Home Team

I have never cheered for a team where I went to school. College, that
is. There wasn't a big competitive sports scene at the woman's college
where I spent the first part of my higher education, and the second
part - well - I was into my own scene, let's just say.

My family are die hard bleeding maroon Mississippi State fans, myself
included. Great greats and grands, my father, uncle, brother, everyone
- except moi - went up north to Starkpatch to get their higher
education. There is even a dorm which bares my maiden name.

Momma and Daddy always had season tickets to the basketball games, and
when my dad couldn't go, my mom would often give me the chance to ride
up with her and see the game. Or see who I could see, was usually my
agenda.

One trip up was a race against the clock to get me back in time for the
SubDeb Formal. I think I got home with about 15 minutes to get ready.
The pictures show it too. The Bulldogs were playing LSU, and my mom
said it was going to be worth the drive to see the game. Not because it
was going to be a good game, but because a little dude named Shaquille
O'Neal was playing for LSU. Momma said that we shouldn't miss seeing
him playing college ball. She was right.

Anyway, my NCAA bracket this year had my Bulldogs going up against the
Tarheels for the Championship game. I tend to make my bracket out by
who I like best. It usually doesn't go well, for I never ever advance
any team from Florida and I definitely never advance UCLA no matter how
good they are supposed to be.

Of course the Dawgs were knocked right out in the first round. We knew
they would be, but I had to root for them anyway. They were my home
team.

Were.

I sit here tonight, rooting for the Tarheels and feeling at home doing
so. It's not my alma mater. It's not Kevin's either, but they do ever
so graciously employ him. More and more Carolina blue has been making
its way into our home. A sweatshirt here, a t-shirt there. We are
becoming a Tarheel family through and through.

And it feels good. It feels good to be able to let go a little bit more
of the things that keep me from being completely rooted here in North
Carolina.

It feels good to be home.

Crossposted at Don't Take the Repeats, Marty's personal blog. If you want less words more often, follow Marty on Twitter. Come on now, it's fun.

One Little Sheep

There is a story in the Bible about a shepherd with 100 sheep. One
night, he is putting all of the sheep back in their pen and only counts
99 of them. He secures the 99 sheep and then goes to search high and
low for the one missing sheep.

My heart hurts today for that one missing sheep.

Some of you know that I used to be the executive director for a
non-profit music school for children from low-income families. Hundreds
of children who were considered "at-risk" youth came through the school
while I worked there, and for the most part, I have all of these warm
fuzzy feelings about success stories. Children who decided to go to
college. Children who earned places in the premier youth orchestra here
in town. Children who got music scholarships to college. A clarinetist
who ended up the top player in the state and is now at Harvard.
Children who I when I bump into them, still give me a hug and have
something good to say about their experience at the school.

Funding was granted because of our successes and our mission. Who could say
no to giving music lessons and instruments to at-risk youth? Even the
White House thought the program was super and in 2004 I took one of our
students there to accept a Coming Up Taller Award from Laura Bush. I was proud of the work we did and the families we helped.

This morning, I turned on the news and saw the other side of the coin.

About
six years ago, there was a little boy who had all the cards stacked
against him. He was withdrawn. His mother got him to lessons late if
she
got him there at all. He was unresponsive with his teacher, although he
really really wanted to learn to play. He was 10 years old with a
tough guy attitude already trapping him behind a thick defensive wall.
When his lessons were over though, he would come see me while he waited
for his mother who often had to be called long after his lesson was
over and told to come pick him up. We would talk, rather, I would talk
and he would give
me one word answers and at least one smile every week. He was the kind
of boy that I knew had it in him to do great things, but had no support
system. I fought like crazy to keep him in the program. Convinced his
teacher weekly to be patient with him, rode his mother to get him there
and get him there on time, and skirted around the attendance rules so
that he wouldn't be kicked out. By the time he was 13, he disappeared.
Phone disconnected, mail returned. Lost from our radar.

Last night he was arrested for murder. He's 16 years old.

It
breaks my heart. It reminds me to look at the kids who
get into trouble with the law and remember that at some point, somebody
believed in them. It reminds me that most of the time, these are kids
who had insurmountable issues at home, if they even had a home. Sure,
they made their own choices and have to answer for them, but somewhere
along the way, he was let down by the people who should have done right
by him.

When I saw his mugshot on the news, I didn't see a murderer. I saw the
little boy who never lost his drumsticks and always wanted to have his
lesson even when his ride dropped him off so late that the next student
had already started.

This little boy had potential to succeed, and the adults in his life
failed him. Then he failed himself. I'm just so sad. I wish that I had
tried harder to find this one sheep and keep him with us. Keep him in a
program where he could learn self respect, good self esteem, and self
discipline.

The 99 continue to make it worth all the work, but my heart is broken today for the one little sheep.

Cross posted at Don't Take the Repeats.

Rookie Parenting

Little Bird, my Christopher, is almost one. At the end of this month, we will stop counting months and start counting years. It has gone by quickly.

He has learned so much over the past year. When I think back on that helpless lump baby that had terrible gas and a difficult time nursing, I am in awe of how he will now just cruise on over and latch himself on without a care in the world. I am in awe of his motor skills and his communication skills. I am in awe of his reasoning ability. He has learned so much.

Me, on the other hand? I still feel like a complete novice.

My friend Boo is pregnant, due in February. I find myself wanting to preface anything I tell her with, "This is what worked for us sometimes," or "You probably want to get some other opinions on this," or "Watch out because my child is lucky I haven't completely ruined him by now."

Little Bird is confident. He stands up and looks around for the very next challenge to tackle. He doesn't look back, and when he falls, he gets right back up again.

