I’m afraid of the dentist. Not the actual person. My dentist is a very nice man, as is the hygienist. No, it is the whole concept of the dentist and what they do to you there that scares me. It is not the normal, “I hate going to the dentist” kind of fear. No, it’s one that is almost overwhelming and causes me to change my behavior in ways to avoid this every six month ritual of having my teeth cleaned.
I always postpone my appointments. Sometimes it is for legitimate reasons, a work conflict, a school thing for the kids. But sometimes, it’s just because I’m scared. I’ll postpone it several times, pushing it months into the future. When the day finally comes and I have to go, my palms sweat as I flip through an Architectural Digest in the waiting room. Once they get me into the chair, I try to make small talk to keep my mind off of the inevitable. My heart palpitates and I get the sudden urge to get up and run. Then they start with the scraping. The noise vibrates in my head, I feel as if my teeth are about to shatter. They put that suction thing in my mouth to keep me from drowning in my own saliva – and how embarrassing would that be? My obituary would say, “Died in the dentist chair, choked on her own spit.” Not the way I want to be remembered. Then more scraping and poking and prodding which reminds me of the Nazi dentist in Marathon Man and all I can hear is Laurence Olivier saying “Is it safe? Is it safe?” Then images of Steve Martin as the dentist in Little Shop of Horrors flash through my head and I’m certain that I’m about to be tormented by the real life version of these evil movie dentists. I feel on the verge of panic until they finally say, “…all done, now rinse and spit.”
This is an irrational fear. I know that. I still can’t shake it with all the logic in the world. I don’t admit it to my children because I don’t want them to pick up my phobia. I want them to love the dentist. And they do. In fact, my eight year old has already decided what she wants to be in life…a dentist. Sometimes I find her searching the internet for pictures of teeth or information about dental schools. She’s serious about this dental thing. It figures…anything to upset your mother.
Happy Halloween!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
The Bed You Lie In
There’s an old saying that goes, “You make your bed, now go lie in it.” It roughly means, if you create a situation, you have to deal with it yourself. But whenever I see my children’s beds unmade and my repeated pleas for them to pull up their comforters are ignored, I think of that phrase and of the literal importance of my kids making their own beds. Yes, it would be easier not to push them to do it. That would be one less daily battle to fight in a seemingly endless war of skirmishes over shoes left in the middle of the living room, clothes dumped everywhere, and an endless array of dishes that pile up in the family room, making it look more like a diner than a place to watch t.v. Yeah, letting them skip making their beds would be easier. I could make the beds myself in a shorter time than it takes for me to yell at them. Or I could let the cleaning lady do it. But then what would my kids learn if someone else always does those types of things for them?
When I was about six or seven and my mother worked as a nurse, there was a woman who came to our house to watch us after school and to clean and cook until our parents came home. Her name was Ernestine Johnson, I think – funny I can remember that far back when I can barely remember my own children’s names. Even as she cleaned the rest of the house, Mrs. Johnson was given strict instructions not to empty the trash cans or make the beds in our bedrooms. My brother and I had to do those ourselves. I vaguely remember complaining to my parents and wondering if Mrs. Johnson was here to clean and make beds, why she didn’t clean and make beds in our rooms.
When I was in my early 20s, some old family friends came to stay with us for the weekend. I went to make the bed in the guest room. Our friend watched me do it for a second, and then shook his head. He pulled the sheets off and instructed me to make the bed again, but this time he wanted to show me how to make a bed the way he’d learned in the army. To this day, I don’t know if he was every really in the army or not, or if he was just trying to give me a difficult time about my sloppy bed making. Whether he was a military man or not, he sure knew how to fold crisp hospital corners and make the bed look as if, once tucked in, you could bounce the proverbial quarter on it. Here was a guy, a very successful businessman with a car and a driver, a own household staff and several vacation homes, making the bed with great precision. It’s important to know how to make a bed correctly,” he said, carefully tucking in the last corner, “It’s not just about how you make your bed, it’s about how you make your life.”
He was right, although it took many years of unmade beds for me to figure it out. I know it’s silly, but in a way, I find I feel better when my bed is made. Things feel more in order. In a weird way, I feel more in control. If I can have some order in my bed, in my room, at my desk, then maybe, just maybe, can be at peace with the chaos in life I can’t control.
