The hardest Lesson ever.

I can't believe I am sitting here writing this post. Truman goes back today.
Last night Jen was over and I don't know how it even came up but all of a sudden she's saying, "I think this dog has to go back."
And sometimes I see the reasons so clearly, and then sometimes I don't see them at all; all I see is Truman lying in the sun.
I called Joey at 12:48 am to see what he thought, clinging with the tiniest bit of hope that he would say no, we can work the issues out. That I was over-reacting.
Of course, he said he wasn't angry at all, not about the money, not about anything. After I told him why I thought we had to give Truman back I tried to explain to him why we should keep him.
But those reasons just weren't strong enough to overpower the fact that deep in his heart, Joey knows I am not a pitbull owner.
Maybe if I didn't have Ethan, but I do, and he comes first.
These lessons are so hard and for some reason they just keep getting harder. I thought by now I would be done learning lessons. Ha.
I see my weaknesses so clearly; my impulsive, emotionally driven nature that over and over and over has made our life hard and at times, like today, completely heart breaking.
Good Lord did I need this to see my need for my husband's logical, future-orientated mind? I usually am so annoyed with that aspect of him but if I would have listened to him for three seconds maybe my throat wouldn't feel like someone is strangling it right now, maybe I wouldn't have to fight the shame.
Live and Learn. And Cry. And Lose Money. And Cry.
I know this is for our family, for Ethan, for Joey, for me. Jen reminded me of all the money I actually am saving by giving him back, because sometimes it's hard for me to get over the money issue and it would be just like me to keep the dog because we've already dropped a grand into him.
But that is stupid.
O lord.

No Wussies.

Today I feel like I am very quietly and calming going insane. Fifteen minutes ago I reached in to take Ethan out his high chair and into time out for the forty fifth billion trillion time this morning and I said, "Ethan, we don't throw our food. We ask with a happy heart to be excused"-all in the most patient, controlled voice imaginable but on the inside I felt like a person I have never felt like before. Likes some crazy woman who is unstable and unpredictable-downright crazy.
Children-and puppies-bring this wacko out in me.
My voice gets so soft and controlled when I am dealing with Ethan, even soothing-it's really creepy. He's sleeping now and I feel like my sanity is slowly returning. Truman is outside taking a sun bath and and biting at imaginary foes in the the air.
Last night I was thinking and this is what I came up with:
Marriage is not for wussies.
Children are not for wussies.
And puppies are not for wussies.
The Lord is gracious to me through all of this. Like I said in my last post, I feel defeated. Weak and unable to "be on top" of both Truman and Ethan. But this morning I was outside with Truman. Sasha, another pitbull mix next store, was high up on the hill in her backyard looking down on us and growling and barking, tail straight in the air. I tried to be sweet with her and tell her it's ok, everything is ok, all in that sweet, soothing voice I use, but she just kept on barking and growling. I wondered if she could clear the fence if she got enough of a head start. Then I said in my new, alpha voice, "Sasha, NO!" and she barked one more time and then went down the hill so we couldn't see her anymore.
I felt like Arnold in The Terminator.
It was a small victory but I needed it desperately.
Also, when I came back inside my older sister Deana had called and said she needed prayer for patience with Andrew. Amen and Amen.

Staying on Top.

As if you haven't seen enough of him...

I am at work. I haven't been here for two weeks. I am bored, there is a man here who won't leave and won't stop talking, and I have a headache from the chai I just finished. Fun times here in the Welcome Center.

I wonder what Trumando is up to-probably gnawing my dining room table chairs to bits. I bought Bitter Yuck and that seems to be helping; heck I accidentally got some on my fingers and then in my mouth and I about puked. The taste lingers, too. Poor Truman.

I took him on a walk around the block today and he did very well, meaning that he actually walked. I had to pick him up at the busy street because he just FREAKS OUT when he sees or hears a car whizzing by and I carried him the rest of the way home saying, "Good dog Truman. You did such a good job on your walk today. Good boy!" He nuzzled his snout between my neck and shoulders like it was all very traumatizing.

He is the sweet heart of all sweet hearts when he is tired or scared.

