Image of the Day, January 16: The Dog Gene.

I've always said that some people are born with the "dog gene" and others either acquire it or learn to live in the worlds of those who do. My son Isaiah? He firmly inherited the dog gene.

Yep.

Now. That DNA must have been hidden autosomal recessively coded and unexpressed in his mama--but surely I know of its origin. Isaiah has my brother--that is, his Uncle Will, to thank for that. When we were kids, Will always loved dogs and from as early as I can remember, he expressed his aspiration of becoming a veterinarian. Which is exactly what he did.

I think at some point we had some kind of labrador retriever mix growing up. Mostly I just recall him being not allowed to come into our house. This pretty much shot his chances of really getting integrated into the family or helping the rest of us to acquire Will's dog gene. Or rather expression of it if you want to be all academic about it.

Yup.

On May 6, 2007 we had this big party in our backyard. We'd just moved into this house and had orchestrated this Sunday gathering with all of our friends and family to celebrate 1. Isaiah's second birthday, 2. Zachary's baby dedication, and 3. a quasi-housewarming. And my point of even mentioning this is because that time has always stood out in my head as it relates to Isaiah. He acquired language remarkably early. As we planned that party, I was able to ask him what special things he wanted and that little precocious toddler very clearly expressed exactly what that was:

"I want a Go Diego Go cake. And I want a doggie."

Yep.

He got that Diego cake. The dog? Well. Let's just say we were in denial about his dog gene.

Isaiah would consistently ask for a dog every birthday and Christmas from 2007 forward. And we would try to distract or dissuade him until finally it wasn't working. That's when we evolved to this far away and fantastical age--10--when suddenly the heavens would open up and a canine would fall out of it. Well. That gameplan was fraught with peril since the way time works is that eventually that tenth birthday comes and the chickens come home to roost.

When Isaiah turned 10 last May, I flat out told him that I wasn't ready for a dog. That dogs changed everything and that the responsibility would mostly fall on me. And, of course, he promised and promised that he would walk the dog from here to Six Flags over Georgia if need be but I still stood firm in my position. "I am not sure when I will be ready for this, son. Maybe when you're a teenager? I'm not sure."

His eyes welled up and that was about it. No real, true tears which sort of bothered me. I wasn't sure if it was some sort of Jedi kid trick or if, deep down, he knew that we'd never actually come through after all these years. He also seemed to understand the level of work a dog takes. He shifted his focus to other things and it didn't really come up much after that.

That is, until Harry looked at me one day and said, "We have to get that boy a dog." We were somewhere at someone's home where there was a dog running about. And, in true Isaiah form, he was right there with that dog, playing, petting it, and in hog heaven. He never seems to bore of them and lights up when one is in the room.  When a person has that dog gene with complete penetrance? Man. It's a really hard thing to ignore.

And so. Somewhere around June, we made up our minds to get him a dog. And Harry agreed that he'd give me time to research breeds and to do the nerdy things I do like read books on introducing puppies into homes and how to get your dog not to tear everything up in your house. Which is exactly what I did.

My sister-in-law Fran found him for us. She did the leg work and the research, I think, appreciating how high the stakes were for Isaiah and this dog. A good family dog that sheds minimally and is pretty smart. Not too big or small. Not too yappy or aggressive. And, of course, the veterinarian in her let me know that there was no fool proof breed for such a request but that some come closer to this than others. We settled on either a goldendoodle or a labradoodle.

Which reminds me of something funny. I may or may not have misheard Fran when she told me she'd found our pup and that he was a labradoodle. Somewhere in there I thought the dog was a goldendoodle and even downloaded two books about them on my Kindle. I read both and had Isaiah read one, too. Imagine my surprise when I received a photo text from the lovely woman from whom Willow came--with the puppy's mother: a beautiful chocolate labrador retriever.

Whoops.

Well. The good news is that Isaiah is such a sentimental soul that, instead of glaring at the photo and feeling duped, he immediately saw it as a sign. "This is Willow's mom? She looks a lot like Chancey! That's so awesome, mom!" And that immediately made my eyes sting and think of the sweet, gentle chocolate brown lab who'd belonged to our next door neighbors. Besides my mother's dogs (she, too, has the dog gene) Chance is perhaps the dog our family has known the best. He passed away a few months back after a long, full life of being a fantastic companion to Dave and Beth, our neighbors.

