Wednesday, November 5, 2008

And her name is Jill.

It really gets me how these raccoon hunting hillbillies give their dogs such lovely names, like Jill and Lily and Ruby and Lucy and Belle and Queenie. And to clarify, I use the term 'hillbilly' with affection.

When I got home from work, there in the backyard was my youngest daughter, Lily, fawning over a 6 month old Treeing Walker Coon Hound. The dog was rolling over onto its back, and Lily was petting her and talking to her. Then Lily would get on her bike and the dog would wrap her chain around the bike and knock it over, tail wagging wildly. Lily has always been frisky puppy-like, so no offense was taken. It was a cute match. In fact it took all my strength to not go down there and fuss over 'Jill' myself. I am still stubbornly trying to project my disapproval in the face of everyone else's excitement.

To be fair, she was perfectly quiet all night. And she's only at our house on trial for 2 weeks. So I'm actually having trouble remembering what it is I'm supposed to be opposed to here. This is why my husband and I usually get along pretty well: I am supremely forgetful.

So moving on past the dog drama. Do you ever get those moments of bliss where you kind of freeze and think 'Don't move, or you'll scare it away!' Like when you see a deer in the woods or a butterfly on a flower. You are so overwhelmed with a humble gratitude & joy and near disbelief at the miraculous bunch of grace that is your life, that it nearly knocks you over.

Mark had taken the dog out in the woods (naturally) and the kids and I were in the kitchen. It was chilly and dark outside, but warm & shiny inside. They received their report cards yesterday and they all had straight A's. Sam even got 102% in Social Studies. So everyone was sort of basking in that glow & I made them tacos for supper, so I was their favorite mom ever. Agnes was reading Lily's library book out loud to her with Sam pitching in on any words Aggie wasn't sure of. I started mixing up a batch of oatmeal cookies & the kitchen smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. There were books and magic markers and drawings of rainbows & cats all over the kitchen table and what could be more wonderful? My three children reading & talking & getting along. All at the same time!

And I knew it wouldn't last, so I simply savored it. Just tried to stay quiet and small, making slow movements so I wouldn't frighten it away.

But bedtime eventually rolled around and I was forced to break the spell myself. Aggie bailed on the cleanup effort and Lily nagged her about it. Sam did his usual indignant bit, and Daddy came home and just generally got in the way. There was just enough oatmeal cookie-scented magic lingering in the air to get everyone to bed before the clock struck 9. Then we all turned into pumpkins. The End.


Becky said...

Good for you for recognizing the magicalness of that moment. Those times really hold you over during the times when you want to scream at them until you're hoarse. Not that any of us have those times.

Camp Papa said...

I read this post to my wife and we agreed that we would happily adopt you and your whole brood.

Sara said...

camp papa, that's got to be one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me. My heart cockles are toasty warm now. Thank you!