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My kids are out of school this week for the Thanksgiving break. I was excited about sleeping in today instead of having to wake and drag kids out of bed at 7 a.m. Apparently, they have no problem getting up in the six o’clock hour as long as there’s no school involved.

And of course, like excitable puppies just let out of the crate, they immediately come bounding into my room eager to play and looking to me as their favorite chew toy. My kids long ago learned I don’t mind this and actually enjoy it as long as they let me wake up on my own first.

And my sweet little darlings have been precociously considerate of Mommy’s request since the time when they started climbing out of their cribs to stand quietly staring at me until I sensed their presence even from a dead sleep. It was always the favorite part of my day to find them patiently waiting for me to wake and play with them – although sometimes leaning against the bed and “accidentally” bumping it to encourage a quicker rousing. Sometimes I’d even pretend to be asleep, hiding my smirk under the covers as I heard them at the foot of the bed whispering, “Is she awake yet? No, I don’t think she is. Wait, I think I just saw her eyelashes move.”

I have always enjoyed this morning time together, the kids and I rolling around in bed or playing a game or just lying together talking and snuggling. Unfortunately, now that they’re school age this once daily routine has been relegated to weekends and holidays. And I’m very cognizant of the fact that this time may be fleeting as my kids quickly grow up and may soon outgrow their desire to start their day this way.

So this holiday season, one of the things I am thankful for is Thanksgiving break. A whole ten days to start my mornings unrushed and still have my 7 and 9 year old babies climb in bed with their mommy, delighted to start our day this way together.

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So, here I am now, my kids hanging over my shoulder asking, “Is this what you do all day when we’re at school? Are you ALWAYS on the computer? When are we going to go ride bikes? Can I play FunBrain Arcade on your computer? Can we make cookies? Are you done yet?”

Since they’re right here, patiently or impatiently – you make the call – waiting for me to finish this blog so we can go play, I thought I’d ask them what they are thankful for this Thanksgiving season.

Whitney: Logan! (This can change from moment to moment, but since they were just playing nice together he’s made the number one slot on her thankful list) Ice skating. YOU! Daddy. Nana.

Logan: soccer. (For awhile that’s all there is. Just soccer.) Mom and Dad. I don’t know, a lot of things.

Mommy: Like what? This shouldn’t be so hard, you guys are incredibly fortunate and have wanted for nothing that I can recall.

Whitney: Soccer. Toys. The world.

Logan: My bike. Kyber (our dog).

Whitney: Me too! (This used to be her nickname, because whatever her brother did baby Whitney used to always say, “Me too!”)

Logan: Our house.

Whitney: Our yard. Does our pool count as part of our yard? Our cousins. Auntie Zann. Aunts and Uncles. Gammy and Jeff.

Mommy: That’s definitely a good start. Here’s what I’m thankful for: My babies. Daddy. My family’s good health and happiness…

Logan: You have to say puppy!

Mommy: I was getting to that… Kyber, even though he occasionally poops in my house.

Logan: Oooh, I know another thing – my friends.

Mommy: Excellent. I’m thankful for friends and family too.

Whitney: Santa and the elves!

Mommy: I thankful for our nice home to raise a family in, clothes on our backs, food on our tables.

Logan: Tell them we made green pancakes this morning!

Whitney: TV!

Logan and Whitney: Grampa!   

After that, Logan wanders out of the room, obviously done and bored with this assignment and we soon hear a video game playing from the other room.

As Whitney reads over my shoulder, she suddenly has an epiphany. “I’m gonna be in your article!”

“You’re always in my articles,” I tell her. “That’s what I do. I write about being a mom.” 

“Oh,” says Whitney already done being impressed. “Can we go to the gym now? I want to play at the Kid’s Club.”

Happy Thanksgiving.

I was up three times night before last, once to change his diaper. Last night he made it until 4:30 a.m. and I was grateful to get the extra sleep. I hope tonight we’ll be able to make it through the night, maybe sleeping in until 7 a.m.

