Changes for 2016

I'm tired.

The last part of this year has been rough. Moe had a period of intense aggression and self-injury. It was an awful cycle that we couldn't break for almost 2 months. We had to get a helmet so he couldn't bang his head as much. One weekend we took Moe to the emergency room because we couldn't get him to stop attacking us. The shot of Ativan helped for a couple of hours. Then right back to it.

The doctor ordered an MRI, something we've put off for a while because it never seemed really necessary. It showed nothing unusual. Which was good. But it was also kind of disappointing. I wanted to point to a black and white picture and say "There. See that? That's what causing Moe to not be able to speak. That's what causing him pain. That's why he hurts himself. That."

And then we could fix it.

Eventually Moe felt better and for the most part stopped hurting us and himself. We aren't sure exactly why. But Berkeley, our dog, started having trouble walking. It was spinal, maybe a tumor. Pretty quickly she couldn't stand without falling over. Her last day was December 3. She was a big presence in this house, never an easy dog, but she was ours for more than 12 years. And we miss her terribly. I still feel the weight of her head in my lap, and the soft ears she loved to have rubbed.

Moe isn't as violent anymore, though he still has a moment or two. Sometimes I still flinch when he comes close. And my heart skips a beat whenever he slams a door. He gets really whiny in a way that will grate on your every last nerve.  He can be impulsive and bouncing off the walls hyper. Moe needs to be watched every single waking moment. And while we have done our best to make the house safe for him, we find ourselves saying the same things over and over and over.

"Come out of the kitchen."
"You already had a bath today."
"No ice cream for breakfast." (Though I can't really blame him for trying.)

And he's been waking up in the middle of the night almost every night.

We are all exhausted and emotionally spent in a way that's hard to describe. Jeff and I both long for the escape of work, thankful for challenging jobs we enjoy and that allow us to have help at home. Moe's nanny is a true angel.

We really need something to change, and fortunately, something is going to. After 3 years of homeschooling, Moe is going back to school. It's a scary and very exciting step for him. We think it is the right time. We have no idea how the transition will go and it will be logistically challenging having both kids at different schools. But we hope adding this new level of structure and activity to the day will be beneficial to his learning, sleep and regulation.

2016 is going to start off in a big way. We're ready.

Day 17: Do not read this if you love rodents.

Friends, today was a tough day. Not for me, so much. But for a rat.  This was not a pet rat and it didn't have a name. Though I suppose we could call it Number 5.

Several months ago, I found some rat droppings in the garage. It was, it seems, feasting on the dried pasta and dog treats I had on my makeshift pantry shelves. We cleaned up the area and removed anything but canned goods. Problem solved.

Okay, no. Obviously the problem wasn't solved. These little fuckers decided they really like my garage. And expensive dog food. LifeSourceⓇ bits were sustaining rodent life. We cleaned up after ourselves. Made sure not to drop any food.

Until one day when I walked into the garage and saw little pink plastic shavings on the ground from where the rat chewed through the food bin. Not a bag of food, but a solid plastic bin. We tentatively opened the door, expecting to see a rat eating to its heart's content at the Blue Buffalo buffet. Thankfully, it had already left. We left a trap on the floor near the food bin and within a couple days, caught one.

But that wasn't all of them. I guess it never is. Every so often, I'd turn on the light to the garage then open the door - always in that order - and see a streak of gray running across the floor and under one of the cars. I don't care how much laundry needed to be done, I'd just close the door and stay in the house.

We did more cleaning, even checking the earthquake supplies. We cleaned everything but eventually took to keeping a loaded trap on a top shelf. Every so often, we'd go out in the morning and the trap would be gone. It would snap, and flip off the shelf, leaving it to me and Jeff (okay, Jeff) to play find the dead rat buried in the junk in the corner of the garage.

We got a new and improved food bin for the dog food but we'd still find occasional evidence of rats. I picked up a gel mat for the kitchen that had been in the garage, only to find it chewed up. We found a chewed up roach trap. (There's so much wrong with that statement.) But it had been a while since I'd seen one or caught one. I forgot the trap was even there.

Now, this is the time in our story when I need to take you on a journey, back in time about twenty years. I was in college, living in a small cottage with a roommate. This cottage was, shall we say "shabby chic," literally insulated with newspaper. And at one point, we discovered that a rat was getting in the house. Through a hole in the wall. It was near the holidays, I believe, and we were going out of town. We laid down a sticky trap and left.

Upon our return, we opened the door carefully, turned on the light, and checked our trap. It was gone. Moments later, a large rat, back two feet stuck in the trap, front two out, ran across the cottage, dragging the trap behind it. In the commotion, it had picked up one of my slippers, which was now also stuck in the trap. We called our landlord, who "took care of" the problem. And also returned my slipper which, looking back, probably wasn't necessary.

This morning, Jeff had already left for work, and when our nanny arrived, I went to load the car so I could take Jelly to school. I opened the door and let out a gasp as I saw a rat in a trap in the middle of the garage. I closed the door and walked back inside.

Shit. I was going to have to deal with this. I told Jelly to stay inside. I could empty the trap. It was just a dead rat.

Except it wasn't. It was still fucking alive.

There was no way in hell I was going to pick that thing up and release it from the trap while it was still alive. I was also not going to use any of the large shovels or things in the garage to help it on its journey. I felt awful, but knowing it would be dead soon I did what any strong, independent woman would do: I put a cardboard box over it, got Jelly in the car, and texted Jeff that he was going to have to deal with this when he got home.

I also warned the nanny not to lift up the box. She even offered to deal with the rat. I told her that wasn't necessary. This, my friends, is called foreshadowing.

I came home from work as twilight was descending. I had all but forgotten about the rat, and was bringing in the trash cans when I noticed the boxes were moved. I smiled, realizing that our nanny did take care of the rat for me. She's the greatest.

And then the box moved. What in the ever loving fuck was that? The rat couldn't still be alive, could it? Maybe it was one of its rat friends, coming to leave flowers at the scene? The box moved again. I was frozen. Or stalling until Jeff got home.

I flagged him down as he pulled in the driveway and told him what was going on. I had yet to actually look in the box. He grabbed the sledgehammer and told me to take Jelly inside. I did what I was told. When I did, I went inside to learn that the rat had been running all around the garage, head stuck in the trap. Our nanny eventually put it in the cardboard box. I felt awful. For her and for the rat.

Meanwhile, Jeff was outside doing man's work. And by "man's work" I mean Googling the most human way to kill a rat. Which, it turns out, is by asphyxiation by CO2. You too can create a little rodent death chamber with vinegar and baking soda.

I'm sorry, Number 5. Rest in peace and may you find plenty of expensive dog food wherever you are.