I'm thinking he gets that from his dad, because it seems as though I'm never going to quit feeling like a rookie.

An original Triangle Mamas post. Marty also shares her ignorance on the matter at Don't Take the Repeats and Deep South Moms.

Complete Lack of Human Compassion

I debated on posting this here at Triangle Mamas. However, several people have told me that it needs to be said here. I want Triangle Mamas to be a positive place; a place to share. Sometimes though, sharing means passing along information that might be helpful to others. In that spirit, I'm sharing this story. Blogging gives us a voice, and offers us the chance to be heard. Maybe someone who needs to will hear this:

Chelsea and I were at peace with each other when she left this past
Friday. Although I miss her more than you possibly want to hear about,
I know that it was time for her to go, and it was my responsibility to
help her leave this life. I promised to be her guardian and caretaker,
and I was for 14 years. All the way up to the very end.

There
was a part of the story I didn't tell on Friday. I didn't want to mar
saying goodbye to my pup anymore than had been done for me that day.
The experience we had at the vet was unbelievable, and I wavered on
whether to share it at all. However, if anyone is searching for this
vet online, I think it is important that they hear how we were treated.

Quail Corners Animal Hospital,
where I had trusted the care of my dogs for close to eight years now,
will no longer be our vet. There was a girl who was supposed to be
scheduling it to be done at home for us. Two days went by without her
calling me back, only to find out that the vet who was supposed to do
it had gone into labor. While I certainly understood that labor and
birth took priority, I didn't understand why I hadn't been extended the
courtesy of a phone call to give me this information. Instead I had to
keep calling back, trying to find out what time I would say goodbye to
my pup. I needed to find someone to watch Bird and really wanted Kevin
to be off work to be with us. I needed to prepare myself mentally and
emotionally.

After two days of not letting me know anything
except how little she knew, I finally told her that I would just bring
Chelsea in to have it done. She told me the vets who were available,
and after I chose one, she asked me if I wanted morning or afternoon. I
told her afternoon. She offered me 1:30, and I said that would be fine.
I repeated back the time to her, and she said yes 1:30 was the time.

I
called Kevin and let him know. Then I called Boo who had offered to be
with me, and I asked her to watch Little Bird. I set the whole thing up
for 1:30. I did not get the time wrong of the death of my dog.

When
we arrived at the vet, we were told by the front desk that our
appointment wasn't until 4:30. The woman at the front told us there was
nothing she could do to change it.

Seriously?

I'm sitting
there in the waiting room, bawling already. Chelsea is just standing
there because she can't lay down without just falling over anymore.
Kevin is standing with his mouth agape. It was all I could do to get
there once. There was no way I could go home and bring her back again.

Seriously? Nothing she could do?

I
told her through my tears that she didn't need to change anything; that
our appointment was at 1:30, and we were there at the right time. I
wasn't going to even entertain this discussion.

She just repeated herself.

I
start sobbing. I can't help it. I tell her that I had been working with
Rachel for three days to get this taken care of, and that I had been
extremely patient with her. I told her that our appointment was at 1:30.

She went to get Rachel.

We
have to believe that something else was going on in the office because
Rachel approached us swinging. She came out and immediately told me we
were wrong. I was wrong. Our appointment was at 4:30 and that she had
confirmed it on the phone with me for 4:00. Um, okay. I'm not sure how
that made any sense, but whatever.

I have to admit. I lost it. I
actually yelled. In public. At that girl. I yelled at her and told her
she was incompetent. I yelled at her and told her that she was
completely unable to engage another adult in an intelligent
conversation that resulted in effective communication. I yelled at her
and told her to quit talking to me and just get me all of my dogs'
records so I could get out of there and never have to see her again.

The
whole time, she was yelling back at me, telling me that I was wrong.
Telling me that the circumstances were out of her control. I'm not sure
what circumstances kept her from inputting the correct time of my
appointment into the computer, but whatever.

Kevin stepped in
between us and told us both to stop. He looked at Rachel and asked her
what she was going to do to fix this. She said that she couldn't do
anything right then, that we could be worked in at 2:30.

I told
her to get our records and she yelled over Kevin's shoulder that she
would be glad to do that and then stormed out of the little office
cubby.

After she was gone, another office worker came out into
the waiting room and leaned over to me. She said that there was a vet
who could help us then. Kevin took my arm and nodded at me to get up
and go back. He knew that this was the one chance we had at my
strength. It was sapped, and if we took Chelsea back home again, I
would never let her go.

There were mumbled apologies at the "mix-up." I ignored them. There was no "mix-up." It was a major mistake on their part.

The
thing is, even if I had gotten the time wrong, which I didn't, they
should have ignored it. Obviously, I wasn't in some sort of hurry that
I deceptively came in with my dog and tried to get them to put her to
sleep 3 hours before my scheduled time. That's freaking absurd.

Any
ounce of compassion would have caused the very first woman in the
office to ignore the discrepancy between the time we arrived and the
time that Rachel the genius entered in the computer. She would have
quietly slipped into the back and found the vet who helped us in the
end, and made everything work out without subjecting us to the drama
that their incompetency created.

This isn't a rant, it is simply
what happened that day. In the event that someone Googles this vet, it
is the chance for them to see how they might be treated if they choose
to go there.

It was hard enough to make the decision. It was
hard enough to get in the car with my pup. It was hard enough to get
out of the car and take her inside for the very last time. To say
goodbye.

I will never understand how they could possibly treat someone in so much obvious pain as badly as they treated me.

Crossposted from Don't Take the Repeats. Marty, now doggie mama to just Aja and Gibson, also blogs at Don't Take the Repeats and Deep South Moms Blog.