Adding to Our Nest: The Oscar Chronicles

“No one goes to that store just to LOOK, Michelle,” my friend Debbie would later remind me, but that day, in the crowded pet store filled with tiny kittens and wagging tails, that was truly my intention.  As my daughter and I oohed and aahed at the balls of fur and teeth, we looked across the room and saw a tiny face – smaller than any dog we had ever had, but clearly full of personality. The information card said he was a Havachon (a Havanese – Bichon cross), his sable-colored fur soft as a cloud, and as we watched him tussle with his siblings, we fell head-first in love. We held him and hugged him and took pictures, and I breathed in that sweet puppy breath. The store was about to close, so with one last kiss, we put him back in the enclosure. My last view as we walked out the door of our local pet store was of a little face with black button eyes searching mine, tiny bear-like paws pressed up against the glass.

It had been a long journey to that day.  Earlier in the year, I had tentatively asked our vet, Dr. A, about getting a second dog as a companion for our sweet Rosie. With our now empty nest, it seemed like a natural next step, but I was reluctant to make a change to our current pet dynamic.  I broached the subject gingerly, half hoping the vet would discourage me.  Instead, Dr. A replied with a grin, “I think it would change Rosie’s life.” For every reason I had why NOT, Dr. A had two more reasons why it would be amazing. Dr. A suggested getting a male dog, preferably someone much smaller than our very large doodle, to make the transition easier. Rosie and I left the office that day deep in thought – Rosie because she had endured another checkup and vaccines, and me, wondering about adding to our family.

As winter faded slowly into spring, thoughts of another dog went on the back burner. Life moved like it was on fast forward: there were projects and travel and graduation and college girls moving back home. All that came to a grinding halt in early June, when some dear family members unexpectedly lost their beloved dog.

Suddenly waiting didn’t seem like such a good idea, because life has a way of reminding you about how quickly things can change.

The next morning after the pet-store visit, I woke up thinking I’d lost my mind.  Surely we couldn’t pick the first puppy we’d met. I had been gearing up for meticulous research and an overload of information. Knowing that the puppy we couldn’t forget was right down the street, I stepped up my search in earnest, checking the entire mid-State area for available rescues. We visited the local shelter, but there were no small dogs or puppies available, or anywhere else in the mid-State area.  While it was a wonderful sign for our community, it meant we were out of options, at least in the short term.

Driving away from the shelter, my dear husband said, “Well, do you want to go back to the pet store, just to look?” Of course I did.  We walked in and there he was – our little prince charming, sleeping next to his sisters. Todd (who had seen the pictures the day before and proclaimed, “That’s our dog!”) seemed just as charmed as we were, and our other daughter, seeing him for the first time, was smitten.  After a flurry of paperwork, we were driving home with our new, very tiny baby.
 

When we walked in with the new puppy, Rosie’s expression was priceless: she literally grinned. She snuffled his neck and belly, and lay on the floor watching him as he slept. We had been warned it would take up to two weeks for them to get along.  Instead, it was instant friendship. Oscar Wilde, as he soon became known, was Rosie’s biggest fan and the little brother Rosie had been waiting for.

Most days it is chaos in our house.  Long nights with a new baby led to teething and chewing everything in sight, potty training and learning to walk politely on a leash.  But despite all that, I wouldn’t change a thing… and despite the frayed tail, the stolen toys, and the spitty, chewed-up ears, neither would Rosie.

To see more adventures of Rosie and Oscar, follow them on Instagram at Bean and Sprout.

 

Endings and Beginnings

We drove into Memphis late Saturday morning, laden with the ubiquitous Rubbermaid tubs so that our oldest daughter could begin the process of packing up four years of her life. As we pulled onto campus, I was flooded with memories – the first awe-inspiring view of the school driving in for a campus tour; freshman move-in day, where upperclassmen stood cheering and holding signs to welcome the class of 2018; climbing four flights of stairs, tubs, boxes and bags in hand, to set up the tiny room under the dormer.  This would be the last time we’d visit her before she donned a cap and gown. No school is perfect, but this school was perfect for her.

