Adding a third wheel makes for a bit of a bumpy ride

I walked into the garage and the interior light had been left on.

Now, this might be a random act of forgetfulness on my husband’s part, but to me it was an act of war.

The Battle Royale that has been raging within my household is subtle and nuanced. But it’s there. Oh, it’s there.

After a summer of impatiently waiting for my single motherhood to end, I never expected the aggravation of having to re-acclimate to living with my husband.

“What are we doing for dinner tonight?” my husband asked after two nights back home.

“I dunno,” I answered. “I was just going to polish off that bag of cheese popcorn in the cabinet. But I guess we could get all fancy with real food.”

The next day, he had the nerve to say the sheets needed to be washed.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think they’re fine.”

“There’s enough cat hair on the bedspread to knit a sweater,” he replied.

“I could use a new piece for my fall collection,” I said.

Highlighting my shortcomings is not a good strategy for him, as I take pride in the fact that I did not have a complete nervous breakdown while he was gone. Perhaps while he was away, he forgot the cardinal rule of “Never Criticize Thy Bedraggled Spouse.”

But it’s the habits we each have that have proven to be the real rub.

My husband, with all of his wonderful qualities, is set in his ways. He has a natural walk that I can only describe as a stomp, and manages to do the loudest things he can think of right when the baby drifts off to sleep. He leaves all the lights on in the house, no matter the time of day or the level of natural illumination. He has “a system” to do everything from dishes to laundry to vacuuming, which of course differs from my way.

It’s been a long week of stepping all over each other, especially when getting him adjusted to the baby’s schedule — the most important schedule in the house.

So when I saw that light left on in the garage, I did what any normal, rational person would do. I unscrewed the light bulb.

First hayride!

We went on our first hayride as a family on Sunday. Ben loved the pieces of hay and kept trying to chew on them. After the 15-minute trip around the farmer's fields, we picked out three pumpkins and put them on the porch step. Later that evening, we ordered Ben's first Halloween costume, which will remain under wraps for now.....

The Rule of Three seems to rule my life

“It’s just that this cough he has isn’t going away,” I told the doctor. “He’s still awfully congested and it’s been almost two weeks.”

“Hmmm,” the doctor said. “Well, is he eating well?”

“Yes.”

“Sleeping well?”

“Yes.”

“His temperament is really good, so it’s probably just lingering mucus from an infection.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as the doctor peered into my little one’s ears.

“... Although there is the matter of this ear infection,” she said.

“Huh?” I replied. “Aren’t babies really irritable when they get those? I was told to look for trouble eating and tugging on ears.”

“Well, some babies have a higher pain tolerance than others,” she replied. “Oh dear, there’s an infection in the other one, too. They’re both quite advanced.”

Although the news she was giving me was bad, I had a sliver of pride in the fact that my baby was so good-natured as to not trouble me with his pain and suffering — how thoughtful.

After picking up the antibiotic and getting him comfortable, I resumed with normal daily activity. In my mind, this was the third in a series of bad news events (you know, the scientifically recognized Rule of Three of Doom). My dog had died just the day before, my husband had shipped out West on a last-minute surprise trip for another week, and my baby’s ears were on fire.

Surely this meant the Bad Luck gods would not visit again for a while.

That night I got home, and my German Shepherd was in the driveway to greet me. Apparently, in his newfound solitude in the backyard kennel, he felt the need to pry the metal fastenings away from the frame and squeeze through an opening the size of a walnut.

There also was a note on the door: “Found your dog running around in the street. He almost got hit by a car. I put him back in your kennel.”

“How thoughtful,” I thought. “Only you escaped again, you goon,” I growled at him as he hung his head in shame.

When we got back to the house, I found that my cat had been sick in the living room.

“Argh!” I cried. “Not another round of three!”

The next morning, Peanut turned nine months old. As I got ready, I was mentally preparing for the next bad thing to happen.

I walked into his room and he gave me a big smile, only there was something there that hadn’t been there the night before: two teeth coming through.

What a good baby.

— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

Saying goodbye to sweet Sasha

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning to you,” my husband replied.

“Happy anniversary.”

It is my third wedding anniversary and my hubby, just in the nick of time, arrived from out West to mark the milestone with me.

It will be a difficult day, however.

In the past few weeks, we have learned that our elderly beagle, Sasha, more than likely has a brain tumor and by the time this column publishes, her suffering will be over.

It’s ironic that she will die on our anniversary. She was the first pet we adopted together — on Valentine’s Day, no less.

My husband was insistent on getting a purebred German Shepherd, but I wanted to adopt from the local shelter. We compromised by making the commitment to volunteer at the local animal shelter.

We completed our training and the one day we found the time to volunteer, we came home with a dog.

Sasha was part Labrador Retriever, part beagle. She was black with a barrel-shaped torso, soft, floppy ears and a little Santa beard around her snout. She clearly had been abused at some point in her life and all she wanted was to be petted and loved.

When we brought home a German Shepherd puppy a month later, she took on the role of mama. She nuzzled him while he slept, and even tried to nurse him — although anatomically speaking, that ship had long since sailed.

My husband and I celebrated her quirks, even when they drove us crazy — her incessant digging in the yard and wandering off. We worked through food aggression and the fear of being touched and hugged.

We dressed her up for Halloween and bought her cute bandanas. I even baked her and the Shepherd cupcakes for their birthdays — dog-friendly, of course.

