Last night, I made two pecan pies.
When I got up this morning at 4 a.m. to head into Atlanta, I moved those two beauties to our dining room table.
And really didn’t think much else about it till I got home from race (which was awesome BTW) and saw only one pie on the table.
In the place of the other pie, I saw this . . .
But no one was home and I had to get my collard greens cooking — so I forgot about the missing pie.
Until later, when I started thinking what in the heck happened to that pie?
At this point, hubs was home.
But he was
So I put on my super-slueth Nancy Drew cap. Found my crime stopper pad and pencil and started thinking.
Who could have done this?
Suspect Number One.
Problem Number One.
Absence of a body. Er . . . I mean absence of a pie tin.
Maybe hubs took the pie over to his parents early?
Like monkeys would fly out of my butt before that would happen.
Then my little Nancy Drew super-sluething senses grew two-times this day.
Supposing the prime suspect got the pie.
Where would the tin end up?
Look under the table my heightened super-sleuthing senses told me.
There it was.
Granted, it’s circumstantial at best. No traces of the pecan nut have been swabbed from the suspect’s mouth, but . . .
I think we have our dog.
Have a wonderful Thanksgiving with those you love. Down one pie or not, it’s my favorite holiday.
These are the kind of text messages I get at 6:30 on a Friday night.
Those about getting up early and running on a Saturday morning.
Welcome to my world.
Actually I was very happy to have company on part of a 12 mile run. Lord willing, I’m doing the Thanksgiving Half Marathon in the ATL on Thanksgiving and since Thanksgiving is 12 days away — do you believe that — I needed to do one last long run.
So running buds Kim and Melissa were showing up on my door at 7:30 today and Melissa’s son was coming over to hang with my kids while we ran.
Melissa leaving my house after getting her son settled.
Flash backward about three minutes.
Young son and Melissa knock on door. I smile and let them in.
“Your house smells like poop,” comes from mouth of young son.
Amazingly I had a reply real quick. And it wasn’t a made up wicked fib like the Grinch to Cindy Loo Who.
“We have a dog and I think he makes things smell.”
“Dogs aren’t supposed to poop in the house.”
No. No young child. Dogs aren’t to poop in the house, just as you think old age will never happen to you.
Does it really smell that bad? Granted I keep Imodium AD in my medicine cabinet for my dog. But still.
I don’t smell it.
Or maybe it’s like the pulp mill stink in Brunswick. Every time I’m down there I’m like “how do these people stand it?”
Maybe they don’t notice because they breathe it all the time.
And my to my friends. Why didn’t you tell me? I would tell your if your zipper was open or if your breath smelled bad. Or if your house smelled like poop.
Okay. Maybe I wouldn’t.
Obviously there is little I hold back from telling you people.
When I get a moment to catch my breath, I’m going to rent a steam cleaner. Because the back-of-the-house renovation we need is not going to happen EVER.
So that was the start to my day.
I did get 12 miles in but had to come home to a poop-smellin’ house. That I still can’t smell.
What do you do? People that live with animals?
I got out of bed and already felt behind.
Stumbling in the dark to make coffee, I smelled…
A very bad smell.
Now I had cleaned up a large mess yesterday. (At this point, I realized I was dealing with a case of doggie diarrhea.)
I turned on the light.
There by the door was a pile. Many sloppy piles.
The first minutes of my day were gobbled up cleaning and scrubbing carpet.
* * *
I sat down with my coffee at 4:15 to quiet my brain and reflect on spiritual matters. To draw strength from things which I believe but cannot see.
And as I looked around, what I did see is?
This place was a wreck. I’ve got writing that absolutely needs to get done, appointments with children and exercise. (For there is always time to exercise.)
Overwhelmed with guilt on the state of this house, my anxiety bumped up a notch with how little time I have in the next few days to get things under control.
Sensing my distress, as dogs do have that my-Master’s-freaking-out-ESP, Tebow came over and laid his head on my lap.
I gave him some love and got up to pour more coffee.
Walking to the kitchen and looking behind the couch, I saw a glistening pristine lake of dog teeter in the spot I just cleaned from the poop.
God spoke to me through dog teeter.
Forget it, Jamie.
Forget your house being perfect.
Your life at this moment is children, a husband, deadlines and a pooping, peeing menagerie.
I hate not being in control. And I don’t feel capable to control much these days.
But I can rein in my emotions. I can chose to love, encourage and hold my children accountable.
I can love my husband the best I know how. Sans providing a nice straight, beautiful home when he walks through the door.
I can write awesome articles and turn them in on time.
And I can clean dog poop….
But that’s about it right now.
How about you? What was the moment that you realized….I can’t do it all?
Two years ago today you came into the world.
