It has come to my attention that all Hallmark movies have the same plot. While this isn’t completely shocking for me, it’s mildly annoying nonetheless. Not that the plots are eerily similar … no … this is what I love about them, it’s that I have a rather vocal family member who spouts off Hallmark spoiler alerts like it’s nobody’s business. It has gotten to the point that Full Speed can almost predict to the minute when the star-crossed lovers seemed doomed to be forever apart.
However, I do not need to hear it.
I DO NOT NEED TO HEAR IT.
I watch enough football, well, a loosely based version of what constitutes as ‘watching football’, and enough high-action dramas (seriously, how many explosions can one main character survive?) that as a reward, Hallmark movies are essentially my birthright.
You can take them or leave them but I’m telling you, if a Hallmark movie is rated ‘G’, it means it’s GOOD.
Full Speed clunked his way through the school library doors. The past couple days tested him. A cold slowed his usual enthusiasm for life and by the looks of him, I knew his day drained what little energy he had left. He sat in silence while I finished up my volunteer tasks. Once T.Puzzle arrived, we made our way to the car.
I asked Full Speed point-blank, “What did you have for lunch?”
He said, “Nothing.”
Nothing! Alarm bells rang loud and clear in my head. He passed on breakfast and instead of forcing the issue, I made him promise to eat something at lunch.
Once lunchtime arrived, his appetite would reappear. I counted on that and said as much to him.
To hear him say he ate nothing all day seemed unacceptable.
“You. Are eating dinner. No negotiation. Understand me?” I said.
He nodded in defeat.
Later, at the dinner table as T.Puzzle described his luncheon with the principal (as an honor, not a punishment, thank goodness!), something in the way Full Speed’s eyes twinkled, made me question if he skipped lunch.
“Full Speed, did you really not eat lunch?” I said.
“Alright, I guess I’ll just look it up on your lunch account and find out for myself.”
“Yes! I had lunch! Okay?” he said.
“Why would you lie about that?” I said.
“Because then I would have to admit you were right. My appetite did come back and I was hungry. I already had two days of feeling sick. I couldn’t admit that my mom was right and I was wrong on top of that!”
Like a lunch after hours of not eating, victory never tasted so sweet.
Change is not without challenge. When you are a senior citizen, this sometimes amplifies your resistance to change.
For the record, I am referring to my senior dog, Little Guy, and not myself. Yes, I had to clarify as my children are certain I am quite advanced in age.
Little Guy turned fifteen this summer. He has lived a long, healthy, happy existence and is still enjoying life (well, at least the parts he doesn’t sleep through). However, with all this change surrounding us, eating was no longer a favorite activity. He began to reject all forms of meticulously prepared kibble and such. He preferred treats and began to beg for table scraps.
This went on for many weeks. He began to lose weight and started to lose some of his zip.
Finally, in a last-ditch effort (yes, the situation was becoming quite dire), I stumbled upon a raw food diet that he adores. I don’t mind one bit that it’s super fancy.
He can have whatever his heart desires.
Since he began his fancy food, he is a much more content, happy boy.
He loves his life again.
In essence, he is reverting back to his natural heritage of being a carnivorous beast.
He’s going out in a blaze of glory.
Just make sure you heat up his food for twenty seconds in the microwave before you serve him.
It was small. Almost microscopic in relation to all the other LEGO components.
It really shouldn’t have mattered, but, oh, did it make my blood boil.
To keep things completely honest, this tiny LEGO part that I am referring to belonged to a gigantic guilt-induced, we-are-moving-you-away-from-family-and-friends LEGO set Mad Dog and I had purchased for T.Puzzle.
It’s a rollercoaster.
The LEGO set, not my emotional well-being.
Both are a rollercoaster.
Look out, world!
To get back to the tiny part that was missing, let me explain why I was ready to lose my mind.
As you know, moving = chaos. There are boxes. There are boxes. Let me repeat, there are boxes.
And they are everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
And the stuff! It’s everywhere yet you cannot find what you need to save your life.
So, as T.Puzzle began construction on his rollercoaster, I explicitly said to him:
“Please put these tiny, teeny, very-small-indeed rubber bands SOMEWHERE THAT YOU WON’T LOSE THEM.”
He lost them and with them, my last remaining shred of sanity.
Even as I was disproportionately overreacting to the loss of these rubber bands, I allowed myself a freak out.
I even said out loud, “I realize my reaction does not match what is happening, but, it can’t be helped.”
What added to the comedy (tragedy?), is that all three of my boys kept throwing each other under the bus. Lots of accusations about what had happened to the lost items were bandied about.
Guess how much personal accountability was offered?
Eventually, after some CSI-level maneuverings, the missing pieces materialized.
Mad Dog had ‘stored’ them in our kitchen garbage can.