Jamie is four years old, almost five, and thank you, God, he is starting to show signs of moving out of the Fucking Fours. I understand the Fucking Fours, though: his emotions outpaced his ability to cope with them. Well, I think that’s what happened to me during the two weeks that followed spring break; my emotions outpaced my ability to cope. So maybe Jamie’s not growing out of the Fucking Fours but my ability to empathize is increasing.
Do you know what’s not a good coping mechanism when you’re overtired, overstressed, and overwhelmed? Texting your overworked, overtired, overstressed husband, “I quit.” He couldn’t do anything about it. I probably should have just given in and let everyone eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinnner for a couple of weeks.
And then, at the culmination of tax season, we said our sobbing goodbyes to Buster. He was physically healthy but mentally very unhealthy. He perceived everyone outside of the family as a threat. He was unsafe.
I miss him. God, how I miss that stupid dog. He wasn’t a very good dog – he never learned to fetch, he stopped being able to run with me a couple of years ago, his belches could clear a room, and he was aggressive – but I loved him. The house is rather lonely without him, despite the tribe of rambunctious boys. It hurts when I think of how he used to be many years ago, when I think of the dog he became over time, and when I remember our last moments with him as he slipped away.
Posting might be light here for a few weeks. I need to find my happy place, the one inside my head, again. I laughed with Tony a couple of times this past week, I mean really laughed, and it felt new. I realized that I hadn’t laughed in a long time.
The thing is, it doesn’t matter how funny the joke is; it matters how light your heart.
I’ll be back when I can be back, friends.
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