Of Ostrich Eggs and Killer Scarves

      In this blog entry I will attempt to explain to you the events of the last 20 hours of my life. I need for you to understand that I couldn't sit down and make this stuff up if I tried. I need for you to understand that in the grand scheme of things, this was actually a fairly typical day for me. I need for you to understand that if you see me at Sun Mart buying several boxes of wine....well.....please just try to understand.
     Six months ago, when we added Leo to our family, I had but one hope. (That's totally untrue. I had lots of hopes.) I wanted a dog who could not tear me apart limb from limb, but who would warn me of possible intruders in the night, and also, maybe keep my feet warm once in awhile. We brought this Chi Weenie home, and my hand to God, he didn't bark at all for the first month he was here. When he finally found his bark, I worried he would be one of those dogs that irritates everyone around him by never shutting up. I didn't need to worry. He isn't a barker. One time, a few weeks ago, he went absolutely bat-shit crazy at four in the morning, hair standing on end, teeth baring, CRAZY with a capital K.One time, in six months. Understanding this, when he started growling and barking at exactly 1:24am today, I took notice. A lot of notice.
     Initially, I thought one of the kids may have been awake in the kitchen. But I didn't actually hear anything. So I grabbed him under my arm, and got up to see if he had a bathroom related emergency that he needed to handle. Only, he squirmed and fought me trying to NOT leave my bedroom. At this point, it also occurred to me that if it were a member of my family, he wouldn't be panicking. He would be as happy to see one of them at 1:24am, as he is any other time of day. And then I heard a noise. A soft thud.
     Here is the part where I tell you that I have a really big stick in my bedroom designed for just this type of emergency.
     Around the corner I went, seven and a half pounds of terrified dog in one arm, a giant stick in the other. Looking back, I realize that if what I found had actually been an intruder, my only hope of doing any damage with the stick would have been to throw the dog at them first.
     I crossed into the dining room, the dog jumped out of my arms and took off running in the dark. I continued to the kitchen, stealthy and quiet and only stubbing two toes on my way to turn on the light. I took a good look around. The only thing I could see was that there were two lunch boxes on the ground in the pantry that had previously been on a shelf. I did a perimeter check of the house, and returned to the pantry to set things straight. What I saw there, I can never UNsee.
   
     Last summer, Zoe and her cousin spent two weeks with their grandparents. On one outing, they were taken to a farm that had ostriches. Each was sent home with a Styrofoam cooler full of an ostrich egg. Zoe's Styrofoam cooler ended up on the pantry shelf.
     Do you see what's coming?
     I guess I assumed that the ostrich egg had been emptied of it's contents. I was, sadly, mistaken. For whatever reason, the Gods of Decomposing deemed 1:24am this morning the point of no return for the contents of the egg. And it exploded. It blew off the top of the cooler, on which sat two lunch boxes.
     If there is a silver lining in this story, it is that 99% of the mess that is contained within a really, really, really old ostrich egg was still inside the cooler. There was only a large percentage of shell to gather. There was a smell that makes me think that my nose will never forgive me, but once the lid was carefully placed back, the smell was pretty much contained as well.

     After an unplanned, very early morning disinfecting of the pantry occurred, I wandered around looking for the dog. You know how when you're a little kid, you think that as long as you have your head covered, no one can see you? (Or was that just me?!)


   That is King Leonidas "IL Martello" Abramo, in 'Duck and Cover' mode. This is my brave and loyal warrior. And let me tell you, it took some work getting him out from under there.

     About a month ago, John bought me a very soft, woolly, purple scarf and mitten set. The only real issue that I seem to have is that the scarf is exceptionally long. Twice today I stepped on one end of the scarf and essentially 'clothes lined' myself. In public. Where there were people. TWICE. It really was a banner day for my dignity.

     At the end of the day, my dog has PTSD, my pantry hasn't been this clean in a really long time, I will probably never eat eggs of any kind again, and I think it's possible that there are two different surveillance videos of me, gracefully and elegantly attempting to garrote myself.
     That's a wrap, Thursday! See ya next week!

