Today I cried, twice.
But, these weren’t my usual tears of utter exhaustion, frustration or disappointment in my parenting.
I had hit that afternoon wall at the corner of I’m-Over-It and Is-It-Bedtime-Yet? Baby was in the highchair watching Dora, 4 year-old was playing video games and 9 year-old was drawing, so I was checked out. As I scrolled through my Facebook news feed I came across a post from an animal rescue group I follow. There was a picture of a completely emaciated Mastiff and his sad eyes touched my heart. Among many needs, what jumped out at me was that he would need heart worm treatment. A little background – before I had kids I was very involved in animal rescue and took in two gorgeous, 6-year-old Weimeraners. Their owner had bred them, made money off the puppies and apparently didn’t find it important to put a single cent toward heart worm prevention. I poured every ounce of myself into their recovery. It was emotionally draining and expensive. This was before the days of social media so the only fundraising I thought to do back then was yard sales with proceeds going toward their vet bills. Long story short, they lived to be 11 years old, they were my special gentle giants and stories of dogs suffering from heart worms are very personal to me.
I clicked on the donate link and must have sighed or something because my 9 year-old daughter asked what was wrong. I showed her the picture of this mastiff, Winston. I read his story out loud and saw the sadness hit her eyes. “I want to donate my allowance to him,” she said. She handed me all of the stars from her chore chart and told me to give the money to Winston. This, from the kid who earlier in the day was asking when I’d take her to Target to spend her money before it burned a hole in her pocket. On payday she always NEEDS to get more play makeup or the 37th ‘different’ mechanical pencil. But today, she had another plan for her money.
Ok, so this isn’t when I cried.
Later in the day there was an update on Winston, he was in a foster home now and even wagging his tail. We were so happy to hear the news. She started to write him a letter. Yes, she wrote a letter to a dog – this is what it said:
When my mom told me your story I felt heart-touched. I thought you needed that money more than I do. You worked so much harder than I did. You worked by surviving. I have fostered a dog. We adopted him. Right now we’re fostering another dog and trying to adopt her. Also, I hope someone adopts you soon. I hate to hear that a dog like you, so sweet, nice and kind is in such a bad place like that and to be starved! To hear that, made me want to help you. Here are some things about me. I’m 9, my name is Bella and I LOVE DOGS. I have a question for you, how old are you?
Insert tears here.
I question my parenting on a
daily hourly basis. A majority of what I write is focused on the chaotic and disgusting aspects of our family life. This afternoon though, I finally got some of the pay off I’ve been needing. I was validated. I was rewarded. I was proud.
I can’t take full credit though. Her father and I are divorced and she spends plenty of time with each of us. I like to believe that it’s our combined influences and ability to co-parent that are helping her grow into this compassionate and thoughtful person. She spends a lot of time with my mom (AKA her favorite person in the world). She has a great relationship with my husband, her stepfather. And she has full faith in God.
Later that evening I heard her reading her letter to her step dad. I cried again.
To read some of Winston’s Story from the rescue group A Way For A Stray, go here. To learn about the group helping heart worm positive dogs, including Winston, or to donate visit Rooster to the Rescue.