A dog's life

Poor, poor Rizzo. Since the birth of Eowyn, she has moved far down the totem pole of my attention and affection. And as she ages, she has grown more...incontinent. Let's just say I'm looking forward to a time when I can have rugs in the house without them getting peed all over. When I can lay a clean bath mat on the floor, reach to grab a towel, and turn back without discovering fresh pee on it. When the smell of dog urine doesn't threaten to assail my nostrils at unexpected moments.

I used to be quite the dog person. I could identify many of the different breeds, and even what kind of breed it was--toy dog, working dog, etc. Rizzo herself was treated tantamount to my own offspring.

The night Eowyn came home, that all changed. Rizzo's spot by my side in the bed was forfeited without mercy, since Eowyn slept best those first few months by nursing in bed at night. So often ignored or pushed away, Rizzo ceased following me from room to room or curling up next to me on the couch.

I can see, intellectually, that this is sad, yet I'm not sad about it. My love for Eowyn and the priority of her needs are just so much greater to me. Rizzo is now a creature to be tolerated, cared for adequately, and shown moderate affection when I'm not too tired to do so.

Christian, or course, thinks this is monstrous. Rizzo will always be the original princess to him.

Her spot in the sun grows smaller

And they call it a "game"

Perhaps you've seen Penny Arcade's comic on the subject. Apparently, Mega Man 9 has an old-school draw that I simply can't relate to. I can understand the nostalgic pull of Mario, of course, and ancient RPG's make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Heck, I even get the pull of Kirby and Sonic. But Mega Man was not a game I ever witnessed as I peeked around the doorjamb to watch my brother play (if he caught me watching him play video games, he'd beat me up, since he sought to extinguish any bit of my happiness that he could). It was not a game I played myself.

Christian recently downloaded it on the Wii, and is enjoying it immensely, or so he assures me. At first glance, it seems to me to be a cross between Metroid and Mario, but far more difficult and far less forgiving. I sit by him and watch as he dies over and over. Much sighing and cursing can be heard. Rows of spikes, which inflict death at a mere touch, loom everywhere. Gaping holes of death must be crossed via blocks that appear and reappear according to some infernal pattern. Checkpoints, and extra lives, are few and far between. When you die, you must start all the way back at the beginning.

In order to progress, you must memorize the layout of each level with agonizing precision, from the firing patterns of the enemies to the timing of the swinging platforms. If you manage to make it to a checkpoint, you likely have only one life left, meaning you will very soon be going back to the beginning again. Progression, as you may guess, is maddeningly slow, especially compared the quick pace of most current-gen fare.

Clearly, there's an appeal to this game that I'm missing. If I'm playing a game, it's for escapism and stress-relief. This game would have me pull out my hair in frustration. It's the kind of game I expect to be forced to play as punishment in a POW camp. "And you're sure you're having fun, Christian?" I ask repeatedly. "Definitely!" he replies immediately.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

The weekend before last, I attended the UPC women's retreat. This was my first time away from Eowyn overnight, and I was struck by a surprising sadness in the days leading up to the retreat. I was startled to realize just how much I would miss her, and how much I worried whether Christian would feed her well, change her diaper enough, pay her enough attention and get her to sleep without too much trouble. I cried a fair amount! When it came time to leave, I choked up again. Fortunately, gabbing with the other girls in the carpool helped distract me quickly.

I was under the misconception I would get more sleep while on the retreat. Instead, I struggled with a bout of insomnia and found myself listening for Eowyn's cry in my sleep even though she was nowhere near. Still, spending time away, completely free of responsibility for her, was quite nice. Chatting with other adult women without distractions was amazingly refreshing.

As it turns out, Eowyn survived just fine without me. I'm not as indispensable as I believed. She ate and slept peachy for Christian. She didn't mope or otherwise appear to notice much that I was gone. And that's...really...great...hmph.

A guest post

Since my mom writes about me so frequently, I thought I should take the time to share a little bit about myself, too. First off, there's my name, Eowyn. I'm cool with it. My mom and dad mostly use it when they want me to quit wandering off into the neighbor's yard. I usually take it as a signal to run faster. Otherwise, mom calls me 'baby', though she often uses 'sweetie' in a strange, strained manner, as in, 'oh, sweetie, please don't dump your milk on the floor!' Now, dad calls me 'sunshine' in the morning, even when I'm screaming and refusing to get my diaper changed. Dad's great!

washing my face with lots of soap

I would say that my greatest talent is creating incredible messes. My favorite media for these creations are cereal, copious amounts of water, soap, sometimes even my own pee. My common activities include yelling at the top of my lungs just because I can, refusing to eat food that I wolfed down eagerly the day before, and pooping when I really ought to be napping. I love to try and dress myself, though I must admit that I often get so angry at my pants I start screaming. Those things just won't cooperate!

attack of the pants

I love to read books with Mom and play in the sink. I like to pretend to cook things, and I like to use my crayons to write on things I shouldn't. My favorite words are 'uh oh' and 'oh no.' Dancing is another favorite activity. I like to change stations on the radio until I find music I like, and I insist that Mom dance along with me. Hey, it's good exercise, and just plain fun!

Fashionista

Having just stepped out of the bath, Eowyn models this fall's newest fashion trend (an EB original, of course). She calls it, 'Mother's shirt worn sideways. Sort of.' Get in on this style before it's soooo 5-minutes-ago!

Dressing is a new favorite realm of discovery, as you can see.

Cuddle time

Eowyn's not much of a cuddler. It's not so much that she doesn't like to be held; she just rarely stops moving long enough to actually lay her head against you and hug you. We cherish each kiss and hug, which she rations out meagerly. Christian gets even fewer than I do, since she is such a momma's girl. Her willingness to stop and hold onto Daddy the other morning therefore merited documentation. That Christian was actually wearing a shirt at the time was another factor. I think he is wearing a shirt in less than 10% of our pictures of him. He wears a shirt perhaps less than 10% of the time that he is home. You may surmise that, to my chagrin, Christian is averse to non-necessary clothing when not at work.

Price Reduced

So, our slipping home value is another worry that keeps me up at night. How much has it slipped? Let's say, close to 30%. That's a whole lotta money.

Some of my poor friends and family (sorry, Anna! sorry, Mom!) hear me lament this nearly every time we're together. It's one of those things that forms a cold, hard lump in the pit of your stomach and won't budge. As they say, hindsight is 20/20, yada yada. But I wish we had been just a teensy bit more patient when buying a home. As it was, we broke a lease just to get into this place. Having just moved from California, where home prices were mind-blowingly out of whack, this house felt like a steal at the time. We wanted to 'get in on the market' before it was too late. Result: overpaying, even at the peak of the bubble.

Things like our recent re-pipe escapade lead me to fantasize about the brand new home we could have bought now, complete with brand new pipes and a shower that doesn't leak into my daughter's bedroom. The impending sale of my parent's home, the home I grew up in and which my mom would wish upon me if she could, also makes me wistful for what could have been (more room, stunning neighborhood, etc....).

I try to remind myself about the good things we do have, and I am grateful for them, really! We have a good home with adequate space in a good neighborhood, the one where Christian grew up. Things could be much worse. Unfortunately, the lump in my stomach won't listen to reason.