It Happens

Yes, it certainly does. It's been a whirlwind of a week.




We got news yesterday (already!) that our long term visas were approved. The call from the consulate came while I was caught up in a grief stricken crying jag. Yesterday, also, was the day we gave our two dogs away. I just am now processing the happiness that the visa process moved forward so smoothly.

On Sunday, we had a special "last dinner" for the dogs. Cash and Timmy got to dine from the menu that Ian and Isabel concocted: hot dogs and apple juice. The dogs gulped that down quickly. We took pictures together with the dogs, and the kids said their goodbyes that evening. Yesterday afternoon, Bryan and I drove to Dixon to drop the dogs off with the Northern California Golden Retriever Rescue. I am glad we chose to have the kids say goodbye here at home and go to school because the grief and sadness that Bryan and I experienced yesterday was a bit overwhelming. We continue to talk to the kids about what happened and where the dogs are going, but I think this particular goodbye was most difficult for us. Timmy, especially, has been with us a long time.

I have experienced many emotional extremes this week. I laughed so hard on Friday night although, mind you, it was at my son's expense. On Friday night, we took Ian and Isabel across the Golden Gate Bridge. On the way back to the hotel, just a couple miles away, Ian decides that he has to go to the bathroom. We happened to be in an area where there were just strip clubs and liquor stores with bars on the windows, so I told him that he would "just have to hold it." Yet, immediately, he said that he could not hold it and screamed, "I can't! I have diarrhea! I have to go in my pants!" He proceeded to make an Ian sized load (which means a lot).

Although the days of posh hotels are gone for us, we happened to be staying at a pretty nice place because we needed proximity to the consulate. There was no sneaking into our room. There was no choice but to have Bryan drop us off at the front of the hotel with numerous bellmen standing around. Ian was moaning, "I pooped in my pants! I pooped in my pants!" I could not do anything but laugh at what was going on. Because he was trying to get into the hotel without "anyone noticing" and he had such an enormous weight in his pants, he bent over like a hunchback and shuffled in. The best way to visualize his stagger in one word: Igor.

I was holding Isabel walking behind Igor-Ian with one hand in front of my mouth trying to stifle my uncontrollable laughter at the situation. He was so obviously pained and embarrassed by the situation that I did not want him to see me laughing. Meanwhile, because the hotel we were staying at was a "dog friendly boutique hotel" and small piles of poop were falling out of Ian's pants, the bellman thought that there had been some "pet accidents" and was apologizing profusely to Bryan for the mess "the dogs had made." I was wondering if they saw me covering my face trying to hide my laughter and thought I was covering it because I was horrified by the "pet accidents."

We managed to walk the length of the lobby to the elevator, and when we reached the third floor, Ian ran like the wind (or as fast as a hunchback with the equivalent of a sack of potatoes in his pants can run) to our room. He had the last laugh, I guess, because clean up was no laughing matter. After peeling off his clothes in the shower and bathing very thoroughly, he proceeded to run around the room maniacally yelling, "I'm a new man! I'm a new man." Apparently, this process is very cathartic. Despite everything, we survived and now have a story in the infamous parental arsenal.

Like I said, it happens. A whirlwind of a week.