The runt of the litter you were always number one in our hearts.
A Christmas Eve run to Midvale, Georgia brought all smelly, dear 65 pounds of you into our lives and into our house.
Well, you weren’t 65 pounds the day we got you.
No. You were a bitty, black, furry lump.
Our two younger children had never had a dog before. Soon after the excitement of finding a puppy under the tree wore thin, they were unimpressed.
I told them to just wait. A good dog is the greatest thing in the world.
But even with the greatest thing in the world you have to overlook look some Tebowisms.
* A love for chewing up pencils and leaving the bitty wooden shards on the floor. Just after I’ve vacuumed. (How does he find them? I can never find a pencil when I need one.)
* Love of running. Tebow dear, you’ve really gotten in too good a shape. I feel like I’m running behind an Iditarod-caliber wolf straight out of a Jack London-Erma Bombeck sports romance novel.
* Love of sleeping on my bed after your run. You act quite bothered when I have to move you to make up the bed.
* You always want to believe that everyone is okay – but your bark gives the stranger who’s not fair warning.
* And I love the way you lay your head on my shoulder just like a child who loves his mummy very much when I get a chance to lie on the bed for a moment. The bed you have been on since I placed the last pillow back in place.
* * *
Tonight when we were giving Tebow his cake, I asked his pack,
What do you love about Tebow?
Joe, 8 years. “He’s warm.”
Dad. “Seriously? I love that he’s not a twin.”
(Actually, he was an octuplet, Dad. So there. )
Hannah Kate, 10. “I love everything.”
Jake, a very grumpy high school senior at this second. “He doesn’t really annoy me too much.”
No, with the exception of your black fur on the white bathroom tile (and stepping barefooted on chewed pencil bits) you don’t annoy me much.
You are a very dear soul. Happy Birthday.
What do you do for the pet in your life on his special day?
I started running with a group of women when school went back in session. Many push children in strollers. A herculean task for anyone who has ever tried to run and push child.
My black lab Tebow is the perfect house dog. He sheds, slobbers, and chews anything that isn’t cat poop. (Wait. Can’t even say that.)
So to keep my furry child from getting chubby, I leased him up and took him with the group of gals one morning.
He was hooked.
Now if I go within 8 feet of my running shoes, he pants at my side.
Each morning, the routine goes like this. Everyone piles in the car to go to school. After drop off, me and Tebow pull into the church lot to run.
When he thinks time is drawing near for the kids to leave.
His excitement builds in the Primary School carpool line. (Which was EXTRA long today.)
After dropping brother and sister off, it’s “game on” pulling into the church parking lot.
After checking in with everyone…and a tad disappointed there were no other four-footed joggers this morning.
We are off!
It’s rather like water-skiing. Except that there’s no water and you’re staring at someone’s rear end.
We have to play catch-up sometimes. Tebow stops to do the things dogs do when they finally are OUTSIDE in fresh air surrounded by the fresh smells of all the billions of dogs who have run the race before him.
Did you get exercise in today? Did your dog?
Another work day begins at the Citizen.
The Morgan County Citizen is going to the dogs. Well, at least today, August 26th, National Dog Day.
Word on the street is that Kathryn Schiliro, Managing Editor of paper, declared today bring-your-dog-to-work-day in celebration of National Dog Day.
When I heard this stupendous news, I couldn’t bear to let my Tebow miss out on all the fun.
Though I decided to hibernate a while from my weekly newspaper column, I never miss a chance to see old friends at the paper.
And I never picked up my 2011 Georgia Press Association (GPA) award.
Hmm. It still says 2nd Place.
After the GPA refused to take any of my phone calls asking for a recount of the voting, I feared as much.
Looking at the document, a steady hand and a black Sharpie could fix their obvious mistake.
Kathryn brought her child Holden, a boxer/pit mix.
Kathryn never had experienced life with a dog before Holden and seems quite smitten calling him — the “love of her life.”
Andrea Gable, editor of another Main Street Communications publication, Lake Oconee Living, brought her beauty of a German Shepard, Gus.
A chance stop in Bainbridge, Georgia while travelling with her husband and two girls resulted in the addition of two new canine members to their clan. Gus and his sibling, a white Shepard, headed home in the car with her daughters. (My animal lover daughter would say that Andrea is a very nice mommy.)
Holden greets longtime Citizen staffer Monaray Powers.
I looked for the publisher, Patrick Yost, but he wasn’t in.
Katie Davis Walker was out on assignment, but Jack, her doberman, made Tebow feel right at home
Out in the parking, Mr. Yost pulled in empty handed after searching for hours for Doggie Bags. Alas, no perfect treat could be found.
(I guess this was due to all the hoopla surrounding National Dog Day.)
He assured me he felt horrible.