Throughout her college years, our daughter has stayed involved and incredibly busy, and while we would see her for breaks and Parent’s Weekends, we did not take advantage of her proximity by visiting on a random Saturday. We had been planning a day trip starting last fall, but with graduation looming, we were running out of time.  It was, literally, now or never. 

It was only one day, but it was magical.  She had picked her new favorite restaurant for brunch, a mostly-vegan place we would never have chosen. City Silo’s food was so delicious and fresh, with locally sourced produce and eggs, that all three of us cleaned our plates.  
 Next stop: milkshakes from the burger place next door, and then off to the botanical gardens.

We wandered through the gardens, entranced by the lush beauty now that spring had finally sprung.  There was talk of school, of the pressures of that last round of finals and papers, and the bittersweet excitement of knowing that this huge chapter in her life was coming to an end. We fed the koi and explored the children’s garden. After this long, rainy winter, it was, in every sense, a breath of fresh air. 

 Our day ended with a trip to the local candy store (caramel popcorn for her, chocolate-covered gummy bears for me) and a grocery trip to fortify her through the final stretch. Todd and I helped her finish packing the first round of things to go home, and as we lugged the now-full totes back down the stairs, I felt a lump in my throat.  The safety net of college was almost over; in a few short days, our first baby will graduate, transitioning from “adult with training wheels” into actual adulthood.

For our daughter, this time is both an ending and beginning. Her whole life is spread out before her, filled with infinite possibilities.  She has shown grit and determination time and again throughout her college years, and it will serve her well as she joins the working world.   
 
As her parents, the training wheels may come off, but just like we did when she was small, we will still be running beside her, cheering her on, and  ready with a guiding hand if she needs us.  

A Leap of Faith

Ahead of my 20-year-old daughter was a daunting 16-hour journey. She would fly alone to Paris overnight, make her way through customs, reclaim her luggage and transfer to a train to southern France, then find a cab to take her to the university. It would be a long day by anyone's standards. She was not only the first person from her school to study at this university; this semester, she was the only student from her school studying in France. She was, in every sense, alone.

With her belongings packed into one bursting suitcase and her backpack stuffed with the necessities in case her luggage was lost, she made her way down the long international hallway. Watching her walk away was one of the hardest things I've ever done as a parent. Never mind she had dreamed of studying abroad since middle school. Never mind she was going for only one semester, less than six full months. It felt like I was letting go forever.

My list of fears was long and varied, from the realistic to the ridiculous. "What if she gets sick or hurt?  What if there is a terrorist attack? What if she's lonely? What if she can't get her phone to work with the international plan? What if she hates her classes?"

What if.
What if.
What if.
  
Many of my fears were realized.  She was a little lonely, and overwhelmed at first. Getting a bank account set up was complicated, made more so by the prepaid food stipend that curiously didn't go into effect for the first six weeks she was there. Her classes were entirely in French, hard enough by itself, but even more challenging because the southern France dialect is so different from the Parisian French taught in school. From a parental standpoint, I could provide no support other than moral.  This was her journey, both literally and metaphorically.

As the days turned to weeks, our daughter began to thrive.  By the time the first break came along, she decided to go Paris for a few days, and when her newfound friends had other plans, she went alone. She stayed in a hostel, took a million pictures, savored macarons, and walked through Paris in the snow. Her smile took my breath away.

A few months into the semester we visited her in her new home in Montpellier. We had rented a small apartment, and after we arrived in town, she came to meet us. Todd waited for her down on the street, watching for her as she made her way via the tram many blocks away. As he scanned the street, he said, his eyes slid past a slender woman striding confidently his way, laden with bags. It wasn't until she was almost upon him that he realized this self- possessed young woman was our daughter.
Her journey had caused her to grow in ways we'd never imagined.

After that pivotal moment in Montpellier, I realized that my fretting prevented me from seeing opportunities instead of potential disasters. Because for all my worrying, never did I think, "What if she has the most amazing experience of her life?"

Parenting is such a leap of faith, in big ways and small, that it's easy to get caught up in the what-ifs that make you want to hold on for dear life. But what if, as parents, we choose to see infinite possibilities instead of just challenges?  I hope my girls continue to have big, bold, life-changing experiences. For myself, I hope that when their next adventure rolls around, my leap of faith will be to choose the right what-ifs - those that offer opportunities and joy.