No, I didn’t suddenly become a mother to an infant. But I am Mommy to an increasingly incontinent geriatric dog. Translation: A yellow Lab, nearly 98 in dog years, who can barely walk anymore and has lost the feeling in his back end to know that he’s laying in his own poop or pee.

They say infants and elderly end up requiring the same care and I’ve become living proof of that. We have come full circle in 14 years.

But our family dog Kyber is my fuzzy baby and I won’t banish him to the outdoors or relegate him to the increasingly frigid garage just because it makes my life easier. He wouldn’t understand this abrupt change in his lifestyle and I believe it would be cruel to hang him out to dry just when he needs our special attention the most.

These new set of challenges that comes with Kyber’s advanced age simply makes me pull out my A-Game, keeps me adaptable and leaves me feeling good about making this twilight time of his life comfortable and still worthy.

In fact, our entire family has stepped up to the plate to keep our beloved Kybee, as the kids like to call him, from becoming a nuisance.

Everyone is on high alert when Kyber is up and moving around to quickly open a door because he’s probably still trying to accomplish his training and instinct to potty outside. My son Logan helps feed Kyber all his pills – arthritis pills, pain pills, antibiotics, thyroid medicine – making sure they are well hidden in his food and not spit out. My daughter Whitney takes Kyber for his slow and very brief walks to encourage regularity and isn’t afraid to pick up the deposits that go with it. Hubby does the evening walk in the dark to get Kyber to empty his tanks to make my night shift easier. But I think he also enjoys their one-on-one time together, he and his old hunting buddy, rehashing the good old days. Even Grampa has stepped in by being a surrogate parent, taking care of Kyber’s special needs with the same love and care when we are out of town.

Kyber mostly sleeps now, a level of inactivity we thought impossible just a few short years ago. But he is still a Lab after all, and despite the aches and pains, the quick exhaustion and uncoordination, he and I still have our regular play time together every morning. He likes to play catch lying down now. Throw the ball right in his mouth and give him an “Atta boy!” (even though he can’t hear them anymore) and he’s happy. Life is simple, but it’s still a good life.

I’ve bought him Depends diapers, cutting a hole for the tail in them since the largest sized dog diapers were too small for him. I got doggie pee pads for the floor, constantly monitoring that he is still on them as he kicks off his diaper while dreaming of his more active youth. And I’ve got a gallon of Nature’s Miracle for those times when all our best efforts still came up short.

Kyber will always be a valuable addition to this family and I like to think the reason he’s living this long is because of the love and care we’ve given him through his life. Why give up now? We still can’t let ourselves imagine living without him – even when he leaves me “Tootsie Roll” surprises I’d rather not have in my house.

And who knows? Maybe this is all a good investment in the Bank of Karma. Hopefully my own non-fuzzy children will one day be happy to get up for me in the middle of the night and tell me it’s okay when I just can’t help those Tootsie Roll surprises.

I truly believe I saved my daughter life, and possibly our whole family’s lives, last week. And all because of a persistent smell of fish food.

We don’t have a fish.

For over a week there was first a subtle smell of fish, “…like when you make crab, Mom,” according to Logan. Then it escalated to a smell so bad we shut the door, put air-fresheners in place and had Whitney go sleep on Logan’s top bunk until we had time for a hard-target search.

I initially asked Whitney if she had found an old collection of seashells recently or maybe had some other organic material she was saving to transform into brilliant artwork that was obviously going rotten. But she swore her recently re-organized room was hiding no offenders.

We kept doing quick, cursory checks to sniff out an obvious source, but the source of the stench eluded us. I could usually pinpoint the smell to somewhere near her dresser covered with 7-year old ideas of keepsakes (collected rocks, broken jewelry, Disney CD’s) and her art corner next to it – an overflowing mess of creativity. But we couldn’t locate a spot that made us say, “Ah-a! This is it.”