My children need to know how to make a bed correctly because just as you make a bed, you make your life and however you do it – well or sloppy – you will be the one who will have deal with what you do. So will I continue to push them to make their own beds? Will I force myself to pull up my own covers and tuck the corners in properly during the rest of the week and not just on the weekends? I will try. Now if I could just remember the trick to those hospital corners!
When I was about six or seven and my mother worked as a nurse, there was a woman who came to our house to watch us after school and to clean and cook until our parents came home. Her name was Ernestine Johnson, I think – funny I can remember that far back when I can barely remember my own children’s names. Even as she cleaned the rest of the house, Mrs. Johnson was given strict instructions not to empty the trash cans or make the beds in our bedrooms. My brother and I had to do those ourselves. I vaguely remember complaining to my parents and wondering if Mrs. Johnson was here to clean and make beds, why she didn’t clean and make beds in our rooms.
When I was in my early 20s, some old family friends came to stay with us for the weekend. I went to make the bed in the guest room. Our friend watched me do it for a second, and then shook his head. He pulled the sheets off and instructed me to make the bed again, but this time he wanted to show me how to make a bed the way he’d learned in the army. To this day, I don’t know if he was every really in the army or not, or if he was just trying to give me a difficult time about my sloppy bed making. Whether he was a military man or not, he sure knew how to fold crisp hospital corners and make the bed look as if, once tucked in, you could bounce the proverbial quarter on it. Here was a guy, a very successful businessman with a car and a driver, a own household staff and several vacation homes, making the bed with great precision. It’s important to know how to make a bed correctly,” he said, carefully tucking in the last corner, “It’s not just about how you make your bed, it’s about how you make your life.”
He was right, although it took many years of unmade beds for me to figure it out. I know it’s silly, but in a way, I find I feel better when my bed is made. Things feel more in order. In a weird way, I feel more in control. If I can have some order in my bed, in my room, at my desk, then maybe, just maybe, can be at peace with the chaos in life I can’t control.
My children need to know how to make a bed correctly because just as you make a bed, you make your life and however you do it – well or sloppy – you will be the one who will have deal with what you do. So will I continue to push them to make their own beds? Will I force myself to pull up my own covers and tuck the corners in properly during the rest of the week and not just on the weekends? I will try. Now if I could just remember the trick to those hospital corners!
Saturday, October 1, 2011
All Bets Are Off
Lefty liberal that I am, when I’m searching for my daily news fix, particularly when I’m looking for someone to validate my opinions, I’ll channel surf my way over to MSNBC. There I can find a plethora of pundits who share my viewpoint on the world. I usually find myself in agreement with Rachel Maddow on most things, that’s why when I saw this article about her reaction to the al-Awlaki killing, I was surprised to find myself on the other side of the fence for a change. Maddow and other journalists and politicians have raised questions about the legitimacy of the president issuing a kill on sight order for an American citizen without due process. The argument is that since there was no trial, no conviction, no court determined guilt to justify an execution order, how could the president issue one.
When they announced Bin Laden was killed, my daughters were surprised by my reaction. Nicole asked me why I was happy that a man was dead. I tried to give her context, explain to her what Bin Laden had done not only to the people who died in the building on 9/11, not only to their families and co-workers and friends, but to an entire nation. We had a friend and a friend’s mother who worked in the Towers. Thankfully, both got out, but despite that, our world and our outlook changed that day. Everyone’s did. I talked to Nicole about how life was in our country before 9/11, what our perceptions were – that we were so naïve to believe that an act of terrorism wouldn’t and couldn’t happen on our own shores. I described to my ten year old about a time before airport security checks and homeland security departments and terror alerts. I told her about planes crashing into buildings, underwear and shoe bombers, lone shooters on military bases, the reason officers with mirrors check under our cars when we enter parking garages, and why back then, before all this happened, we weren’t so afraid. I tried to explain to her that back then, the average person never believed that groups of people in foreign lands hated us so much that they would take their anger to the streets in a campaign of terror and target civilians rather than soldiers. Still, on some level, to my child, it didn’t justify why I was happy that someone had been killed. Hadn’t I always taught her that killing was bad?
