fur-ever

We have a new puppy. An adorable/incorrigible, gimlet-eyed/irksome, sandpaper-tongued/sharp-barking ruffian that makes it hard to remember life before her, even though she came home less than a month ago. I feel no shame in admitting I looooooooove her. She is life and light that our family needed.

Our friends had warned us, "It's like having a baby, but without the diapers." I took her out every two hours, round the clock, the first couple of weeks. This morning we had a revelation: She might, might be able to sleep through the night if we’d stop trying to interpret her every toss and turn. Yep, it’s a lot like having a baby. Concern for her peppers my day: Is she napping enough? Is she eating too much? Are we socializing her properly? Will she turn out okay? The same thoughts that swirled about my children years ago now absorb me about this new addition. It’s not lost on me that my teens are phenomenally interesting and well adjusted and kind people AND I can’t take credit for all of their goodness. But I don’t see the dog as a fresh start or new opportunity, either. Just a new little someone to love as best I can.

That I know I can do.

Too see-through?

Is it possible to be too transparent? In this day of tweets and custom status messages on everything from AIM to Facebook, it seems ironic there's still such a thing as TMI. You set your status to something you hope will invite curiosity clicks and chats, but – people being people, no matter what new technology they're clothed in – there are still boundaries. It's the emperor's new clothes, 2.0 style.

I'm writing this as a note to self. I forget, repeatedly, that people much prefer chirpy chatter to the real thing. I make the mistake of confusing someone's genuine-sounding "How are you?" with "How are you, really?" It would make both of our lives easier if I'd remember to clothe my conversations in something my grandmother would approve of.

But that leaves me wondering how we strip off the layers to our authentic selves. Are our twitterings the real stuff of life or the appearance of the real stuff of life? How do we truly connect unless we actually undress? Perhaps that's my lesson: Not only do I take it all off too quickly, I do in front of a crowd what's better left for a private audience.