Although she was with us only for three years, she touched our hearts and brought my husband and I closer together.

We worked as a team and problem-solved. We considered another life outside of our own. We gave of ourselves to better a life.

In my sorrow, I take with me this comfort that Sasha helped forge the very marriage I celebrate today as she slips from this life to the next.

Sasha, I wish I could go back and get you as a puppy and prevent all the pain you had. But I thank you from the bottom of my heart for bettering my life and helping me discover love.

Rest in peace, Baby Girl.

— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

First E.R. trip strengthens motherly resolve

It struck with a vengeance.

“Yes, this is daycare calling,” the sweet woman on the phone said. “It seems your little guy has a bit of a fever.”

“OK,” I replied. “I’m on my way to come get him.”

As I drove, I did the due diligence of calling the pediatrician to see if he needed to be checked out and what measure I could take to make him more comfortable.

I promised myself years ago that I would fight the natural instinct to panic when faced with this very situation.

I walked into the daycare room and saw him — and nearly started crying.

He was in the arms of a caregiver, eyes open dazedly, looking miserable.

“Come on, Peanut,” I said in my best comforting voice. “Let’s get you home.”

But hours later, his temperature spiked to 103 degrees. He was limp in my arms and could barely whimper. And he would not stand for me to put him down for a second.

I made the call to go into urgent care to get him checked.

Sitting in the ER, alone with a silent baby and my thoughts, I couldn’t help but think of my own mother dutifully taking me in every time I had a severe fever or injury.

I did all the things with my son that made me feel better as a child: soothing back rub, soft singing, little kisses.

It made me feel like more of a mother than ever before. Maybe that’s because women tend to be the traditional caregivers of the family.

But I was proud of myself that I staid calm and collected, even at the height of his misery.

Every few hours, he awoke and needed some medicine to manage the fever, a little bit of milk in his tummy and snuggles from his mom.

And after this exhausting weekend, I yearn for being able to have that again for myself.

In the morning, he was smiling and babbling, and his appetite returning to normal. My back aches from holding him, I feel like I haven’t slept for days, and a hot shower was nothing more than a pipe dream for me.

But as I looked into those big, blue eyes and that toothless grin staring up at me, only one thought came to mind: Totally worth it.

— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

The best laid plans often lead to a massive mess

The downside of being in a groove when raising a child is that you don’t see curveballs coming.

I’m not talking about unexpected car maintenance or working late one night — those things I have learned to anticipate at all times. No, I mean the random and often ridiculous situations one finds themselves in within their own home when they least expect it.

I was able to take a half-day last week in order to catch up on a project I need to wrap up for school. I was so stoked and had my whole day planned. First I needed to clean the cat litter boxes or city officials were going to condemn my basement. 

Next, I figured I would shampoo a 10- by 10-foot area of carpet in my living room to remove the dog urine my beagle so lovingly deposited recently. But I never realized how dirty the main walkway of only a year-old carpet could be. Buckets and buckets of brown water later, I had to abandon the project and move onto my homework.

But then I noticed that my other dog, a German shepherd, was crying when he scratched one of his ears. Off to the vet we went, only to find out he had a yeast infection. Where in the heck do those come from? Has he been sneaking into a muffin factory while I sleep at night?

By mid-afternoon, I was finally getting to my schoolwork. That’s when I noticed the funky odor from the baby’s room. Might as well empty the diaper pail, right? After all, the next day was trash day.

But back to homework …

I got myself a cool drink and gathered all my school materials. I only had about an hour to work on my project before I had to pick up the baby and I didn’t need any more distractions. Plus I was all filled up with bodily fluids.

I sat down and no sooner did I get my seat warm, but the shepherd starting whining.

“No!” I said, thinking he wanted to play fetch outside. It pretty much is the only thing on his mind other than pooping and eating and, lately, it often gets pushed down the priority list.

“Lay down,” I said. “I’ll play with you later.”

He took one step forward, leaned down and … he puked at my feet.

Family inspires me to be a better mother, person

Her name is Hannah Mae, and she has captured my heart.

She was born May 18 in the state of Washington, a beautiful, bouncing bundle of joy. Shortly after birth, it was discovered that she had a heart condition and, two months later, she underwent heart surgery.

The procedure was not as successful as was hoped and now this tiny little girl is awaiting a heart transplant.

She has never left the hospital, has never seen her family’s home, was not even held by her parents until this week.

I became aware of Hannah Mae and her family through the wonderful world of Facebook. I just happened to see a posting of my husband’s friend about another friend — Hannah’s mother.

As I read blog of this courageous mother, I started to cry. It made me realize how trivial my problems are. It made me grateful for my healthy baby. It made me painfully aware that any one of us could be in this mother’s position.

Can you imagine what that would be like? All the highs and lows of each medical procedure, weathering all the predictions and prognoses, trying to keep it together for the sake of your other children — they have two sons as well.

And then, to hope beyond hope, that your little angel can get a heart to live, even though you know it will take the death of another child in order to make that happen.

This story might seem hopeless, but it’s not. Hannah Mae is a fighter, having faced the toughest medical challenges and battling back each time. Perhaps she is inspired by her mother, who is strong and gracious during this most trying of times.

Where others would despair, she writes messages of hope. Where others others would think about themselves, she does nothing but thank and appreciate others. This mother has inspired me to be better, do better, think better — love better.

Read their story and you will fall in love with this precious little girl, just as I did: hannahmaeneedsaheart.com/default.html.