When they announced al-Awlaki’s death earlier this week, again, I was pleased with the action and again, my daughter was confused. Another man had died, this time, an American. I started to repeat what I had explained months earlier; finally, I gave up and just said, “If you publish on the internet, make video and audio recordings, stand at a pulpit and declare that you are at war against America and urge others, even help them plan how to kill Americans, all bets are off.” It wasn’t the best answer a mother could give. I know that. But in a way, it’s true. If you do something bad, all bets are off. You might get a trial, you might not. Maybe you should have thought before you started doing bad things. A guy walks into a bank with a gun drawn; I’m thinking he’s declared his intentions, whatever happens after this, he brought it on himself. I really don’t want to hear him complaining if he gets shot by the police before he gets a chance to have a fair trial before his peers – that’s on him. Like I said, I usually find myself on the side of the left wing pundits but in this case, I’m not too worried about the precedent being set by the president placing a kill order on an American citizen (here or abroad) without due process. Obama campaigned saying that he would target and dismantle the terrorist network. That’s what’s he’s doing, systematically, thoughtfully. I’m pretty sure he didn’t make the decision to sign the kill on sight order between grabbing a bowl of Cheerios and watching an Everybody Loves Raymond rerun on t.v. But now even Obama’s own supporters are giving him a hard time for doing the very thing he promised to do. Despite getting to live in a really big house with someone else to clean the bathrooms, it can’t be all that fun being president.
There was clearly no question that al-Awlaki was an enemy combatant and was engaged in behavior that resulted in a military action being launched against him. Is the lady on our block that leaves out peanuts for the squirrels going to be taken out by a drone missile without first being given due process of law because this precedent has been set? Sadly, no. As much as I would like her to stop her behavior – can I tell you how many rats she attracts to the block through her actions – I think it’s safe to say she’s not going to be targeted by the U.S. government for execution.
My daughter doesn’t get it. Maybe someday she will. Sorry Rachel, as much as I’m a fan, this time I’m not on the bandwagon.
If you want to read more about Maddow’s response, check out: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/01/rachel-maddow-al-awlaki-killing_n_990394.html
When they announced Bin Laden was killed, my daughters were surprised by my reaction. Nicole asked me why I was happy that a man was dead. I tried to give her context, explain to her what Bin Laden had done not only to the people who died in the building on 9/11, not only to their families and co-workers and friends, but to an entire nation. We had a friend and a friend’s mother who worked in the Towers. Thankfully, both got out, but despite that, our world and our outlook changed that day. Everyone’s did. I talked to Nicole about how life was in our country before 9/11, what our perceptions were – that we were so naïve to believe that an act of terrorism wouldn’t and couldn’t happen on our own shores. I described to my ten year old about a time before airport security checks and homeland security departments and terror alerts. I told her about planes crashing into buildings, underwear and shoe bombers, lone shooters on military bases, the reason officers with mirrors check under our cars when we enter parking garages, and why back then, before all this happened, we weren’t so afraid. I tried to explain to her that back then, the average person never believed that groups of people in foreign lands hated us so much that they would take their anger to the streets in a campaign of terror and target civilians rather than soldiers. Still, on some level, to my child, it didn’t justify why I was happy that someone had been killed. Hadn’t I always taught her that killing was bad?
When they announced al-Awlaki’s death earlier this week, again, I was pleased with the action and again, my daughter was confused. Another man had died, this time, an American. I started to repeat what I had explained months earlier; finally, I gave up and just said, “If you publish on the internet, make video and audio recordings, stand at a pulpit and declare that you are at war against America and urge others, even help them plan how to kill Americans, all bets are off.” It wasn’t the best answer a mother could give. I know that. But in a way, it’s true. If you do something bad, all bets are off. You might get a trial, you might not. Maybe you should have thought before you started doing bad things. A guy walks into a bank with a gun drawn; I’m thinking he’s declared his intentions, whatever happens after this, he brought it on himself. I really don’t want to hear him complaining if he gets shot by the police before he gets a chance to have a fair trial before his peers – that’s on him. Like I said, I usually find myself on the side of the left wing pundits but in this case, I’m not too worried about the precedent being set by the president placing a kill order on an American citizen (here or abroad) without due process. Obama campaigned saying that he would target and dismantle the terrorist network. That’s what’s he’s doing, systematically, thoughtfully. I’m pretty sure he didn’t make the decision to sign the kill on sight order between grabbing a bowl of Cheerios and watching an Everybody Loves Raymond rerun on t.v. But now even Obama’s own supporters are giving him a hard time for doing the very thing he promised to do. Despite getting to live in a really big house with someone else to clean the bathrooms, it can’t be all that fun being president.
