A while back, a doula client of mine showed me her soon-to-be-arriving daughter’s nursery. I see a lot of nurseries and most of them are, well, you know … nurseries. But this one was bright and cheerful and fun and lively, and not at all baby-like. Mom had taken a barnyard theme and produced a colorful, happy space, so unlike the traditional cow, pig, duck, and barn fare associated with most barnyard-themed nurseries. Along the wall were three beautiful paintings of chickens and cows and her very own dog.

My client had stumbled upon this artist, whose work is available here and here. She’d picked up the cow and chicken oil paintings on the artist’s ebay shop, and then had been the lucky winner of the “email-me-a-photo-of-your-pet-and-maybe-I’ll-paint-it-” lottery that this artist runs off of the same ebay shop. The painting of her dog was nothing short of perfect, capturing Willie’s personality to a T. In short, it made me smile.

I immediately thought of this artist when I went searching for someone to paint Cal’s portrait. I’ve seen plenty of pet portraits that attempt to capture a realistic image of the animal. Usually, while they might achieve a fair facsimile of the animal, they fall woefully short on capturing the pet. Not so, this artist. Not so at all:

I realize that “naming rights” to an artist’s work belong solidly to the artist. However, I hope she understands just how much regard I hold for her work when I say that I will be tacking on a subtitle to whatever it is she chooses to name this portrait. The subtitle? “The moment before yet another cookie disappears from the counter.” A perfect capture of Cal, indeed.

He’ll hang in the kitchen, right alongside the wicker chickens.

One word.  A thousand.  No matter how many, they’re never enough and too many at the same time.  Page after page, word after word – they lie crumpled on the floor, lifeless.  Ashes sprinkled into the wind.

How do you say goodbye?  Tallying the time, chronicling your life with us, synthesizing the memories of all your sounds, describing the space you hold in our lives – all those efforts fall woefully short. Still, I’m left with a hole in my heart.

So, I’ll let these one hundred words fail as magnificently as any other number.

Farewell, my dear, sweet Cal.

* AKA: All that, AND I can start a wicked fire. Who wouldn’t love me?

Three years ago, when I was, oh, about 7-and-a-half months pregnant, we were in the process of moving out of our home, moving into temporary quarters for a month, moving out of temporary quarters, and moving into our newly purchased home. In addition to all this moving, there was the matter of working full time, caring for a 20 month old, and, oh, managing close to 13 contractors doing work on our new-to-us-but-oh-so-not-new home. Siding, painting, HVAC system, countertops, hardwoods, fencing…these were just a few of the things we had going on. This doesn’t even include all the work we did ourselves, including painting the entire interior of our home — including trim — in the afterhours of the day. And for each decision made, there were at least three estimates, contractors, and products reviewed prior to the decision. In short, it sucked.

So, when it came to the kitchen sink, which we both hated, the prospect of selecting a single sink and faucet among seemingly thousands offered from the special order catalog proved to be just. too. much. Simply, I couldn’t do it. I could not make another decision. And, so, the ugly sink stayed. For three. long. years.

I cannot begin to tell you how often over those three years I’ve said — out loud — I hate this fucking sink. Its shallow bowl and split-sink design were annoying, and the faucet was nothing short of ugly. It’s hard to believe one could hold so much disdain for a drain, but I did. And my husband did as well. Yet, we did nothing about it.

Until this week. This week, we cashed in some of our credit card rewards points and purchased a sink and three faucets. We only kept one faucet, mind you, but it took two poor choices and two trips to the fixture store to finally get it right. Third time’s the charm, I guess.

I’m happier than a pig in slop these days. My sink and me? We’re best friends. Doing dishes has never been more enjoyable. Certainly better than sliced bread, and frighteningly close to better than sex. I loooove me my sink.

Of course, I have to add that this project took one more trip to the home improvement center than already mentioned. We had to unexpectedly replace some of the plumbing, which would have, under any other circumstance, been reusable. You see, it appears that there was a sneakingly minute amount of food left on the drain, and you have to know what that means. Yes, folks, my dog has now eaten everything — including the kitchen sink.

Two more lunchboxes. We’re two weeks into school, and he’s matching us week for week.

Well, at least this old dog can learn new tricks.

Cal, meet your match:

My son’s art project. An underwater “ocean”scape complete with sea creatures, coral, and — you guessed it — goldfish. And now, the goldfish are no longer. Picked clean by my favorite chow hound.

It seems as though my dog has developed an affinity for fine art. I can’t imagine what he’d do with one of Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup masterpieces. The possibilities are endless.

My daughter’s lunchbox. And the lunchbox that replaced it. And the lunchbox that replaced that one. And — you guessed it — lunchbox #4 went the way of the dodo, right along with my son’s lunchbox, this very evening. Five lunchboxes since September.

The only thing good about this? Husband and children are off to Target to buy lunchboxes #6 and #7 as we speak, giving me time to pen this little entry.

I won’t go so far as to say I’m thankful…

Ahem. My underwear. My brand new underwear. As in, I - sort - of - don’t - buy - underwear - all - that - often - and - when - I - do - it’s - a - treat - for - myself - brand new underwear.Now, they’re crotchless panties. I didn’t want crotchless panties. Bastard.(And if there has ever been a time when I’ve been concerned about whether I should censor myself in this-here blog, that time is now.)

I. Things My Dog Has EatenMy daughter’s art project. A lusty lion with a macaroni mane and a Mona Lisa smile. Calvin, Calvin, Calvin — dried macaroni noodles with glue? You never cease to amaze.II. Things I’m Thankful ForTuesday Morning. On a Friday Afternoon. A chance encounter with a friend and a trip to the bargain hunter’s paradise later, I quite possibly have a $60 alternative to an on-line shopping basket currently filled with $400 worth of merchandise. I’ll be ever so much closer to those $1500 pillow shams!(Quite possibly, I say, because I’ll still need to get the other half’s approval. And it has nothing to do with purse strings. Ahh, another entry entirely.)III. Things That Make You Go HmmmThe same woman who steadfastly awaited her lab results whilst her intuition predicted doom sunk into a puddle of tears this morning over a haircut gone horribly awry. Moving gracefully through life? Hmmmm. I’d reconsider.

One Chicken Salad Sandwich.This, in and of itself, is really nothing.But, when it’s preceded by an unruly toddler in the library resulting in a bruised cheek, a meltdown at the same library over a non-existent ballerina book, a forty-five minute temper-tantrum over missing swim-goggles and an entirely imagined finger scrape, and a diaper change turned wrestling match which I lost, it’s just enough to put me over the edge.I seriously considered opening the front door and letting Cal walk out into the great wide world. And I wondered, if I left the door open just long enough, would the kids follow him?These were but the tamest thoughts and actions on my part.Not one of my greater moments, courtesy of Cal.