My first child

Dog lovers are a unique breed. For many of us, our dogs were our first foray into parenthood. For most, it's the first time we are responsible for feeding and taking care of someone besides ourselves. We buy them toys and some of us even buy clothes and accessories for our hairy children. The close-knit relationship between dog and man is so prevelant that any pregnancy/parenting book or magazine includes a section for introducing four-legged children to the two-legged sort.

My dog is no exception, Moochie is actually a step-child, Orson had him when we met. At some point during our relationship he became my dog. My first child. He went everywhere with me, the grocery store, the gas-station, I even snuck him into my job at a women's clothing store once. Which was no small feat seeing as how Moochie is a 70 pound Rottweiler mix.

After Heather was born, Moochie was still very much a part of our family. But he didn't go in the car with us much. He found himself ousted from the bed and relegated to the floor. But he took it all in stride and loved her from the day we brought her home. When the boys came home, he was made to live outside for almost a year. I begged my husband to find a home for him because I feel as though dogs who are brought up as companions should be treated as such and not be kept outside. Working dogs are a whole category unto themselves.

I finally brought the Moocher back in the house much to the delight of the children. People are always a little put off when I tell them I have a rottweiler. But truth be known, he is semi-retired. He is middle-aged (pushing 7 years old), and will only be bothered to get up to eat, drink and go outside. Don't get me wrong he will not hesitate to take off the hand that is raised to me or my children. But he choses to be a silent observer as opposed an obvious aggressor.

I don't know much about animals, but I know that my dog has a heart. He cares about some things more than others. If I come home from a long day out, and I don't immediately enter the house with three children in tow, I receive persistent whining and crying until all of the children are accounted for. He sits up with me every night in the living room until I go to sleep. he even knows that I always forget something and get in and out of bed 5 or 6 times and only then will he take his place by my bedside. And God forbid I stay up late! If I have not taken myself to bed by around 1am, I will be accosted by the groans only an 80 year old man who's always waiting for his wife makes as he heads off to bed tired of waiting for me (even though he was sleeping just fine in the living room).

Occasionally I wonder if my feelings towards him have changed at all since the kids have been born. Tonight, someone decided to put his food up on a counter where he would not be able to reach it. So, I put it down in it's assigned place and before the sound of the bowl hitting the floor had faded completely I could here him huffing and puffing his way into the kitchen to inspect the goods. He sniffed the bowl a few times and then gave me the "why do you keep giving me this crap look". I immediately responded out loud "you know there are lots of hungry dogs out there that would be happy to eat that!"

As my dog began to eat his Kibbles N Bits with the shamed expression only seen in chastised children and dogs, I realized that yes he is now and always will be one of my children. My first child, he may be smelly and hairy, but I love him and I am grateful for his quiet companionship and unyielding devotion.

Well, we are back in New York, having arrived in the wee hours of the morning.  The city that Orson is based out of is called Arcade.  It is a snall town about forty minutes outside of Buffalo, and I love it.  The aren't anny  massed produced subdivisions,and the only chain restaurant is a Mc Donalds.   But, as with any city, what sets this one apart is the people.

Last week when we were here, we went to a very cute restaurant called strawberry firlds for breakfast.  When I walked in with all three of mu children in tow, I steeled myself for the glares I usually get when I enter a restaurant populated by retirees and other people found in these types of establishments on a weekday morning.  To my surprise we were greeted with the same warmth as the patrons who had been bisiting the establishment for twenty years.

My children were treated like a welcome distraction, and they received the same caliber of service that is usually only found in a four star restaurant.  During that same weekend, we attended a local fourth of July festival.  It wasn't large by any standards, but but it was full of families.  Everyone was very friendly, and we finally were able to sample the local favorite.  Beef on wek.  Now to the casul observer it may look like a french dip.  But this no soggy roast beef sandwich.  What makes this sandwich special is the roll.  It is called a Kummelweck which is German for caraway seed (kummel) and roll (weck).  It is as much a part if Northwest New York culture as the almighty Buffalo wing.

