October 25, 2007

Magna-Doodlebug

I bought my son a Magna-Doodle yesterday. I probably never would have purchased this toy if it wasn’t on sale.

Magna-Doodles bring back sad memories of my grandmother’s struggle with communication as the result of her many strokes. Grandma Alice couldn’t speak and she wrote her responses to conversations on a Magna-Doodle or dry erase board.

When we went out to breakfast with my parents a few weeks ago, a little area of the dining room had a box of toys ready for impatient and hungry children to play with while waiting for their toast and eggs. Dawson chose to play with the Magna-Doodle and he loved it so much.

I watched him draw shapes, faces, and other scribbles. He made a near perfect circle and was so proud of himself! So, when I saw that these toys were on sale at Target I decided to purchase one. I was going to wait until Christmas to give it to him, but I started to get a little sad.

My grandmother died December 6, 2005. I just didn’t want to have sad memories of her when Dawson opened that toy at Christmas. I’m certain this sounds completely irrational, ridiculous even. But I came home and gave Dawson the toy.

“Mumma! This for me??” Dawson asked. The smile on his face was priceless. He was so happy.

“Yes, buddy. That is for you. Do you remember what that is?” I asked.

“Uh-huh, this my drawing toy.” Dawson said.

“Yeah. It’s called a Magna-Doodle. For my Doodlebug.” I told him.

“Thanks, Mumma, for buying this for me.” he said. He ran over to me and gave me a hug. It was the best hug ever.

Dawson spent the entire evening drawing and erasing and drawing some more. I couldn’t believe how much he loved his new toy.

This morning as we were getting ready, he asked if he could take it to Renee’s house.

“Okay, but you have to share with the other kids and don’t lose the magnetic shapes, okay?”

“I promise Mumma. Dawson share with all the kids, kay?

“Okay.”

He clutched the toy in his arms and we got into the car. He drew pictures all the way to daycare. When we got inside, he ran to show his friends. As I was leaving, Dawson stopped playing, ran to me and said, “Love you, Mumma.”

Who knew a $10 toy could bring so much joy and love to my little Magna-Doodlebug?

September 23, 2007

Le Tour de Pumpkin Patch

Last year, the weekend after his birthday, I took Dawson to the pumpkin patch at Altenburg Farms in Wisconsin Rapids. It was the first time I’d been there since I was a teenager.

Dawson got a kick out of the hayride and the tractor that pulled us and he didn’t mind standing next to his pumpkin so that I could take a picture for the Halloween card.

Such a tiny little tot he was.

This weekend I was looking back on the calendar and thought we’d take a trip to Altenburg’s once again. I was so excited because it was the opening weekend of the Fall Fun, and again it is the weekend after my Bug’s birthday. We’ve started a little tradition and it just makes me smile.

He’s grown so much since last year!

This year Dawson was more interested in the pumpkin patch and the hundreds of pumpkins scattered everywhere. He enjoyed the hayride again, but wasn’t as excited as the year before. I remember hearing “Tractor! TRACTOR!” several times. I think I heard him say, “Been there, done that!” this time.

The best part of our field trip was that my mom and brother came along again. My sister was with us last year but she had to work this time.

This is one tradition I’m going to look forward to every year!

September 6, 2007

Goodbye Old Friend

It’s kind of a difficult day for me.  What keeps nagging at my mind is something my sister told me last night.

“Mom and Dad are putting Shadow down tomorrow at 11 a.m.” she said. I could feel a wave of sadness wash over me.

Shadow is (was?) our family dog.  A mix of Rat Terrier and Pomeranian, Shadow looked more like a terrier with his beady eyes and his white, brown and tan coat.   We were visiting my grandma, Alice, on her farm in the spring of 1991.  Grandma Alice’s brother and his wife had given the puppy to her to keep her company.  When we saw the adorable pup, my brother, sister and I fell in love with him instantly.

“Please, Mom!  Can we take him home?  Can we have the puppy?” we asked.  My mother had just had a baby, our brother Frankie, and she didn’t think a puppy was a good idea.  I remember crying to Grandma about it.

“Gramma, can we take the puppy home?  We’ll be good and we’ll take care of it.  I promise.  Will you tell Mom I promise?” I asked.

Either I was a very persuasive 12-year-old, or Grandma was a sucker, because that little puppy came home with us.  My mother didn’t even tell my father until we got home because she knew he would have said no had she asked him over the telephone.

The puppy became a member of our family instantly.  We loved to play with him and he liked to run and jump and tug on our shoelaces when we walked.  He followed us everywhere and that’s when we decided to call him Shadow.  To be truthful, I chose the dog’s name.  My sister wanted to call him Huggy Bear and my brother liked the name Viet Cong Dog or something along those lines.

Like any new toy, the novelty of our pet wore off as he grew from a puppy into a dog.  We still loved our Shadow, but we slacked on our chores of feeding him and walking him.  Shadow became Mom’s dog and she loved her faithful friend.  As her children grew up and began to move out of the house, my mom loved Shadow as her companion.

In recent years, Shadow suffered blindness, he’s practically deaf, he has issues holding his bladder and bowel movements and he has a lot of difficulty walking, running and jumping due to his weight and his aging body.  A few months ago he started getting some open sores on his fur and my father thought perhaps it was doggie cancer.

Dad always mentioned that perhaps it was time to end Shadow’s suffering, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it.  She said she couldn’t bear to end his life.

“He’s not whimpering.  He doesn’t seem like he’s in pain!” she yelled.  “Would you put ME down if I were old and sick?”

“Monica, he’s not a human.  He’s a dog, and I hate to see him suffer.” Dad replied.

The discussion often bordered an argument and my dad hadn’t mentioned it again.   According to my sister, my mom isn’t speaking to my father and she is very mad that Shadow is going to be put to sleep.   I don’t blame her.

I know that Shadow is almost 17 years old.  I know he’s lived a long happy life.  It pains me to see him struggle to walk and to see his once beautiful coat of fur full of sores.  I feel sad that he can’t see and he can’t hear.  I also feel terrible for my mother who still loves her pal.  She still pet him and cared for him even in his old age.

But when I think about my Murphy getting older, I can’t fathom the idea of putting him to sleep, and I know exactly how my mother feels.

The tears are welling up in my eyes as I write this.  In 45 minutes our little Shadow, our good old friend, will enter Dog Heaven.  Dad hasn’t said if he’ll bury Shadow under a tree in the yard, but I hope he does.  It’s too painful to imagine him anywhere else.

We still love you, Shadow.   Rest peacefully, my little canine friend.  I think I’m going to miss you more than I ever imagined.