This morning my mom thinks Maxy the golden retriever is dying. He won't get up and she can't lift him so the vet is coming out to the house. That's what you get for being part of a small town Iowa community--the vet comes to you when you truly need them. The dog is eleven. That's the same age as Calvin. I have to say we questioned her judgment in getting a puppy with a new grandbaby. . . it was fine. . . (that's an inside joke. . . ) Whenever my mom is over the top we say, "it'll be fine." And, it always is.
Good that it turned out Maxi was "fine" ;-) after a couple of touch and go days.
ReplyDeleteTotally exaggerating here, but necessary to preserve the essence of what "It'll be fine" really means.... Remember, Sara, when we would get hurt when we were little- like perhaps we'd have one of our arms cut off and we'd be carrying it to Mommy with the other arm and crying and she would stifle a yawn, smile, and say, "It'll be fine." Then she'd go back to cooking supper while zip-stripping an antique, sewing our Christmas outfit, getting ready to go to church and talking on the phone, all at the same time. Those were the days.... Don't be mad, Mommy. You know I'm exaggerating. How can you not be a resilient kid when you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that no matter what it is, "It'll be fine?" Good job!
What a fantastic pic of Maxi and Katie. Wow! Sometime I'll ask for it from you.
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