Cue 24 hours of marital awkwardness and eggshell walking.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, you can't believe we do that, too. 

Yesterday, Loverpants and I had an honesty session and he conceded that fine, just get the dog on Monday.

And then I thought about how summer might be a better time to do this, when I'll be home all day and can help a dog adjust. Then I thought about burying my face in the fluffiness of a dog's warm coat and about the yellow lab's sad eyes longing for a home.  Then I thought for the 2398402384th time about how my kids are still so young and how they need me totally focused on their needs a lot of the time. Then my heart started beating really fast. I don't know if I can pull the trigger. I don't know if I can do this.

Later last evening, I was gathering up my belongings to go to hot yoga and I realized my yoga mat was shredding something fierce and getting pilly little plastic bits all over the floor. Gross.

I decided then and there that I could no longer handle the adrenaline of thinking about a rescue dog and how it's going to change everything.I took the $$ from Granny and headed to the yuppy outdoor store and bought a new yoga mat.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, Oh no she just di-int.

To which I say, Oh yes. Yes. Yes, she just did.

So, to review, instead of using birthday money from my granny who has lived her whole life in sacrifice to others, I elected not to rescue a dog from being ground up into salami.  Instead, I bought myself a new yoga mat so I could continue to perpetuate whole industries built upon stuff that white people like.

And then you all decided I am the worst person in the history of the world and I didn't deserve to own a dog anyway.

Then I cried a lot because turning a year older and realizing you are more of a yoga person than a dog person is a lot to handle in the heart all at once.

Then I listened to a lot of Bruce Springsteen because it's his 64th birthday, and I wondered if he was more of a yoga person or a dog person. Or if he sometimes does yoga with his dogs. Which one might even call doga.

The end.