Don't get me wrong there are some fabulous communities and traditions in Florida.  The Key Lime Pie with its sugarladen tartness must not be overlooked.  But the communities in so many cases feel so contrived.  I have been to the sweet city of Arcade twice now, and it feels so much like home to me.  There aren't any subdivisions or gated communities, you will see a 3,000 sq ft home on the same street as a 800 sq ft home.  Because not everyone feels like bigger is better.  But the best thing of all is that I haven't seen a house yet on less than 1/3 of an acre.  In florida property like that is so hard to come by.  I love the idea of opening the back door and letting the kids get lost in our own back yard.  But, and yes there is a big but and its not the one filling out my shorts;  the snowfall is measured in the feet here every year.  I don't know if after twenty years in Florida I can adjust to the cold weather as an adult.

I do know that at the least we will try to spend our summers there, and maybe in a few years . . . Well, we will just have to see.

day two

Monday morning went well we delivered our frozen meatballs in lakeland and orlando for the fair peoole of orlando and the bay area.  When we finished our dlivery in Orlando, we decided to stop at publix and pick up a fried chicken dinner ((oohh yeaahh)) for our lunch.  I called my mom and let her know where we would be so she could say bye to the kids.  Now when you see a big rig parked on the side of the road in front of a shopping center, its not because they are trying to irritate you, orcause an accident, its because they don't make parking lots big enough for rigs like ours.

So we parked on the side of the busy road after we got our food and said our goodbyes to my mom, she returned to her car to eat her sandwich before returning to work.  We also stayed parked a few minutes longer to eat our lunch as well.  None of us recall seeing the two cars with limo tent pulling up next to my moms crown victoria, neither did we notice the five other cars that appeared as if from nowhere.  But it was impossible not to notice the ten or twelve men who jumped out of said vehicles with ninja masks on and loaded guns drawn.

A few minutes into the action one of the masked officers knocked on my mothers window.  They exchanged a few words and I saw her meekly hold up her sandwich in explanation.  

At this point a brief description of my mother is probably necessary.  If you looked up sunday school teacher in the dictionary, you would probably see my mother's picture next to the definition. a she is a Sunday  school teacher, 

Not a minute later my cell phone rang "are you watching this?" my mother asks in a strangely excited voice.

"yes, we are, are you  OK?" I asked her.

"yes I'm fine, they said I could leave in a few minutes"  she repllied a little more calmly.

Well I knew a few minutes would probably be an hour.  After pulling a male and female suspect out of their respective cars the officers all returned to their vehicles andquietly non-cholanly drove away.  That was it, no sirens or tv cameras just a grou of police officers doing their job.  

The thing that touched me the most about this event is that here is a black woman caught in the middle of what appeared to be drug activity and no assumptions were made just because of her race.  She wasn't questioned interrogated or hassled.  This in a city not more than twenty years ago didn't have a single black resident, and discouraged blacks from being in their town after dark.

Change is a process, and each one of us is a step in that process.

Day one

Most of you know that my husband is a long  distance truck driver.  His beautiful truck has just been released from the hospital after undergoing  major reconstructive surgery to repair damage caused by a tornado in North Carolina that apparenly had a grudge to settle with him.  We thought a great way to celebrate would be to take the whole family on the truck (something we haven't done since Heather was a baby.

Our trip began as most family trips, crazed packing checkliststs of things you can't live without and packing and repacking because you realize something you packed is something you need right now.  We departed our home sunday evening and spent the night at the flying hoof hotel (a truck stop) it was a mercifully uneventful evening with the kids sharing the top bunk.  Since everyone was peacefully sleeping I decided to take a shower.  

Truck stops all have showers in varying degrees of sizes shapes and amenities.  But if you don't buy fuel then you must pay 8-12 for the use fo these facilities.  Similar to a hotel  room, the showers are  cleaned after each customer, but these are facilities used by hundreds of people each day.  Most truck drivers are men, and many of them fit the stereotype.  So, truck stop shower rule number one: when showering remove all clothing except your shoes or wear flip flops if you have them.  Bring your own soap the liquid soap they have in the dispenser is the same stuff they use to remove paint from cars at auto  body repair shops.  And finally, don't put on perfume when you are done.  Because when the air conditioner goes out in your truck and you have to sit at a farm in the  backwoods of Georgia waiting for them to load your corn

(sidenote the trailer we haul food in is refrigerated.  It can reach subzero temperatures depending on tthe cargo.  But corn is so combustible, it must also be covered in ice to keep from catching fire!)

 anyways, waiting for them to load your corn with your windows down, the gnats and giant antbirds are drawn to you like two year-olds to chicken nuggets and french fries! More to come friends, thanks for following along.

Test

Test