"You have to send Mr. Dave and Mrs. Beth this picture," Isaiah said. Which I promptly did. It didn't surprise me one bit when the dog arrived and his full name included not just the names the kids agreed upon ("Willow" and "Pepper") but also a third name: "Chancey." And as if that weren't enough mush from Isaiah, he even acknowledged that it was "Chancey" not "Chance" because his grandma's most beloved former dog was named "Chauncey" and he wanted to honor him, too.

Sigh. That boy.

I'm still not sure where the name "Willow" came from. But Isaiah saw a photo of that litter, picked the smallest, scrappiest one of the lot, and quickly let us know that this would be his name. When told that some people think of "Willow" as a feminine name, he didn't even flinch. "He will be a boy named Willow," Isaiah replied firmly. Zachary acquiesced and allowed his preferred name "Pepper" to become a middle name. Both boys touched and agreed upon adding the "Chancey" part, though.

Ha.

I feel like the time spent preparing for him was a bit like a gestational period. Those months allowed me to imagine how my life would work with a dog in it and also seek counsel from my fellow mom-friends who'd already experienced this. Especially the ones without dog genes.

It surprised me how much my heart expanded when I first saw Willow. That dog seemed to know that Isaiah had waited ten full years for him and that he was going to be loved in ways that humans would kill to experience. And Zachary, the younger brother, has fallen right in line as well. But somehow, someway that pup knows. He knows who lulled him into our home with his pulsating dog gene.

I am so happy for my boy. It's only been less than a week, but the gestational period served me well. It has been actually a pretty cool experience so far and has really pushed our entire family to work together. The boys have been hands on deck and Harry's firm voice has given them their marching orders to participate in Willow's care.

And they do. And not in that pretend way either. They actually do.

And so. We are now officially a party of five. And, just maybe, I might find out that my dog gene has been lying dormant and waiting these forty five years to come alive through the eyes of a ten year old boy.

Yeah.

***
Happy Saturday. Remember Isaiah and the "Puppy Mafia?" from when Isaiah and Zachary were smaller? And "Baby Chancey?" OMG. I'd forgotten about that until recently. Gave me a good laugh to reread those posts.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . the song I sing to Isaiah that I overheard him singing to Willow yesterday. . . . along with Isaiah's tenth birthday video that reminds me that the very best reason to be inconvenienced is the love for your beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.

Isaiah - Our Beautiful Boy from Kimberly Manning on Vimeo.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

 This has been my self-authored writing mantra:

Write it down. Get it out. Out of your head and onto some paper. Or onto a keyboard and then into a computer.  Or something or somewhere. Just out. Out. Whatever it is. However it seems. Good. Bad. Random. Joyful. Painful. Process it. Explore it. Excavate it. Deconstruct it. Reconstruct it. Get it. Learn it. Honor it. Feel it. Master it. Hold it. Release it. Celebrate it. Love it. Forgive it. Be it. Live it.

Or do none of those things.

But whatever you do, just write.

For five years, that is what I have done. I have laughed myself sick. I have cried from the most primal places in my soul. I've pushed my mind to better understand my world, my thoughts, my day, and, as a result, myself. I have.

 And you.

You've been with me. You've held my hand when I felt afraid. You've laughed with me instead of at me when I danced like no one was watching. And, on most days, you've even jumped out there and danced, too. You have.

For five years. And here is the God's honest truth:

I am forever changed. For the better. I am. I am. I am.

Like Toni Morrison said after she penned her masterpiece "The Bluest Eye". . . Why did she write it? So that she could read it. Yes. That. I've let myself adopt this philosophy, too.

But.

Were it not for you, this community of thinkers and feelers, reading these words and reflecting with me, I know that it wouldn't have been the same. So this isn't just my lonely place to write words for my own eyes. I know it isn't.