Zoe's Guys

In the late spring about six years ago, the six of us lived in a tiny little town twenty miles west of McCook, Nebraska. John worked out of town Monday through Friday. That left me, and four kids. I don't remember exactly what was happening in our lives at the time, but I know that I had a toddler at home with me all day. I know that a lot of the times if I didn't get my shower taken during her late morning nap, I had to wait until the older kids got home from school so there was some sort of supervision. And I use that word as broadly as possible. Because when you ask children to watch other children.....it usually leads to the cereal cabinet being emptied onto the kitchen floor or the breaking of all the things.
On one particular day, I missed my designated shower time, and when the kids got off the bus, I asked them to please keep an eye on Zoe so I could shower. At some point, someone decided to give her lessons in how to play Dodge ball in the kitchen. You know, the way they do. I'm sure at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable to a bunch of children. It must have been the straw that broke the Momma's heart, because I remember sitting down on the shower floor and crying, and saying over and over, "Please God, send me some help. Please. I don't think I can handle this."
Two days later, help arrived.
Zoe and I woke up to the sounds of things being pounded on. Loud, construction-like noises were coming from the backyard. So, I opened the shades and we looked out to find that on the other side of the alley behind our house, someone was building something. Zoe was fascinated. She refused to leave the window. She sat and had breakfast there. She cried when I tried to shut the blinds. She asked me seventeen million questions about what they were doing and why. I must have said something about the guys who were working over there.
The next morning, she woke up in her usual, 'hit the ground running' fashion and asked if we could see her guys. It took me a minute. I opened the window and she sat there, watching. I gave her some chocolate milk, made sure the doors were locked, and took my first uninterrupted shower in a long time.
She talked constantly about 'my guys', and what they were doing, and how their day was going. She told people in the grocery store. She talked about it to her grandparents. She told her Daddy over the phone, "My guys are comin', Daddy. My guys are comin' over today." And I am sure that since he was out of town and had no clue what any of it meant, it was pretty fun to hear. Over and over again.
For a couple of weeks, in the late spring warmth, help arrived in my life via a sweaty construction crew. This is how I know that God has a sense of humor. I showered alone everyday they were building that metal building. I thanked God for them. While they were there, I took full advantage of them and by the time they left, I had a handle on things again.
About a week after they were gone, Zoe woke up crying in the night. She asked to look out the window, to see her guys. It was dark, and they were gone, and she grieved for a minute and then moved on to whatever the next thing was. (It was collecting, 'pig money', just in case you were wondering. Another story, another day.)
All of this is on my mind today because I am feeling like maybe I need some help here this week. It's nothing major. Just life stuff. I was just asking for a little guidance and some patience and maybe a construction crew to distract my kids for a little while.
Zoe's "guys" never knew she was there. They never knew how much they helped an overwhelmed Mom get the reins back. So, I don't know where it will come from, but I know that the help will come.

Nine

     At precisely 7:10pm, nine year ago today, the world was made a better place. By me. Oh....John too, but mostly me. Nine years ago tonight, on a night not that different from tonight, we made the trek across Omaha, from roughly 132nd and Maple to Clarkson Hospital. I had been in labor all day. I waited until I couldn't wait anymore. We arrived at the hospital at 6:30pm, and forty minutes later, Zoe LeeAnne Abramo arrived. She weighed in at 6 pounds, 2 ounces and was 19 inches long. She was born with a full head of black hair. She was healthy, and happy unless she was cold, hungry or wet. She seemed to gaze at me with a healthy amount of skepticism as to whether or not I was equipped for the job at hand.
     The following is an interview I conducted with the Birthday Girl. The answers are all her own. I didn't paraphrase in anyway. I asked the questions and she answered them while I typed her answers and she marveled at my ability to type without looking at the keyboard.

Me: What makes you happy?
Zoe: My family. School. Reading. Presents.

Me: What makes you sad?
Zoe: If my parents died.

Me: What scares you the most?
Zoe: If we were in a dark place and I lost you.

Me: What do you think about this first nine years?
Zoe: They've been pretty good. I can't wait to see what the rest of the year will be like.

Me: What is your favorite memory from your first nine years?
Zoe: First time I read a book on my own.

Me: Where do you think you'll be nine years from now?
Zoe: Since I'll be 18, I'll probably be in college or still in high school.

Me: What do you think it means to be beautiful?
Zoe: I don't think you need beauty. I think you need to be smart. Some girls need to think less about being popular and more about being smart. I care about school, not beauty.

Me: What does it mean to be a good friend?
Zoe: I think being a good friend means being nice. I care more about my friends than me.

Me: If someone asked you to do something that you know is wrong, or would hurt someone, what would you do?
Zoe: I wouldn't do it. I would say, "You shouldn't do that. It could hurt someone. You should treat others like you want them to treat you. Do you want someone to do this to you?"

Me: Who do you want to be like when you grow up?
Zoe: I kind of want to grow up to be like you, since I care about you. I also want to be like Daddy because he served in the Army, and girls can serve in the Army.

Me: Is there anything else you want to tell me?
Zoe: Some people think that their parents don't care about them, but deep down they really do. It's like me and Austin. Sometimes I think he doesn't love me, but he really does.

Me: Do you ever feel like I don't love you?
Zoe: No. You tell me every day. Like, a lot. So...no.

Me: What was the last thing that made you cry?
Zoe: My friends called me 'mean', and one of my other friends said to those friends that they should say they were sorry, but when they said it, they were smiling and started laughing. That really set me off.

Me: What was the last thing that made you laugh?
Zoe: The dog was laying with us and he put his paw on my face and you said, "I now baptize you in the name of The Father, The Son, and the Holy Dog Biscuit."

Me: If you could have anything you wanted, what would you pick?
Zoe: A school, so that I could teach a bunch of kids, like my school does for me.

Me: What are you getting me for Christmas?
Zoe: Mooooommmmmyyy! I'm not telling you!

Me: Can I have the last piece of your birthday cake?
Zoe: I'll split it with you.

     In case anyone is curious, I didn't even cry once, all day, until I got to the one about beauty.
     And now I am going to shut this down and go split the last piece of Triple Chocolate Cake with her, because she looks like her Daddy, but she eats chocolate like her Mommy.
     Happy Birthday, my sweet, sweet, Zo. I love you to the moon, to the moon.