Truman Fix

My daughter's been training him with the usual commands. Sit, come, ROLL YOUR EYES AT MOM.

Good Friday? You bet.

Daughter: Good Friday? Why's it called Good Friday?

Me: Because you don't have any school.

*climbs inside handbasket to await journey to the underworld*


I'm hostessing an Easter Brunch this year. Which, while it's not my first choice or even my 61st choice of things I want to be doing...my mother in law scheduled her Easter dinner at a time that leaves me no choice. Well, no choice if I want to see my family.

Other reasons for it being a Good Friday?

Sunshine, kids making Easter chocolates with my mother in law, husband golfing, dog running around a fenced in yard, going grocery shopping alone, sunshine. dinner with friends, husband got his CDL license, thumb is healing nicely, the Bruins beat the Habs last night and oh...did I mention SUNSHINE?

Remember last year...my son had an accident, splitting his knee wide open? The whole incident the result of a flailing dive after a football thrown by my husband.

The injury left him unable to play in his hockey playoff game, unable to attend tryouts for next season, going to class with a footstool and limping for weeks? (Ed. note: His legs = toothpicks, with knees)

Fast forward to this past Sunday.

A friendly game of basketball between my husband and son. The boy goes to make a move with the basketball and my husband, doing some defensive mojo - slams into my son's hand, jamming his thumb knuckle to the point where blood spurted out from his nail bed. Immediate swelling. No tears, but lots of pain. Lots.

Twelve hours later it's bruised and swollen. He can move it, a little. A nurse friend of ours says, "It's not broken but WOW that looks baaaad". Thanks, nurse friend.

And guess what...once again, it happens the day before hockey tryouts.

The silver lining? My boy and I are giving my husband so much grief, nothing like a good guilt trip to keep your spirits up...

Our fictional versions of the story include:

1. My husband slamming the ball out of my son's hand with a whallop and yelling "DENIED" as my son falls down holding his hand and crying.

2. My son reaching for the ball and my husband, knocks him down and steps on his fingers while yelling "Too Slow!"

3. The fact that it's all just a psychological thing my husband's doing unconsciously because my son is better at hockey than he was and now my husband is green with envy.

Now, obviously none of these things happened but, hey, we're easily amused.

Contrary to popular belief there is no Easter Bunny. At least not at my house.

Just a grouchy mom going outside at the crack of dawn to hide eggs around the perimeter of the yard where the dog couldn't go because the underground fence would shock him.

Why outside? Because the dog would follow me around trying to eat the eggs moments after I hid them? Same reason why they were mostly hidden around the very edges of the yard. Color me bitter. Not that the whole dog thing made me bitter it's just that old Easter non-spirit I have.

There may be a glimmer of hope on the horizon though:

Scene: Tuesday morning in the bathroom.

My girl was brushing her hair and I was brushing my teeth and she says "I really want Mentos and deodorant in my Easter Basket."

My response, besides an internal raised eyebrow at her request? "Really? Well, why are you telling me, maybe you should be telling the Easter bunny..."

Her: "I just did."


So, what do you think? Am I off the secretive hook? Can I just get up at, say, six a.m. and hide the eggs and baskets with their knowledge or must I still trip around in the dark with a flashlight hoping that egg eating raccoons aren't living under my shed.

Grateful For

1. Empty water bottles recycled to be the most favorite dog toy.

2. Sunny spring days. They will not be taken for granted.

3. Tim Thomas, goalie extraordinaire

4. Opening Day at Fenway.

5. The Easter Bunny charade? Done.

If I hear one more person call him Marley....

Truman, the eleven week old dog? Twenty two and a half pounds. I can't remember what Baxter weighed but this is seeming large to me. Something else I don't remember...the whole blank slate thing.

He had to be taught to walk up stairs. One at a time, me putting one paw on a stair and then moving the rest of them in order while he stood half frozen in terror. On the same idea? He's not going down them. Not no how. Not with treats, not with the same step by step teaching. I'm sure he'll get over it but for now, I'm scooping him up and carrying him downstairs every morning and praying he can hold it for just a few minutes longer.

He didn't drink for most of the first day he was home. We showed him his water dish but it wasn't until my husband splashed it around did he figure out what it was.

His collar? The bane of his existence.

There were some loud squawky birds outside today and his ears perked up and he RAN for the door. Somehow I foresee eighty pounds of quivering terror...hopefully he outgrows this.


Last time, with Baxter? We went for the super happy puppy. The one that licked us and wanted to play. Six YEARS later, he was an enjoyable dog to have around. Years one through five? He was hell-on-wheels. Or paws, as the case may be. This time we walked into the dog run and when four of the puppies ran over to jump and play with us my eyes went straight to the dog hanging back, half asleep in the corner.

I'm half convinced he has narcolepsy. And I'm thanking my lucky stars every day.

So far my responses to the ultra annoying Marley thing have been:

• "Who's Marley?" which, when combined with a confused expression has people thinking I live in another dimension.
• "Um, no this isn't Marley...wasn't that a movie or something?"
• "Nope, not Marley...I'm pretty sure he died, didn't he?"

I only used the last one on a wack job lady at the tennis courts but seeing as she screamed it across the courts as we walked by and then let her dog follow us halfway home? She totally had it coming.

Today

• I am cautiously optimistic that maybe, god willing...I will not need the umbrella at all today.

• I was writing down a list of meals we might have this week and my girl looked over my shoulder and says: Chicken POT pie?!?!? All this time I thought it was Chicken POP pie.

• Wondering if a nine pound chicken will defrost in seven hours.

• Debating between staying home and doing whatever needs doing or going to see a play at my son's school.

Echo....echo, echo, echo. Anyone? Anyone?

Yikes, TWO MONTHS without a post?

Let's see how things stand around here....

1. Husband, still out of work. He's going back in a matter of weeks, though. A local channel did one of their 'investigative reports' on his company and the whole owner in prison thing. What it added up to was them trying to drum up a story and the people they interviewed saying they have no problem working with this company, they've totally restructured and blah, blah, blah. In your face channel five.

2. The boy? Is well. There's one more hockey game, a tournament final and we are DONE. For a month, anyway. School is going spectularly this year. He's trying to negotiate for a cell phone...Fail. It took him until about a month ago to start checking people in hockey, nothing like seeing your seventy pound kid rub a 150 lb giant into the boards. Love it!

3. The girlie? One minute she's the death of me and the next she's quite literally the kindest person I know. She's also trying to negotiate for a cell phone and this FAIL needs to be in caps. She's playing dome soccer and now Spring Travel is about to start. She's the little enforcer on the team and when she was told to choose her number for her uniform? She picked 17, after her favorite Boston Bruin - Milan Lucic.



Going on record here as saying that the announcer, Jack Edwards is THE best. "They have beaten them. And tonight they have beaten them up." Love that guy.

4. Truman. Welcome home.