And promised send the entire staff with their canine friends to Atlantis in the Bahamas for a week long frolic in their unparalleled Dog Park and Beach Resort — scheduled to open December 2027.
So there it was.
The Dogs’ Day at the Citizen.
Have you ever taken your pet to work?
And like people knew about it…you weren’t hiding him in your purse or anything.
Last morning before the school year starts. I didn’t set alarm.
Woke to my husband hovering over me like a child that can’t stand it when mommy is having fun and they’re not.
“Remember to pick up the dry cleaning.”
“Do you want some coffee?” Lame attempt to seem nice.
“Oh. And there’s a huge dog poop in Joe’s room. It’s trailing everywhere.”
I mumble something about I can’t believe you won’t let me sleep one day when all but five mornings of our married life I’ve been up three hours before him.
Dog poop. Like I’m going to believe that.
He leaves. I get up.
I walk to kitchen, pour myself coffee, leash up Tebow and take him for a nice walk.
Get home look in on my son’s room. A sleeping angel and huge mounds of dog waste cover every square inch of the hardwoods.
I’ve already posted on the joys of cleaning up dog poop on wood floors, how it fills in every crevice like frosting on a layer cake.
I cleaned up dog poop.
I was going to post on how yesterday we made a birthday cake for a cat “Oreo” and fish “Sucky.”
As you can tell, there was a 4th July cake we had planned to make. Came in handy yesterday.
How good moms do that sort of thing.
They remember what it was like to care so for a pet fish that you wanted to make a birthday cake for him. I stopped short of letting them bring Sucky into the dining room in a cup to blow out the candles.
How good moms take their kids school shopping and try to act excited when all they see are those Kindermats and think how great to be forced to lie down every day for 20 minutes.
Those kids are all smiling because they just woke up from a nap.
Good moms try to separate the — work commitments, bills, the stockmarket tanking (I actually clicked on my stock market app for the first time yesterday — Lord knows why?) — and not get frustrated (read between the lines on the word frustrated) with them.
Enjoy the last day before school starts.
I’ve just cleaned up a mounds of COLD, wet dog waste. Day’s got to skyrocket from here.
What are your plans for the day other than taking the dog for a long walk?
Why let Man’s Best Friend miss out on all the Easter fun?
Come out tomorrow, Saturday April 23, for the third annual Georgia Rescue and Rehabilation Doggy Easter Egg Hunt at Heritage Park in Madison.
Whoo. Our Tebow’s getting excited at the thought of all the new friends to meet — along with all the new smells to savor.
Registration starts at 11 a.m. — with all sniffing and hunting to begin at noon.
The fee is 5 dollars per dog and all dogs must be on a leash.
There will be a rabies clinic with very affordable shots and opportunities to get a Pet Portrait of your dog in all his Easter finery. Micro-chipping will be available to ensure the safe return of your loved one should she ever roam too far from home. There will be refreshments for two-legged types as well.
Georgia Rescue and Rehab is a local non-profit organization that rescues and finds loving homes for abandoned dogs and cats. A completely volunteer organization — come out and support this wonderful cause.
There’s nothing cuter than a sleeping dog curled up against a sleeping boy.
Unless that dog is Wonderdog. Wonderdog who needs to be in his cage at night. Some folks sanitize dog pens calling them crates, but I choose to call it what it is.
And I’m glad for it. It keeps the unsuperivised Wonderdog, A.KA. Chewing Machine, in the pokey so to not to inflict mayhem on any harmless shoes.
Last Monday, I ended my crammed life post with a Pretty Please, Pitiful Prayer. I prayed for the Lord to remind me to set my alarm.
I call it a Pretty, Please Pitiful Prayer because I have been trying to pray only bold prayers. Not to worry about the small things and let God take care of them as he see best.
But as much as I’d like to be big and bold — some of the time — deep down inside, I feel pretty pitiful. So in moments when my big, bold guard is down a Pretty, Please Pitiful Prayer just slips out.
For me, alarm management is critical and lately even when the alarm has gone off at the right time — I lay there.
* * * * * * * * * *
Seeing cute sleeping boy and dear sleeping Wonderdog I did the unthinkable. I went to bed and left Tebow uncaged.
I do really stupid stuff when I’m tired.
* * * * * * * * * *
I awoke with Secretariat on my chest.
Okay, it was Tebow but in a deep sleep it’s really hard to tell the difference between 65 pounds of black lab and a one ton thoroughbred.
My alarm went off. But I was already out of bed. Imagine that.
Checking emails, one sat in my inbox from a writer friend sent at 4:22 a.m. 4:22 a.m?
That meant she was up at her computer at least 10 full minutes before me.
I’ve really got to set Tebow earlier.