Dear Dodger, I can’t believe you are gone. I wake up and expect to see you lying next to my bed or sitting looking at me because the baby is crying and you want me to get him and take care of him. I can’t bring myself to vacuum up your fur that still clings to my couch and sits in tufts on the floor. Yesterday when I ran with Jax along the trail, I felt you with me. I kept looking at my left side, expecting to see your sleek athletic body, muscles working, running and pulling me. You always pulled no matter what - even when you had to wear a gentle leader. Always wanting to go faster, your enthusiasm could not be contained. Even though I couldn’t see you physically there, and wished to have just a glimpse of you, I felt your presence. It’s like you are with me right now as write this. If I turn away from the screen you will be right next to me lying in the sunshine, ready for whatever we are doing next. But I dare not turn around because I would rather dream of you there then see
I thrive when I have things to do. A schedule, something to accomplish, things to check off my mental list. I feel like the most ungrateful person because here I am struggling with the day to day of what do we do next. A summer at home with my kids. We went to the beach yesterday - we are going to the beach today. For someone who likes to move and have places to be it seems more stressful to me than anything else. Especially since in a month some major things are happening. Like my son is going to kindergarten. My daughter is starting preschool. A major volunteer role I'm doing is going to be in full swing. But for now. The waiting. And the pressure to enjoy every minute. Because this is the last time I have my kids at home without having to have at least one of them at school everyday. I keep thinking about it. And so of course, I decided I'm going to paint their bathroom and the horribly ugly pink claw foot tub another color. All in one day. The other day I organized my 3