There was clearly no question that al-Awlaki was an enemy combatant and was engaged in behavior that resulted in a military action being launched against him. Is the lady on our block that leaves out peanuts for the squirrels going to be taken out by a drone missile without first being given due process of law because this precedent has been set? Sadly, no. As much as I would like her to stop her behavior – can I tell you how many rats she attracts to the block through her actions – I think it’s safe to say she’s not going to be targeted by the U.S. government for execution.
My daughter doesn’t get it. Maybe someday she will. Sorry Rachel, as much as I’m a fan, this time I’m not on the bandwagon.
If you want to read more about Maddow’s response, check out: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/01/rachel-maddow-al-awlaki-killing_n_990394.html
Monday, September 26, 2011
Now This…
We’ve been warned social security will be gone by 2025. We’ve been threatened with the elimination of Saturday mail delivery. But now this...they’ve fired the librarians from the public elementary school libraries in Los Angeles. How can you have a public school with no librarian? Libraries are a fundamental need in our schools and communities and yet some collective of Einsteins at LAUSD thought that getting rid of the librarians/library aides, which would then require the schools to close the libraries if they were not adequately staffed, was a good money saving idea. Really? Why don’t we just eliminate the cafeterias too and stop feeding those kids? We have a childhood obesity problem in this country anyway, right? That would save some money for the school district, too.
It makes absolutely no sense that an educational system that is designed to enrich its students and support learning on every level would think that a library was not an essential tool in that learning process. So, now that our school has no library aide, the parents must sign up for shifts in order to keep the library open until another plan can be developed. In order to save the library, parents, grandparents, even the principal’s cousin, many of whom have neither the time nor energy to add yet another thing to their already chaotic lives, have volunteered to train and staff a public school library because the district won’t do it. At first, the district refused to even let us use the district wide system unless a union aide was present. They relented, and now the parent staffed library will be open for now. All I can say is, somewhere, Ben Franklin is rolling over in his grave.
It makes absolutely no sense that an educational system that is designed to enrich its students and support learning on every level would think that a library was not an essential tool in that learning process. So, now that our school has no library aide, the parents must sign up for shifts in order to keep the library open until another plan can be developed. In order to save the library, parents, grandparents, even the principal’s cousin, many of whom have neither the time nor energy to add yet another thing to their already chaotic lives, have volunteered to train and staff a public school library because the district won’t do it. At first, the district refused to even let us use the district wide system unless a union aide was present. They relented, and now the parent staffed library will be open for now. All I can say is, somewhere, Ben Franklin is rolling over in his grave.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Mommy Justice
Leaving your kids unattended in a bookstore for almost seven hours while you “run errands” is probably not a good idea. You certainly won’t be get nominated for Parent of the Year. What you’ll get is a criminal record. That’s exactly what happened to Charlene Sutherland. She is an Alabama mother who decided that Barnes & Noble was a suitable place to leave her 11 and 6 year old unattended and now she’s facing jail time. Six years of it. And what’s going to happen to the kids now? Foster care? She was trying to look out for her children, but because she made poor choices or was desperate or both, her kids are now facing a worse situation than before.
While I don’t condone what she did, I get it. One of the biggest challenges of summertime is childcare. It’s hard to find ways to keep your children happy and supervised even if you have money and time…imagine if you don’t. She probably had no one or no place to leave her children that was relatively safe (probably while she went to work or was looking for work – I can’t imagine taking 7 hours to run errands). Rather than leaving them at home where they could get into all kinds of trouble, she thought that a public place where her book loving, well behaved (according to the store clerk) kids could be occupied was a better choice. She was wrong, but she saw no other options. If you don’t have money, friends, family or other resources to help you out, sometimes you do desperate things or make bad choices.
There are two things that bother me about this story – what is so tragic is that rather than sending her to jail and forcing her kids into the system – and we know how bad and dangerous the system is – there isn’t some way to intervene, teach and provide. Intervene in families where there are no childcare options before problems arise. Teach positive parenting and sound decision making by supporting and modeling good care on a national level. And most importantly, making available more childcare options for low and no income families that are safe and convenient so that they are not so desperate that they put their children at risk because it is the only alternative they have while they go out and try to earn a living (or run some errands!).
