“Michael Scott’s Dunder Mifflin Scranton Meredith Palmer Memorial Celebrity Rabies Awareness Fun Run Race for the Cure. This is Pam.”

“You spend your whole life trying to get people to like you, and then you run over one person with your car and it’s not even one of the popular ones…and everyone gets on your case.”

“Well, if you’re going to reduce my identity to my religion, then I’m Sikh. But, I also like hip-hop and NPR. And, I’m restoring a 1967 Corvette in my spare time.”

“I’m not superstitious, but I’m a little stitious.”

“Well, you left your TV on…and your cat is dead.”

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Sigh…I looked at my eight year old daughter this morning and couldn’t believe how big she suddenly was. It was like she sprouted up a few inches overnight. She was only 2 pounds 9 ounces when she was born, and that baby…that little, teeny, tiny baby who could fit in the palm of her father’s hand…well, she could NOT be the same child I see before me now. It’s like this new kid just gobbled up the other one. A dingo didn’t do it…a third-grader ate my baby.

As we near her 9th birthday, it’s hard to think that her life in this house is almost half over. Nine years from now we’ll be nearing her 18th birthday and she’ll be entering college shortly after that. How is that possible? The years since she was born have flown. They’re a blur really. Day to day crap didn’t eat my memories, it devoured them.

Today before I sent her off to school, I gave her an extra hug and kiss. What more can I do really? I can’t hold on to her forever, though there are days I wish I could. There are times I wish I could hold that little two pound baby in my arms…go back to a time, after she got off her heart monitor, when I didn’t have to worry about her so much. When there was no hustle and bustle of school, homework, sports, life. I want to yell at her, “Stop growing!”

And yet, there is so much joy in watching her mature. She is smart, funny, extremely kind and generous, a wonderful big sister and friend, and not a bad softball player either. There’s no doubt that life won’t always be a breeze with her. We know we have battles ahead. So somehow, someway, I have to find time to enjoy her while she’s young. Just for today, I’m going to take the day to day crap and shove it where it won’t get in the way. Just for today, because tomorrow is only nine years away.

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I have been tossing around the idea of allowing comments on this blog. My in-box this morning had two separate requests for a comment section, but I have reasons why I’ve avoided it up to now.

Though my life and language are not always G-Rated, this blog is. My eight year old reads it. My mother and my mother-in-law read it. So, if you post a comment I ask that you please use discretion and “clean” language. I know, for a fact, that the first thing most of my friends would like to do is leave a comment laced with profanity, just to get me in trouble! I’m trusting you won’t.

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My dog is driving me crazy. She sheds so much fur that I don’t know how she can bear the cool evenings we’ve been having. I half expect to roll over in bed and see her snuggled up beside me saying, “Hey! Quit taking all the covers already!” Her fur comes off in such quantities that I never want to pet her, or let anyone else pet her. I find myself yelling at guests, “Stay above the collar! Stay above the collar!” so as not to find a pile of yellow fluff floating around the room, inevitably landing on someone’s black pants.

Secondly, she has some serious odor lately. Flat out STANK. I think it’s part dog breath, part stagnant pond water. We do our best to keep her from it, but she can occasionally stray and manage a dip in the park’s green water with a film on top. Not to mention her gas, which is so bad that it’s become audible in her old age. It used to be that if we saw her get up and sneak slyly away, an aroma like no other would follow. It was so bad that she would actually leave the room. But now she’s old, and she simply lays there and lets the dog vapor linger around her…and all around the room. If only people could see us watching TV in the evening with our shirts pulled up to cover our mouths and noses. We don’t dare breathe that toxic air.

But, what I find most disgusting is that whenever I let her outside, she delights in eating squirrel poop, or rabbit poop, or whatever animal leaves those tiny turds in our yard. She will meander over to the ivy under our tree, find a spot and literally dig in. She will bury her teeth in the dirt, get a mouthful, and begin to chomp, chomp, chomp. I can’t even bear to watch without gagging.

The last dog I had not only ate other animal’s waste, but she rolled in it. She once squirmed around in fresh dog poo and was completely covered from the tip of her nose to her shoulders. Because it was a frigid winter day, and because I was a moron, I decided to put her in the bathtub to rinse her off. I pulled the curtain shut and turned on the shower full blast. I then opened the curtain to pull the removable shower head off so I could get under her neck. But when I did that, she did the soaked-dog-shake and wet poo was flung to the walls, floor, ceiling…everywhere. Crevices I didn’t even know existed were speckled with dripping feces.

Now that I think about it, maybe I should be grateful for what I have now.

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