My seven year old son is blatantly honest. This boy once told a cashier that she looked like a fish and told a TV repairman that he looked like Santa because of his big, round belly.

He has mentioned to a good friend of mine that she has a huge forehead, he touched the face of my husband’s co-worker and told her that he liked her “little mole” and he once saw two Muslim women wearing headscarves, mistook those headscarves for bandannas, and then called them both pirates.

I never know what he will say.

The other day our puppy, Daisy, wouldn’t stop throwing up. After a trip to the vet, a half-dozen x-rays and a barium study, her doctor sent us home with some special canned food and a bottle of Pepcid.

That afternoon, my son was sitting on my lap when he eyed one of Daisy’s toys sitting on the floor; a ball you fill with kibble that she can roll around until the treats fall out.

He asked, “Can I put some little bones in Daisy’s ball?”

I replied, “No. Not today, buddy. She can’t have anything hard right now. The vet gave us those cans because the food inside is soft and squishy.”

Then he ran his hand up my sleeve and said, “Oh. Like your arms.”

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It is every parent’s hope and dream that their children will turn out better than they did. We wish for better opportunities, less stress and more intelligence for our offspring.

When I play with our new puppy, Daisy, I get down on the floor and talk in puppy language. I say things like, “Let me rub that super-duper, pupper-wupper, Buddha, frog belly and those oogley-googley ears!”

Yesterday, my ten year old daughter was romping on the floor with Daisy when I heard her say, “Daisy! How in the world can you be holding me down when you don’t even have opposable thumbs?”

If our puppy talk is any indication, this kid already has me beat in the intelligence department.

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Roughly 14 years ago I went paraplaning with some co-workers, one of whom would become my future husband.

If you have never seen a paraplane, it is a glorified go-cart with an enormous fan on the back. As you drive the go-cart across a field, the fan fills a parachute which acts as your wings. Before you know it, you’re alone, 700 feet in the air with steel strapped to your rear end and nothing connecting you to your friends on the ground but a walkie talkie.

Photo courtesy http://www.sunflightcraft.com/

Because of a technical malfunction, my husband had no radio contact. He flew around, without flight instruction, for almost a half an hour and absolutely loved the experience. I, however, spoke clearly with the people on the ground, and was so terrified that I made only one loop around the farm because I feared I might buy it.

I had always thought I would be more of a daredevil, but the paraplane set me straight. A few years later, I was conveniently pregnant when my husband went white-water rafting and sky-diving without me.

I am fine with that. I own the fact that I don’t take chances.

About a month ago, I put word out that we were looking for a puppy. I also, half-heartedly, asked someone to stop me.

Our 11 year old dog has been a great big pain. She is finally at a point where she’s calm and controllable, so why would we think about starting from scratch?

A few folks tried to talk some sense into me, including my best friend who knows me all too well. She knows how busy my life is, and how having a dog throws a wrench into just about everything you do.

But then, a childhood friend sent me a message that simply said, “Go for it — life is short.”

And that? Was all it took.

Life is tough enough thanks to the worrying we do over whether we’re raising our kids the right way, if they’re doing well socially and academically, if they’re going to get hurt playing sports, or get plucked off the street by a stranger. Having kids is a pinch of love and a whole lot of stress. It’s all about taking chances.

Add to that, the fact that my six year old son walks around at risk of a stroke every day, or that he needs open heart surgery, or that his life has been one, big, uphill battle.

Life is short for all of us, but for some people, life can be risky without ever intentionally taking a risk. Some people don’t have to fly a go-cart through the air or jump out of a plane. My son is one of them. His life is risky because he exists. All I needed was a reminder.

That is the reason my fingers have become chew toys and why we are going through paper towels like they’re going out of style. My little boy wants to run and romp and play with a puppy and he deserves the chance to do so.

Life is short and we went for it. And, I am so glad we did.

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After one sleepless night, one ruined laptop cord, wood floors which have sustained three pees, two poops and one vomit, and after our 11 year old dog, Blue, has done a lot of growling and huffing about because Daisy thinks her ears are a chew toy….it was especially nice to wake up today and see them being snuggle buddies.

Daisy is lucky that she’s so cute.

Note: In the time it took me to post this, I’ve cleaned up one more pee and a vomit. She’s really, really lucky that she’s so cute.

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