Nightmare come true

This summer is the summer I always hope and pray we won't have. Triple digit temps for day after day, very little rain in our area and nothing over most of the state. Ponds and streams have dried up and now lakes and rivers are feeling the stress. Water levels in Fort Worth are quickly approaching 75%, which means rationing will begin soon if things don't change. And our area is better off than most of the rest of the state where they haven't had significant rainfall since Halloween last year.

Ugh. Worrying about this kind of summer has given me panic attacks during past summers. Luckily no summer that I can remember recently ever panned out to be that bad. But this one is another story. It's weird, but once you're in the middle of it, survival instincts kick in and you just have to get through it. We must press on.

So that means I'm on a new drought exercise program. I go out around 9pm every night and change out all the water dishes. I've added several new ones. We have two big bird baths, several large bowls on the ground, and 8 small bowls scattered all over the yard. I check the bird feeders, because I'm feeding them much more than I would be if we weren't going through this extreme heat. Then I water flower beds and pots if they need it. Then I start working on whichever area of the yard seems to need attention that week. Last week I deep watered the east side of the house after discovering we had several photinia bushes dying and a crepe myrtle in very bad and wilted state. This week I deep watered our holly bushes out front, because the sun is now hitting them dead on for some of the day and they are turning yellow.

I can't help but notice the reduction in bird population, not just in parking lots of businesses we frequent, but even in the neighborhood. I see birdbaths just sitting there empty and I get so angry. Why have one if you are not going to use it, especially in this weather? I also can't help but think about strays trying to survive in this, and farm animals having to get through it day after day. I know that ranchers are having to sell livestock over the whole state. Of course I think about people suffering also, people who can't afford air conditioning in their houses or cars, mothers with infants sitting on unshaded bus stops in the middle of the day, crews working out the hot sun.

But I can't save them all. So I just concentrate on our yard, our little ecosystem. Which is doing pretty well. I've seen all of our regular birds, plus our majestic woodpecker a couple of times, and a beautiful red hawk at the backyard birdbath. The hummingbirds seem to be visiting the nectar every once in awhile. I see toads soaking, lizards making their way to the water dishes, and wasps taking a quick drink. The plants are hanging in there, but only because of my watering efforts. I've had to dig up my pot of impatiens and my cannas from the ground. The elephant ears and calladium may be next. So all that will be left is the lantana (which feed the very infrequent butterflies) and the turk's cap in the ground, and the sweet potato vine, salvia and rosemary in pots.

It's physically exhausting to run errands with both boys, or to have Gabriel's swim lesson at 5 pm at the hottest part of the day. But the mental strain is taking a toll as well. Is this how people in the northeast feel with day after day of freezing temps and snow on the ground for weeks at a time? There doesn't seem to be an end in sight and that leaves us all feeling hopeless.

But we must press on.

Teachers, good and bad

We haven't had a laptop or desktop working for two weeks because our modem (router?) went kaput. Time to get a little caught up on what we've been up to.

Joel and I have been attending a Mommy and Me swim class at the downtown YMCA. The first class was great, and reminded me of the Emler Swim School class that Gabriel and I took when he was the same age. Unfortunately, the instructor for that day was just subbing for our regular one. His name is Alex. He thinks he is cooler than cool and about 22 years old. Maybe. He spent the first class talking. His information was good and helpful, but I was a little irritated that he never got in the water and tried to meet his students face to face. Now we have two classes out of 6 left and he has yet to get in the water. He watches us Moms do our best to follow his sparse suggestions from the side of the pool. Give me a break. We are basically paying for the use of the pool every Saturday morning. I remember alot from that class at Emler, so I'm doing ok on my own. So well, in fact, that I think Joel is getting close to swimming on his own, but he still won't be anywhere near 10 seconds like Gabriel was at the end of his class. I guess you get what you pay for, but sadly Emler now only has a location in Southlake, and I'm not making that drive. Sheesh. At least Joel is having fun.

On the other side of the teacher spectrum, Gabriel had his first week of two weeks of swimming sessions with Mr. Bryan, who he took from last year. Mr. Bryan might just be the best teacher of anything I've ever seen. There are two kids in each 30 minute session, of comparable age and swimming level. This year Gabriel is with Kate, a 4-year-old spunky cutie. They are both making amazing strides every day. Gabriel is getting almost all the way across the short length of the pool on top of the water, swimming well underwater, jumping off the diving board (!) and starting to learn arm strokes. The jump in maturity level between last summer and this one is enormous. Last year our class was in the morning, this year we got bumped to 5pm since we didn't sign up quickly enough. Jav was worried that Mr. Bryan would be tired from teaching all day. But there is NO difference. This man is truly amazing. He is positive even about problems, he constantly gives them confidence, and he knows how to get them to have fun. There is no greater joy I have felt as a parent than watching Gabriel excel at something he had trouble with before, and have so much fun doing it. I've been on a high all week.

Saying goodbye

It's just so hard. After a gut-wrenching couple of days we had to say a sad goodbye to our sweet Molly. Our last three days with her were hard but also wonderful. We all got to spend tons of time petting her, and telling her how much we loved her. But we also had to watch her pain get gradually worse, until the last day she couldn't take more than a few steps without stopping to rest. Dogs are so loving and she wanted to be right in the middle of wherever we all were, so even though I was trying to keep her in one place resting, she would always get up to be wherever we were (I guess where I was is more accurate). We grilled burgers that Saturday night, and she hobbled out to the porch in 103 degree weather to be with Jav and wait for her samples that he always gave her. When she was not on her feet, she seemed perfectly fine. We would wonder if we were making the right decision, until she tried to get up again and we knew we were.

The vet was at church when I called him, but being the wonderful person that he is he agreed to meet us at the clinic. Molly LOVED going up there, and I had been distraught thinking that we might have to take her to a strange place with people she didn't know. But she was wagging her tail just like always and happy up the end. Jav and I, though, were despondent at the thought of losing her. It seemed like she went from being fine to not being fine so fast. I kept getting almost angry thinking that she probably would have had a good two years left if this had not happened. But it did happen. I guess most people who end up with cancer and their loved ones feel that way.

I've been through this before, and know that the first week is the hardest. I keep expecting to be in her favorite spots: under the dining room table, waiting just outside the kitchen while we eat, in the hallway while the boys played with their cars. She would come in every morning with me to get Joel up, and would be in Gabriel's room every night while we were putting him to bed. I can't stand to come home and realize that our big sloppy greeter isn't here anymore. I don't like to look in the backyard and remember seeing her lying in the sun, or grazing like a big cow. I want to reach down when I'm just waking up and pet that head. I want to feel that big tail all of a sudden gently whipping my leg while I'm watering outside. All of it just hurts.

I'm trying to take comfort in the fact that for the last five years I've been home, and not working. We got to spend SO much more time with her because of that. And this past weekend I spotted a quote that has helped me more than anything:

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened. "

I just love that. But my goodness I miss her.