Dissed by a Dog

Dear Diary,

I would call this story a Charlie Brown moment.
An embarrassing, this is not happening to me in front of all these people, kind of moment.

There we were, my daughter and I, in the lobby of the kennel pet resort, awaiting our beloved Charlie's release.

We had returned from a most fabulous weekend, a most memorable weekend, with my parents and family.  A rare opportunity for the family to jet set to southern climes and return home in a record two nights.  But celebrating the 50 years of marriage of two people we love tremendously calls for such adventure.

We arrived at the "resort" at our appointed time slot on a Sunday; a one-hour window in which to check out our canine before being charged another night.  We found ourselves in a line with other owners anxious to see their "babies" again.

We smiled in anticipation as leashed dogs were brought through The Door, tails wagging and tongues licking as they made a beeline to their people. (The Door = the only portal connecting the lobby from the elusive but noisy back rooms where the dogs are kept.)

It was fun to see what kind of four legged creature would emerge next for a happy reunion with its owner.

Then came our turn. 
Payment made. 
Personal effects handed over. 
Retreat behind The Door.
(A moment now to imagine our happy hound's reaction to seeing us in the lobby.  I guessed it would be similar to the Kermit and Miss Piggy scene in the original Muppet Movie, where they run through flowered fields for an embrace.)
The Door opens.
Charlie bounds through, and then scampers right past us to investigate the others in the lobby awaiting their turn.

Really?
I think I may have turned red with embarrassment.  I gave my daughter at look.
Charlie, we missed you, did you miss us?  Huh boy?  Huh?
Even my enthusiastic baby talk did nothing to turn his attention back to us, his own people.
No wagging at our feet, no jumping up on our legs.

Not exactly the reunion I was anticipating.
Flat out apathy from man's best friend.

A time when I can look back and say without a doubt,
Yup, I was dissed by my dog.

Good grief!

LJ

Post Mother's Day Post

Dear Diary,

It is the Monday after Mother's Day.

The day when -- after a blessed day off -- mothers everywhere get back to
loading dishwashers,
making dinner,
changing diapers,
folding laundry,
and eating breakfast at the kitchen counter (or over the sink) instead of in bed.

In church yesterday (btw, I like having Mother's Day on Sunday.  Church is a good place to be on this day.) I confirmed something that I had only suspected was true.  I just needed to know I wasn't the only one who does this.  Now I know.

The two pews in front of me were occupied by mostly women of childbearing age and beyond, along with a baby or two thrown in.  A generous new mommy was "baby sharing" and allowing her little one to be passed into the eager hands of the women around her.
And then, half-way through the service, I saw it. 
One woman in the bunch, who wasn't holding a baby at the time, was doing something she didn't even know she was doing. 

The phantom baby sway.

That natural movement females adapt when within the vicinity of a child under two years of age.  Not actually holding a child, mind you.  Just standing alone, swaying those hips as if to lull the phantom child on them to complacency.
I think it is a pheromone thing. I don't know.

I have caught myself doing it. 
In the middle of a prayer I suddenly become self aware. Why am I swaying?  I peek through my reverently closed lids.  Oh, there is an infant two pews up that has been detected by my mommy radar.  Say no more.

(OK, stop judging me for thinking this during prayer time.  It happens.)

At the time I didn't know if this baby swaying behavior with no baby on board was normal behavior.  I sure stopped as soon as I caught myself.  Am I the only one who does this? I must look silly!

So I felt validated yesterday, when I spotted this woman doing the baby sway with no baby at hand.  Aha!  I am not the only one!   It's natural!  God must have just built that little quirk into our extremely complicated female physiology.

I am not advocating peeking around church during prayer or confession time.  But the next time I see a woman doing the phantom baby sway, I will thank God for giving us people who have a knack for mothering.

And for goodness sake, I will tell her to stop swaying.  She looks silly.

Happy belated Mother's Day!
LJ

One of THOSE Parents

Dear Diary,
I'm actually surprised this scenario hasn't happened sooner.  At least to my knowledge.

I guess the delay stems from my deep desire to not bring attention to myself.  (Actually, I secretly like attention, but only if it's positive. You know, the isn't she cute/smart/funny, or boy I wish I could be more like her, kind of attention.  It's the negative, brow furrowing attention I shun.)

I am talking about embarrassing my kids.  I'm not one of those parents who deliberately embarrasses their kids in front of their friends.  I am too genteel for that.  Especially if they are new friends.  However, I have no problem singing to the radio while driving carpool if they are old friends.

But I won't go around talking about my kids' skin problems or do my Super Grover impersonation in front of their friends just for kicks.  Some parents might do that.  My brother for instance.  But not I.

So the other day I was informed by my freshman daughter I was needed to drive home not one, but four additional friends from school.   Upper classman.   And three of the four were boys.
Hmmmm.  Interesting. 

If I were one of those parents, I could have used that pent up time in the car to really make my daughter (and her friends) uncomfortable. 

I imagine some mortifying conversation starters like this: 
* So, you guys got girlfriends? 
* Do any of you go to church? 
* Don't you think my daughter is talented/smart/cute? 
* You wanna be my friend on Facebook? 
* Are you looking to make an extra buck? 'Cuz I could use some help shoveling my driveway.

That's just the tip of the iceberg.

But that is not me. 
I want to be a cool mom.  Or at least a nice mom. 
Outgoing, without being in-your-face. 
Showing interest, without the inquisition.
Pleasant.

With all the friends deposited safely-- and seemingly without embarrassment-- at their destination, my daughter admitted she had "warned" at least one of the boys ahead of time about me and what I "might say."

WHAT? 

Innocent, little me?  Tame, conscientious, ever-mindful me? 

I was surprised. Though I always knew it, up till now, my kids had never admitted to my face that I had the potential for embarrassment.

Yet, perhaps even more surprising was that I felt somewhat flattered.  I felt validated as a mom of teenagers.  So I do have a little edge.  Just enough to make my offspring a little paranoid.

I admit that feels kind of good. 
And I've only just started.

Rockin' the boat,
LJ