I mean, when my sister passed away? And I turned to this place to explode my overwhelming grief? When I was searching and searching for a way to walk into a new normal? You listened. You came and you read. And it was you who loaned me your wings on those days when I was flying on one. You gave me the courage to honor my sister and this journey in my own way and also a place to chronicle a time that I knew was pivotal. You did.

But you have also celebrated with me. Every step of the way. You've listened to my medical nerd stories and random observations. Allowed me to indulge you with the back seat shenanigans of my children, a husband so gagworthily called "The B.H.E." (that I'm perpetually crushing on), and even went for the ride to my crazy visits to grocery stores and Target.

Yes, you have. And it's been about so much more than Grady Hospital. But you've been okay with that.

You even read about The Puppy Mafia. Ha!

And so. Maybe I started writing here so that I could read it. But because of what you've given me, I know that a piece of me also keeps coming here so that we can read it.

It has been a dream, my friends. It has. And this idea of you--you busy people--reading these words over and over and over again? It will always be a big deal to me.

Always.

So thank you. Thank you very much.  As the Grady elders say, "I 'preciate you."

I mean that.

Sincerely,

Kimberly
aka gradydoctor

***
Happy 5 year anniversary, Reflections of a Grady Doctor!

Life in Pictures: The Puppy Mafia and other random things.

Hey. Feeling a little lazy today. Lots going on and have been super busy. Here's what I've been up to.


But first, here's a super random old photo I found in a box last week. That little baby is my friend Jada's son, Noah and he's now an eighth grader. Bananas.

That was from the weekend I was taking my Pediatrics certifying boards back in 2000. And yes, that wig looking bob is my hair. Um, yeah.

It's been a while since I've given an update on The Puppy Mafia. Well. This in no way means that my children have outgrown them. Puppy, Pup Pup, Puppy Dog, Little Guy, and the rest are still very much a part of the family.

Well.

Turns out that approximately 6 months ago, Isaiah was playing with Puppy outside and he got lost. Over the last several months, we've made a few weak attempts to find him--usually at dusk. We looked a couple of times during the day, but no dice. I was ready to give up on the pooch. Maaan, I got too much going on for all that. So me? I had totally given up. But as Isaiah always tells me (all matter of factly with eyelids at half mast,) "Puppy will never be lost forever."

Which has technically always been true. I still remain particularly impressed by Great Puppy Recovery of 2008 -- the nearly two year loss that occurred in my grandmother's house in Tuskegee, Alabama. You just try to find something in a house that someone has lived in for over fifty years. I just dare you. But Isaiah? He has Puppy radar. He totally found him. Even if it took almost two years for it to happen.

Yup.

Oh, and as for all of the rain, sleet, and what-not that Puppy was facing? It was fine because he's "already brave" -- remember? (Long, ridiculous story. See hyperlink above.)

Whelp. On Saturday morning, Isaiah put on his jacket and his determination and declared that morning the one when Puppy would be found. "I will not give up until he is home safe," Isaiah said.

Yup.

So you know what happened next. Mmmm hmmmm.

That's after a six month trip backpacking in our backyard. He actually looks pretty good, considering all that.

Here's some pictures from Tounces' birthday celebration.

It was a lovely time. She was happy. Which meant that we were all happy, too.

So, yeah. That was good.

Oh. I went to HLN  to do Raising America again today. That was cool.

Here's a funny thing -- one of the segment producers asked me for my Twitter handle. When I told him that I wasn't on Twitter or Facebook? He was all like:

Ha ha ha. Any excuse to use this GIF of Zachary. I'm totally hooked on this neat little app on my iPhone that makes these things. It's been a good time.

Anywho. After he stopped giving me the hairy eyeball it was cool. Ha ha ha.

I'll try to let y'all know next time in advance since HLN is a syndicated channel and most of you should be able to see it when it's on.

How cute is this baby picture of Isaiah? So smoochable.

 

Saw this last week in Kroger. But this time I didn't do the ugly cry like before, so it was cool. Instead I just felt happy and sort of wanted some lemon Jell-O cake.

What else?

Oh, these snaps from Zachary's playdate over the weekend with one of his buddies. They played video games for a few moments but then they opted for outdoors. For over two hours! I was so happy to see that some kids still want to play outside.