Finally, Saturday came and we (me, Hubby, SIL, MIL) literally tore Whitney’s room apart, sniffing anything and everything. We smelled all bazillion stuffed animals, pillows, comforters and blankets for rotting cotton. We searched the art corner for spoiled materials. We pulled out her dresser, her bed, her drawers, checked every nook and cranny of the closet for something that might have crawled in her room and died. Nothing.

Everyone said, “Oh well, we tried, too bad, hopefully it’ll go away.”

But I couldn’t let it go. Something literally did not smell right.

I decided it must be coming from the vents, under the house or in the attic. I got on a chair and smelled the ceiling vent. I went outside and smelled under her window and under the house. I sent Hubby into the attic. Nothing.

After having Hubby putty a hole left by a hook in the ceiling, the smell seemed to get better. We decided it must’ve come from the attic after all and let Whitney sleep in her room again.

The next day is when disaster was averted.

As the evening was approaching, one last cloud burst dumped so much rain over our house that our gutters backed up and began leaking through the window in Logan’s room. I went into Whitney’s room to check her window and the smell was back worse than ever! And it was definitely coming from her window area behind her dresser.

I called Hubby in to help me move the dresser to see what had finally materialized. But there was still nothing where we had once already checked and vacuumed.

As Hubby walked away to grab some 409, saying it was probably something rotting in the track from her window made worse by the moisture – something immediately smelled different.

It was smoke.

“Do you think the outlet is going bad? Is it something electrical?” I asked my contractor husband in alarm.

He touched the outlet where Whitney had her CD player and papier-mâché flower lamp plugged in. He jerked his hand back as the scorching outlet burned his hand. Quickly we yanked the plugs out of the socket, so hot you could not handle them.

While Hubby went to get his electrical tools to investigate further, I looked around my daughter’s room in shock and horror – paper posters and artwork covering nearly every inch of wall-space, an art corner piled with combustible materials, the cotton and polyester draped bed right next to her dresser. The very bed she would’ve been in when her room caught fire with no time to escape.

My blood ran cold as my husband dismantled the outlet, which immediately shorted the lights, showing me the scorched plastic and melted wires. There was no doubt in my mind that an electrical fire had been immanent that night and we had saved her life. Hubby immediately checked the smoke detector right outside her room, but I knew, that even though it tested working, it would’ve sounded too late to so save her from the fire’s origin.

Later, Hubby consulted with a licensed electrician finding out that a fish food smell is a common warning of a loose negative wire in an outlet.

I am so grateful that my daughter’s life was spared that I want to make sure disaster can be averted for other families with this story of caution. So please, if you smell fish food, and you don’t have a fish or hermit crab for a pet, check your electrical outlets. Or better yet, if you have an old house like mine, have every outlet in your house checked anyway. A life could depend on it.

I never thought I would be grateful for my kid’s room smelling like something died in it but that very smell kept that very thing from happening.

Twas the Monday after Halloween

And all through the house

Half-eaten candy and wrappers

Were scattered about

Discarded costumes

Once provoking dread

Lay in heaps and piles

From floor to bed

Pumpkin seeds saved

Still uncooked in a bowl

Are now turning green

All covered with mold

Jack-o-lantern smiles

Now starting to droop

Already rotting

On my front entry stoop

The festive décor

Once strewn about in glee

Just looks like another

Job waiting for me

They hang from knobs

They are affixed on glass

They are on tables

What a pain in the a**

So I grab another Snickers

What-the-heck a Baby Ruth

All confiscated

In the name of the tooth

As I gnaw on the Twix

Sugar Babies and Mounds

I curse the beginning

Of my holiday pounds

And as I wrap up

Each decoration put away

Out comes another

For Thanksgiving Day

So I pop one more Smarties

Ready to hurl

I remind myself it’s for

A special boy and girl

Then I self medicate

With a Reese’s peanut butter cup

Only 52 days to Christmas

I’m gonna throw up.

©Kelli Wheeler 11/08