But the other thing that bothers me about this story is the mommy justice part. Here was a mother trying to figure out a way to keep her kids safe while she did what she needed to do. She did make a bad choice, put her kids at risk, and should be punished for it. But six years? Casey Anthony walks (gets a book deal and probably a reality show some time soon) and this woman gets six years in the slammer? Just doesn’t seem fair.
Read more about the story at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/09/15/charlene-sutherland-barnes-noble_n_962954.html
While I don’t condone what she did, I get it. One of the biggest challenges of summertime is childcare. It’s hard to find ways to keep your children happy and supervised even if you have money and time…imagine if you don’t. She probably had no one or no place to leave her children that was relatively safe (probably while she went to work or was looking for work – I can’t imagine taking 7 hours to run errands). Rather than leaving them at home where they could get into all kinds of trouble, she thought that a public place where her book loving, well behaved (according to the store clerk) kids could be occupied was a better choice. She was wrong, but she saw no other options. If you don’t have money, friends, family or other resources to help you out, sometimes you do desperate things or make bad choices.
There are two things that bother me about this story – what is so tragic is that rather than sending her to jail and forcing her kids into the system – and we know how bad and dangerous the system is – there isn’t some way to intervene, teach and provide. Intervene in families where there are no childcare options before problems arise. Teach positive parenting and sound decision making by supporting and modeling good care on a national level. And most importantly, making available more childcare options for low and no income families that are safe and convenient so that they are not so desperate that they put their children at risk because it is the only alternative they have while they go out and try to earn a living (or run some errands!).
But the other thing that bothers me about this story is the mommy justice part. Here was a mother trying to figure out a way to keep her kids safe while she did what she needed to do. She did make a bad choice, put her kids at risk, and should be punished for it. But six years? Casey Anthony walks (gets a book deal and probably a reality show some time soon) and this woman gets six years in the slammer? Just doesn’t seem fair.
Read more about the story at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/09/15/charlene-sutherland-barnes-noble_n_962954.html
Saturday, September 10, 2011
What I Love About Back-To-School
I’ve been unable to post the last week or so because of summer. Summer is lovely, and I always have the fantasy that it will mean leisurely times catching up with friends and family, doing all the things we don’t have time for during the hectic part of the year. Oh, how silly I am…delusional even. The summer seems more jam packed than the rest of the year, with everyone trying to cram in all the travel, nights out, playdates, sporting events and concerts that we don’t have time to do the other nine months on the calendar. But now, the temperatures are dropping (sort of) and t.v. networks have started pushing the premieres of the fall shows – a true sign that summer is over!
On the first day back to school, I think I was more giddy than my kids – for their return to class, my newly regained freedom from having to hear them complain when they weren’t atcamptravelinggoingtoamusementparkshavingsleepoversandplaydates, “We’re bored, what should we do?” If I heard that refrain one more time last week, someone was going to have to call social services on me. Not really, but almost!
There are a number of things that I love about back-to-school time. I’ve listed them below in no particular order.
The kids are out of the house. Even if I’m not at home, neither are they.
I can hear myself think again.
I don’t have to constantly entertain anyone.
The funny back-to-school ads on t.v. Check out Target’s Denim ad or the Staples’ kid with a mime college ID.
The fact that my older daughter now has to wear a uniform – goodbye morning clothing fights!
Going back-to-school shopping with my other daughter who’s still young enough to take my advice when picking out clothes and still likes wearing pink and ribbons.
Seeing the parents of my children’s friends who I really enjoy talking to but never seem to be able to find the time to socialize with outside of school drop off, pick up and the occasional school social event.
The excitement of attending a new school.
The excitement of returning to an old one.
The bittersweet feeling that comes from watching your little kid go off to junior high school.
Not a soul to complain that they are bored and asking what they should do. Now I can say, “…homework, reading and piano practice.” When they asked me that during the summer, I started giving them a rag and some cleanser and telling them to go clean the bathroom shower. Maybe that’s why my kids are happy about going back-to-school as well.