I took him over to Angel and Logan's yesterday because Joey is a little paranoid about his constant desire to bite everything in sight and I guess I have to admit I have been intimidated when he crouches down and then pounces on you like he is a lion and you are poor, helpless zebra meat. All the books say that you must distract them with a toy they can chew on, never yell, never hit--you will make them scared of you and bring out more aggression. But Angel and Logan take a different approach with their dogs, one that requires you to get on top of the dog and then hold it's head down and look them right in the eyes and say, "No bite!" in a very assertive, barking-like way until the dog submits.

Angel does this very well and I am trying really hard.

In other news, Ethan is now officially two in all of his whiny, melt-down glory. I feel out of control-I am not good at this laying-down-the-law stuff. Joey tells me he needs me to "be on top of it." I feel defeated. By both of them, Truman and Ethan, my two-little-asserting-their-wills-toddlers. Also, Ethan is obsessed with Veggie Tales now.

Four Years: Forever.

Today is our anniversary. Four years. It seems like forever, both in the best and the worst ways. Joey is home to me; I can't imagine 'me' without 'him'; yet looking back these years have been long. Four long years of growing up fast and hard. We were married when we were twenty and saying "I do" was like stepping on an express train that has yet to slow down.
Sometimes I like the speed, the unexpectedness, but most of the time the constant motion leaves me feeling weasy and tired.
And ultimately overwhelmingly grateful because Joey is such an incredible man to go through life with me.
I sneak glances at this man in the car or while we are eating-glances that if he caught me would cause some awkwardness which I always think is weird when you are married, but whatever-and I always think, "Man, he is hot." And it is a deeper hot than I ever could have imagined when we were dating, a hot that encompasses a man who I now know fights for his family like Russel Crowe in Cinderella Man: with everything.
We are going to the Olive Garden. I'm looking forward to getting dressed up, and drinking wine which I finally can finish a glass of.

Grace. Home.

It Bloomed!! I saved this plant from the give-away-table in Married Student Housing's laundry room and have cared for the darn thing for four years without a bloom. At one point it was in the garbage because I thought it was dead, but then I pulled it out and decided to try one more time.
I really love plants but feel absolutely useless in whether they live or die. And when something like this happens, I am reminded of God's grace in such a poignant way. We plant, we water, but God dictates growth. Hallelujah.

I took a nap with the Trumiester this afternoon. It reminded me of home, of growing up, of napping on the couch as a teenager with my cat Boots all up in my face. I am growing more and more attached to the smell of his skin and like with Ethan, every time I pick him up I bury my nose in his head, taking it all in.

Remembering.

I remember when I very first saw you. I thought you were very pulled together, if you know what I mean.
I remember your peach jammies and your light brown hair in curlers. You sitting on your bed and talking with an endless smile to one of your many boyfriends.
I remember your brown eyes, like shiny, precious stones.
I remember you yelling at me because I couldn't speak your language and I would pester you constantly to help me. I'd argue with you about how to say something, confident you didn't understand what I wanted to say. Of course, you were always right-there aren't direct translations for so many things. It took me months to accept this.
I remember your smile, your energy, when you came bounding into the dinning room with a pair of tiny white shorts on. "They fit!" you said as you lifted your hands in the air and twirled in a circle. It surprised me weight mattered that much to you.
I remember your hands, graceful and brown. Your middle fingers short as your pinkies, but somehow the deformity made you more feminine, more alluring.
I remember you playing the piano. I think you hated it.
I remember wondering why you were so rude to me. Your mom said you were jealous.
I remember later, after I had moved out, coming back and finding you in your room. You seemed annoyed to see me, but in a sisterly way that made me stay. I told you my problem; you listened but didn't say much.
I remember you asking me to play the guitar and sing, "The Nails in Your Hands" over and over and over.
I remember talking to you for the last time on the phone. I can't remember if you said you had a boyfriend or not.
And then I remember sliding down my bedroom wall when they called to tell me you had died. I sat on the floor and didn't want them to hang up, but they did eventually, after they were sure I wasn't alone.

Life With Truman.

Whose licking my toes?

Ethan thought these boots were just his style.

Joey's nemesis.

My cuddle bug that I sometimes want to kick into the wall. BUT-he is pooping outside almost always. I am so proud. Pee is a completely different story.

We are adjusting. Even Joey, despite the look on his face up there. He looks like he is holding a pig he is about to roast.