I was trying to have a cup of coffee and do some work a few days ago. I had an article due for this journal and was already past the deadline. I had work to do! Well. This gray-haired man sitting near me smiles. I smile back. Then he started talking my head off. OFF. Even though I was clearly BUSY. But he was an elder and thought he was funny. So I was polite. Even though I really was feeling all like:

Sorry. Another shameless excuse to use the GIF app. 

Dude. How much of a flashback is this button from Deanna's senior year jacket? 

Breakin' Fresh?

Cut. It. Out.

And this? This is just a cute picture of Isaiah.

That's all I've got for now. Night night!

***
Happy Tuesday.

The Beach Boys.

Look at this picture.

Doesn't the ocean look serene? The lazy afternoon sun, doesn't it look inviting? All of it calls your name, does it not?

Now picture this:

One Isaiah and one Zachary Manning who ran into that very ocean full speed ahead early on the morning this photo was taken. Yes, this lovely ocean where they frolicked, played, bodysurfed, kayaked, sand crab-caught and much more for the entire day. Right up until shortly before this lovely, serene photo was snapped with my remarkably pixelated hand-me-down-from-my-dad iPhone 4.

A wonderful seafood barbecue had been planned by my brother and some family friends so it made it necessary for two very reluctant little boys to get out of the water, hosed down and tossed into a bubble bath. This is exactly what their dear mother did. Scrubbed them to a spit shine, washed their little faces and covered them with a very good-smelling lotion. Upstairs they went, all squeaky clean and gleefully holding their Nintendo DSi games which had been authorized by both parents for use.

The BHE takes this DSi time to shower himself off since he is the kayaking parent and I am the Bud Light Lime and a book parent who had already showered some time earlier. And so. Kids are playing video games. Grandma Shug is getting herself ready. Uncle Will is in another bathroom readying himself as is Auntie Fran. And older cousins are scattered about doing the things that older cousins do.

And me? Well I sat on the couch reading a book and dozing off. Which, let me just quickly digress and say that if you haven't read this book called "Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children" go ahead and check it out if you want to go on a trippy mind trip. That and if you like a nice quick read full of weirdness a la "The Hunger Games."

Anywho.

So wha-ha-happened after that is that I kind of went from dozing off to all the way asleep on the couch despite how great the book was. Something about the ocean sounds and lazy afternoon sun does that to you. And so. Up the stairs comes the BHE who says, "Hey Mommy, where're the boys?" And I reply, "Hey Daddy, they're playing their DS games" while rubbing sleep from my eyes. And before you say it, yes we call each other "Mommy" and "Daddy" when discussing our children. So anyways, Harry says, "Where?" and I say, "In the living room." And he says, "Uhhh no. . ."

So I look out of the window and first I see this:

Which is really no big deal because the cousins are all big girls and they can get themselves ready quite quickly. They are also excellent at watching the little boys so in the event that the kids had gone out to put their feet in the sand, I never once felt even an ounce of panic.

Now.

Here is what this photo does not capture. Just to the left of the cousins were two little brown yet curiously fully-clothed little creatures body surfing right beside them. Yes. The same ones who had just been scrubbed down, shampooed and lotioned up. Fully immersed in the ocean in their khaki shorts and polo shirts that had been placed on them with a mother's love just two seconds before. (Okay, actually not two seconds but way to recently for them to be back in that ocean.)

And seriously? I admit that at the time I was too flabbergasted to think to snap a photo of it but of course everyone had to admit that it was funny as all get-out.

So yes. The boys had snuck past me in their clean and pressed clothes, headed downstairs to the beach with their big cousins, and then commenced to go bodysurfing. Bodysurfing! And guess what? Even Puppy was bodysurfing which was equal parts mommy-screaming-at-you-inducing and LOL-funny.

"Isaiah!!!! You're almost seven years old! You know you know better than to get in the water in all of your clothes, son!! What were you thinking?"

And one Isaiah Manning looked me squarely in the eye as only Isaiah can and told me with a forlorn sigh as he gazed out at this very scene:

"Mom? I just couldn't resist. The ocean was calling me."