On the first day back to school, I think I was more giddy than my kids – for their return to class, my newly regained freedom from having to hear them complain when they weren’t atcamptravelinggoingtoamusementparkshavingsleepoversandplaydates, “We’re bored, what should we do?” If I heard that refrain one more time last week, someone was going to have to call social services on me. Not really, but almost!
There are a number of things that I love about back-to-school time. I’ve listed them below in no particular order.
The kids are out of the house. Even if I’m not at home, neither are they.
I can hear myself think again.
I don’t have to constantly entertain anyone.
The funny back-to-school ads on t.v. Check out Target’s Denim ad or the Staples’ kid with a mime college ID.
The fact that my older daughter now has to wear a uniform – goodbye morning clothing fights!
Going back-to-school shopping with my other daughter who’s still young enough to take my advice when picking out clothes and still likes wearing pink and ribbons.
Seeing the parents of my children’s friends who I really enjoy talking to but never seem to be able to find the time to socialize with outside of school drop off, pick up and the occasional school social event.
The excitement of attending a new school.
The excitement of returning to an old one.
The bittersweet feeling that comes from watching your little kid go off to junior high school.
Not a soul to complain that they are bored and asking what they should do. Now I can say, “…homework, reading and piano practice.” When they asked me that during the summer, I started giving them a rag and some cleanser and telling them to go clean the bathroom shower. Maybe that’s why my kids are happy about going back-to-school as well.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Growing Up With Dogs
I had a dog growing up. My husband did, too. So when our children started begging for a dog two years ago, we knew that eventually we would cave and get them one. After all, we’d had the chance to have a dog when we were little, why shouldn’t they?
In an effort to put off the inevitable, we told the kids that they would have to prove that they could be responsible dog owners before they could get one. They did that and more. Natalie started reading every puppy training book she could get her hands on. They started walking, feeding and bathing a neighbor’s dog on occasion, even picking up the large dog’s poop without complaining. They researched the cost of dogs online and started holding lemonade stands for their dog fund. They declared that if we wouldn’t get them a dog, they’d buy it themselves.
When I was young, we did not do any of those things. We got our dog Benny from a breeder. No one even thought about training him. He was a wild, crazy lab who bolted when the door was open, jumped up on visitors, sometimes peeing on them if he was too excited. My mom fed Benny, my brother and I walked him from time to time, but mostly we just opened the back door and let the dog out. We didn’t boter to pick up the poop for a long time because the lot was so large we could go for weeks without visiting the waste minefield in the backyard before finally having to grab a shovel and clean it up. When we did walk Benny, he would drag us down the street. He never heeled or sat on command. He would beg at the table and get anything he wanted. He was so pampered (mostly by my mother) and so convinced he was a human that he would protest if we went to McDonald’s and he didn’t get a burger and fries. That was my experience growing up with a dog. It was hardly a learning experience for either the kids or the dog.
I realize now that my children’s experience is already much different. My brother and I have fond memories of our dog, but we didn’t really learn or grow with him. As a family, we never did anything to raise Benny – training him, correcting bad behavior, incorporating him into the family – we changed our family completely to fit him.
With my kids and their dog – a loveable rescue puppy named Frannie – the learning started even before we found her. Initially, because I have so many, many allergies, we had to find a dog that I could live with without going into anaphylactic shock every time I petted it. That sent my children directly onto the internet, researching breeds that were hypoallergenic. I received many emails from them of pictures of cute dogs that wouldn’t make me sick. The girls, like hover parents, are overly prepared and responsible for their pet (although I am waiting to see how long this lasts). I see them being responsible and thoughtful in ways that I had not seen before, engaged and playful as they train and learn about their dog. They worry about the ground being too hot for the dog to walk on (we have had 100 plus days on several occasions this summer). They even wipe her face after she eats and her bottom after she does her business (I know that is silly and won’t last either but it is a hilarious sight and I will let it continue as long as it can. I need to get my laughs where I can). They fix Frannie’s food, bathe her and brush her with great care after her grooming. Natalie turned to me the other day and said, “Mom, I love having someone to care for.” I looked at her and thought, “So do I.”
Frannie has brought a new joy to our house, in some ways familiar to the happiness, newness and apprehension we felt bringing home a new baby for the first time. And as my dear friend Carol said to me when I told her about our new puppy, “It might be a little more work, but it’s cheaper than therapy.”
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