Why I love spending time in a giant dog toilet.
It's not easy writing your first blog post. Lots of ideas, reaching the masses, informed comments on politically hot topics not to mention great grammar and being able to spell! So because I can't do any of those things, I'm going to keep it real.
Really, truly, re-defining bad curly-hair day real.
Burnt rice and cereal for supper real.
Sundays are supposed to be sanctified so why are we screaming? real.
Loving your kids at 3 am real.
And spending hours at the dog park when you don't like dogs real....Except I do like Dr. Watson. Just a bit. Well. Alright, quite a bit.
I have a daughter. She's 15 and 5 months, 8 days and 16 hours old. I know this because the day I gave birth to her 15 years, 5 months, 8 days and 16 hours and 29 minutes ago, was the day the history of the world changed. Irrevocably. The tiny bundle that left me 2 black eyes, a ripped up under-carriage (over-share?) and banging on the hospital window, telling the world that the most almighty event had just taken place, is now 20 minutes later a beautiful, witty, talented beyond the gene pool fifteen year old! It feels like half an hour ago. How can it be any longer?
Sniff Sniff. Excuse me a moment...
In many ways she takes after me: Blonde, with petri dishes bubbling in her bedroom (Ok, so I haven't done that sort of thing in a while) and planning a career in medicine, but for the most part she is very much the daughter of The Professor -- artistic, sensitive, caring, patient...I could go on. And on. Oh, and did I mention she plays violin like Hilary Hahn, swims in the school varsity team like Phelps, sings like an angel (perfect pitch) and recently won a global Latin award? Yes... Liberty Alice, YOU make my heart sing.
And although I do not fully appreciate her love of animals, encyclopedic knowledge of dog breeds from the age of four, the oblivion to the stink of dog poop, being covered in hound hair when she leaves for school and her motivation to walk Watson when she is exhausted, I do know something...
An hour with Libby at the dog park, seeing her come alive with other dog owners, fascinated by the behavior of Beagles, Afghan hounds and Dachshunds, not phased by the nutty Pit-bull that is climbing on her mothers' lap is something for me to hang on to. I could listen to her wax lyrical on the besetting sins of St. Bernard's, the skittish nature of Chihuahuas and the over-enthusiasm of English Setters for weeks. I can forgo the rising panic I feel as the beautiful Husky with piercing eyes pins our blobby Dr. Watson down and fixes him by the throat. It's the same feeling I had when little master X bit her more than once at Pre-school and I leapt up, ready to draw blood and swipe him and his mother out of the church hall door. For good. For ever and ever. Amen.
So, I will gladly spend an hour with Libs at the dog park sitting on the bench and soaking in stale urine, under the glare of Californian sunshine because in a few months from now, she will be driving her self and Dr. Watson. She will be deciding on college and deliberating on the the merits of spending the next five years with her right fist up a cow's backside. Already she is a young woman. More than one step ahead of her mother who would trade this Friday for a week, when years ago she was small enough to fit on my hip.
"Iv'e just made the cookies for you to ice and sprinkle sweet girl. Once your'e done, we can sway to the music baby, all the way til bedtime."
But whatever is ahead...Be it youth group retreats, vet school, happiness, sunshine, sorrow or sickness...
Dr Wats will always be your first love. And YOU will always be my girl.