And what do you say to that? Certainly the ocean has called you, too. Has it not?

Okay, and just maybe his mama should have been aware that he was in an ocean bodysurfing with his five year-old brother. And just maybe somebody reading this just can't get past that little fact and wants to call Child and Family Services on me. But if you know my children (and if you read this blog you do know them)--you know how true it is that Isaiah saw this as a 100% viable explanation for bodysurfing while fully clothed. Even if it negated the full scrub down and spit shine he had just received less than thirty minutes before.

And as for his little brother, one Zachary Manning, he simply said:

"I like the beach and swimming in it. So I did."

Which if you know Zachary, made perfect sense to him. Perfect sense.
And yes. This is just a glimpse of my so-called life outside of Grady.

Oh, and if you are too new to know about Puppy and The Puppy Mafia? You can start by clicking that link. If that's not enough, just go ahead and type that term into the search bar on the right side of this blog if you want some fully unimportant, mindless reading of absolutely zero importance. Ha.

***
Happy Thursday.

P.S. Carol R. and Sister Moon -- this post was for you as I felt certain that you would both enjoy this imagery. (As well as the explanations provided for them.)

The Return of the Puppy Mafia.

Here's what's going on in my house this morning:

Puppy the Don in disguise. Well, sort of disguise.

 Me:  "What's with the get up on Puppy?"

Isaiah:  "Duhh, he's a bat, Mom. Duh!"

Me:  "Hey! He's Bat-Pup!"

Isaiah: "No, Mom. Just a bat."

Me:  "Okay, my bad."

Isaiah: *marches off with exasperated sigh*

Hey! I don't appreciate this kid treating me like I'm the lame one. Hello? I'm not the one who dressed up a ratty stuffed puppy for Halloween! And I'm the lame one? Puh-lease.

Is it bad that I marched right after him and told him this?  Ha! Isaiah's response:

"It's called being creative, Mom. Not lame."

Followed by another even more exasperated sigh which I think may have been accompanied by the word "hater" under his breath. . . .

Damn.

Hey! What do y'all have going on in your neck of the woods today?

***
Happy Halloween to all of y'all.

*If unfamiliar with the Puppy Mafia, here's a great start. Trust me, it's an absolutely perfect way to waste spend your morning or afternoon if you want to wonder what is wrong with me laugh. Oh, and if you really want to waste enjoy even more of your time, just put "The Puppy Mafia" into the search bar on this blog. Bwaaah haa haaa!

My so-called life outside of Grady: Never say never.

(*warning:  100% nonmedically related or relevant post ahead.  Patient care only types, return in two days for more enriching material. You were warned.)

Zachary on a bouncy-Tigger day

 "I will never say never. . . ."

~ Justin Bieber (a.k.a. Justin Beaver)

__________________________________________________________

Today was a pretty decent day. I got a lot of residency-related work done that needed doing, had a couple of productive meetings, and even managed to sneak by the eyebrow place to get my unruly brows threaded. Since I was making good time, I took my time driving toward after school care to get Isaiah. I listened to NPR and took a scenic route. No cell phone chats, just me, my open sunroof, and Kai Ryssdal. Stolen moments like these are wonderful, even when they're brief. But whenever I do get these little quiet windows, I do take a few seconds to savor the fact that they are finite and that I do have my screaming kids waiting for me. Live long enough and you'll meet some people who remind you of how quickly life can change in the twinkling of an eye. Especially when it comes to your children.

Anyways.

This isn't a heavy post, so let me move to where I was initially going with all of this (which is really no where important.) So, like I was saying, I had my little me-moment and then eased on over to get Isaiah first. He was in a part chipper/part whiny mood which I decided was better than all whiny. He threw a paper airplane five extra times before getting into the car, and finally buckled himself in after I told him that I'd be really unhappy if I have to pay the late fee at Zachary's school. Fortunately, Isaiah doesn't like the thought of me being unhappy, so off we went.

I listen to tales of monkey bars, super heroes and pretend battles between several kindergarten boys turned imaginary komodo dragons. I hear of who got a time out, who had to have a silent lunch, and exactly which person would like to marry whom. I am asked if there will be homework and get a high-pitched whine when I answer in the affirmative. It then falls silent as Isaiah decides to pick up a pad of paper and draw pictures from his booster seat.

