RIP Prudence

I never noticed the baby's strike-pose in this
picture of happier times with our dog.

Yesterday, Prudence was hit by a car and died.

The plucky dog-walker from down the street, who rescued our beagle once before, discovered our dead dog and delivered the news with a lecture to me about how I should've altered the fence to prevent Prudence from digging any escape holes.  What could I say? Many of her criticisms were accurate, but they were hard to hear at that moment. When I saw Prudence, I burst into tears.  My sobs softened the angry dog-walker.  She even gave me a hug then toned down her tirade.

I fetched my oldest two to help me collect our dog and bring her home. The three of us circled around our dog, crying our eyes out.  The 13 year old and I tried but failed to lift up the still warm, limp dog.  With the blood streaming out of her ear, some teeth knocked out, and a bit of an organ poking through her abdomen, we were afraid to lift her up only to have her fall apart.  Besides, we were just too emotional to see her like that.

I called my neighbors who immediately ran down the street to our aid.  They took charge, allowing the kids and me to dumbly stand there watching them.  The wife spoke loving words to Prudence while she swaddled her in towels and scooped up our dog in her arms.  The tenderness comforted us.

Back at the house, my neighbor instructed us on how to bury our pet.  I'm so glad she did, because I have never buried anything before.  (Unless you count the half-eaten birds left over from my neighbors' cat's meal.  As kids, my sister and I unsuccessfully buried these birds that were soon dug up and scattered.)

Bundled in towels with her collar resting on top, Prudence is now buried in a plastic box with cinder blocks on the lid to prevent animals from digging her up or opening the box.

At the beginning of our long dig session.

Of all the children, my 5 year old has taken the news the hardest.  Throughout the day, she bursts into tears about missing Prudence.  She also keeps asking me to buy them another girl beagle named Prudence.  (Stay strong.  Keep saying no!) Heartbroken, my girl and I hug until her little mind wanders onto some new distraction.

Who could've imagined our dog dying?  Certainly, I didn't.  Last week, I ordered beagle stuffed animals for the youngest kids as Christmas presents.  Thinking how cute it is that 2011 was our year of the beagle, I wanted to commemorate the addition to our family.  Now those toys seem like memorials, and I'm waffling on whether to still gift the kids these reminders of their dead dog.

Perhaps kids are more resilient than what I give them credit for.  The oldest think I should still gift these toys.  Besides, they are already planning out the supposed flock of chicken we will buy come spring.  I'm not ready for more pets. In fact, I'm beginning to feel like animals come here to die.

A Trip to the ER

10 little monkeys jumping on the bed,

one fell off and knocked his head,

Momma called the doctor and the doctor said,

"No more monkeys jumping on the bed!"

Har, har, har.  I know what you are thinking.  "5 kids, 10 kids, same thing."  Well, it's not.  I only have 5. And today, one of my little monkeys jumped on the couch, fell onto the coffee table, and knocked her head.  She knocked her head so hard that her teeth almost poked through the lip, some teeth loosened, and she might have a gap in her pearly whites a little earlier than normal.

Since she split her lip, the amount of blood pouring out terrified us all a little bit.  Her pj's absorbed so much blood that her injury looked much more serious than it was.  My stoic 13 year old typically takes charge whenever any of the other kids has an injury.  Today, she tried her best to disinfect the wound, but the blood kept pumping all over the sink and bathroom floor.

She liked looking at the pictures I took of her.
It distracted her from the pain.

As the bloody girl and I walked into the ER, ambulance workers stopped pushing a gurney to nudge each other and point at her.  People on the sidewalk stopped walking and stepped aside to stare at us walking past them.  The ER staff saw her and ran from whatever they were doing to see what was wrong.  The amount of blood on her was impressive.  This was not the red carpet attention I was looking for.

Of course, my little patient was more stoic than her mother.  I didn't have the stomach to look at her wound at home nor did I have the stomach for it at the hospital.  My queasy reactions when they probed her lip prompted them to get me to sit down and prevent, "a second patient."  Silly, medical staff.  I don't pass out.  I just gross out and make everyone wish that I would just pass out.

Better than any anesthetic, my girl was glued to the TV.  She watched PBS and the Disney channel with undivided attention. Without TV channels at home, she isn't bored by these shows.  Her eyes never once left the TV screen while the doctor described the needles or the stitching until he mentioned popsicles. Once he said the word popsicles, her eyes momentarily flashed towards me as her eyebrows shot up.  That made the doctor and me laugh. Finally a reaction!

She watched the TV through that hole in the sheet thingee.

Well, my girl took the needles, the pain, the tugging, and the sewing all with minimal whimpering.  Anytime she cried out in pain, I kept reminding her that we'd hit the dollar store for a prize.  Of course, afterwards I tried to back out of it, "Can we just get a toy from the grocery store since I need to buy you some soft food anyway?" Nope.  I'd promised the dollar store during that pain, therefore to the dollar store we went.

She chose something that broke as soon as we got home, but she was happy.  A little children's Advil for the swelling and she was good to go, running around the house like nothing happened before.  One time she bonked her head on a door which made her sister and me look at each other in disbelief.  Will this girl send us back to the ER so soon?  Let's hope not.

10 stitches

Advent Traditions

Kids love routine. The need structure.  They adore traditions.  But as the one in charge of the schedule, I feel like Sisyphus who was condemned to roll the boulder up the hill for eternity.  Maintaining order gives me such pleasure. But...what? I'm supposed to maintain order day after day?  I don't think so. Instead of continually pushing that boulder, I've chosen to just step aside and let the stone roll down the hill.

Ok, so I'm horrible at daily routines.  Can you really expect me to do the same thing 365 times in a row? I won't expect myself to do that.  However, Christmas is different.  It's only 24 days (and I still can't be consistent!).

We have a few simple traditions that I keep for our advent season.  Most important is the chocolate advent calendar.  Chocolate.  See why I keep this one going? I never forget to pull out the chocolate every day. Yum, yum.

Chocolate Advent: best invention

Chocolate comes after we've read the day's Advent devotional.  After the reading, the children take turns putting an ornament that correlates with the story onto a table sized Christmas tree.

Lastly, we have Christmas books wrapped under the tree.  One book is chosen and unwrapped each time we gather to read.  Throughout the year, I'd like to find more and better books to add to our new and sparse collection of seasonal books.

Three simple traditions that I don't have to maintain for 12 months.  In fact, I often miss days even though Advent lasts only 24 days.  But who cares?  If three days are missed, we all get to eat 4 chocolate squares to catch up.  That's my kind of tradition!