We get to Zachy in time, and he is in a bouncy-Tigger mood which makes me smile but can sometimes make getting him into his booster seat a challenge. He bounces and he sings and he bounces and he sings all the way out of school and into our commute. There is obligatory arguing over "Zachary disturbing my art-creating time" which is countered with even louder, bouncier singing. Today, a repetitive loop of 16 dreadful bars of Justin Bieber's "Never Say Never."

So finally we make it home where I promptly park in the garage and shut it behind me to keep the bouncy-Tigger-boy from bouncing out the door. It's a homework night for both kids, so I am all business. "Get inside, get your hands washed, get your backpacks and come to the kitchen table." Easier said than done, but eventually said and done.

Isaiah is writing about what he plans to do this summer. Zachary is tracing numbers. I am preparing a dinner that fortunately is only for the kids since Harry has a meeting. This means no consideration for an adult palate or a grown man appetite. Yay.

Then there is quiet. Isaiah independently working. Zachary not bouncing and actually doing the same. Milk is poured, food is on plates and I decide to pick up a few things strewn about the house with my twenty-seven extra seconds of time. I try to sing something, anything out loud to get the bouncy-Tigger version of the "Justin Beaver" song out of my head. All I can hear though is this, like a broken record:

"I will NEVAH say NEVAAAAHHHHH! I will bite you for-EVAAAAAAAHHHH!"(repeat)

It's like a horrible reciprocating engine looping around and around in my head. I give in and start humming it. Then I start singing it. "I will never say neverrrrrr. . . " Bleccchh.


That's when I heard the doorbell ring. Hmmm. We weren't expecting anyone. I look through the peephole and. . . . . .

Awww, hell naw!!

No. It must be a mirage. It can't be. Is it?

I fling open the door, just to be sure!







Is it really. . . . gasp. .. .the Dogfather of the Puppy Mafia? Has our prodigal pup returned home? Yes! He did!!! And on such a mundane day, he did!

I yell for Isaiah. Yes, the boy is knee deep into some hard core sentence composition and sight word recognition, but this is an emergency, people!

"Isaiah! Isaiah!"

The boy can't believe it. No, I take that back. He can believe it. He said, "I knew he would be found! I knew he would not be lost forever!" Then he looked at me and said, "See, Mom! I told you he was already brave!"

And then he commences to hold a full on conversation with Puppy saying things like, "What were you doing? How was your adventure? Are you hungry? Were you on top of Mommy's car?"

But the Boss was tight-lipped, I tell you. A vault, man. His disappearance deemed officially classified information. Only to be discussed with other Puppy Mafia bosses, which we do not happen to be.

And so. A day that seemed totally ordinary turned out to be extraordinary. Because the Puppy Mafia is again complete.

The saga of Puppy the sometimes wayward don of the Puppy Mafia continues.

He's baaaaaack.

Oh, and to all of the naysayers that believed that Puppy aka the Dogfather was lost forEVER and who didn't believe me when I said he got lost for a year in my grandmother's house and found again and therefore could never be lost for good, AND who just can't seem to understand the concept of being "already brave" no matter how many times it is explained to them. . . .I say to you:

"I will NEVAH say NEVAAAAHHHHH!"

::Sigh::

Welcome to yet another part of my so-called life outside of Grady. New readers to this blog? Read about the Puppy Mafia when you are totally bored and have absolutely nothing to do or at least ten things to do that you'd really love to procrastinate on. Old readers and new readers, I promise something patient care related real, real soon.

And Mom? Yes. I used tons and tons of literary license on this story. . .well, mostly from the doorbell ring on. So if you must have a more concrete version of what really went down, Harry couldn't find his iPod Touch and took his search to the maximum levels possible. Unbeknownst to me, while digging deep into the bowels of the living room couch, he found Puppy! Deep, deep, deep down in the deepest, darkest parts of that couch. Satisfied?

 ::shrug::

That might be the real version, but I personally prefer the first version a lot better. . . . . .

***

Happy Wednesday.