Things that Meow in the Night

We have an ancient cat. Elizabeth got her from the SPCA back in 2000 and they estimated her age at that time to be “about 2″ which is pretty much the age of every cat ever adopted from any SPCA (as far as I can tell). She was our barn cat, but when we no longer used the barn she figured out our dog door and became a house cat. I am allergic to cats, and I don’t really understand them, but this cat knew how to use a dog door instead of a litter box so I let her stay.

Fast forward to 2011. We have moved more than a thousand miles from the little farm with the barn and dog door. We now live where having a dog door serves as an open invitation to the wild kingdom to come and hang out in your house. Since my husband doesn’t want to have to call Billy the Exterminator to get rid of an opossum (yuck) from our bedroom, we decided to simply have the cat let us know when she needed to go in and out.

We started with a little bell on the door. That worked great, until she decided to play with that bell in the wee hours of the morning. Then we decided to just let her yowl. She is VERY loud. Years go by. Then, this past winter, our kitty had a run-in with a feral cat. The feral cat won, and dear Lacey injured her rear leg and can no longer jump onto the laundry room sink to get at her cat chow. (If we leave her food on the floor then the dog eats it, so don’t suggest that). So she yowls in the laundry room when she’s hungry and we pick her up. (and then I scrub my hands, ’cause I’m allergic, remember?)

So now she’s yowling to go out, yowling to come in, and yowling to eat. She also yowls just for grins. Here’s where it gets interesting. My husband can sleep through a nuclear holocaust. He did it when the kids were babies, he did it when they had the croup and when they did that “mom, I think I threw up” thing, and he does it now. Even though his side is closer to the door, he somehow NEVER hears the cat yowling after 9pm. Hmmmmm.

On the plus side, he is an extremely early riser. When the cat yowls at 5am she doesn’t have to wake him up because he’s already reading the paper, and he can usually hear her pleas for attention. One would think this would solve most of my troubles. No such luck.  This morning, early, the cat starts yowling to come in after her night out prowling or doing whatever she does all night long. He lets her in, and goes back into his cave to read. “feed her!” I yell from bed; because I KNOW that if he doesn’t go and lift her majesty the ancient cat up to her bowl that I’ll have to listen to yowling for the next 30 minutes. He disagrees. “How do you know she’s hungry?” he queries.  “Because she’s ALWAYS hungry when she comes in” I answer, not so happy to be having this conversation more than an hour before dawn.  “Are you sure?” he says.

You can see how this went down. I am now awake. I get up. I take that darn cat to the laundry room and hoist her up. I wash my hands. Now I have to pee, and wash my hands again, and brush my teeth while I’m at it, and then TRY to go back to bed.  

 I had almost forgotten this whole exchange (because it happens almost daily) until just now.  It’s 8 o’clock in the evening and the cat just came in, and he reminded me that he was unconvinced about the relationship between entry and eating as it pertained to the cat. Rather than take the bait, I started typing.  I feel much better now, but I fear that nothing but time and the passage of about 4 more  kitty cat lives will do much to free us from the yowler at the door.

Sleep well.

Dinner Conversations

There’s nothing like an old-fashioned family meal to stimulate interesting conversation. At least that’s what you hear. I thought so too, until last night. We don’t sit down together often enough, and since everyone is finally home from all their travels, I thought last night would be a great opportunity for a nice dinner together. The conversation went as follows:

Oliver: Mom, could I please have more of that yummy steak juice for my rice?

Anna: Oliver, do you mean more BLOOD?

Oliver: What are you talking about?

Anna: You know that the “juice” is really BLOOD from a COW.

Oliver: MOM!

Me: ANNA!

Anna: Yes mom? Oh, and Adam, that steak was a cow not too long ago.

Adam, placing a strip of steak on top of his arm: Oh, you mean like this?

Oliver: I am going to be sick.

Elizabeth: That’s why I’m a vegetarian.

The meal went pretty much downhill from there. Including complaints about chores, dish-doing,  the uselessness of summer homework, and various arguments for single child families.

This is why I send my children to sleep-away camp each summer. But then again, where would I get my material?

the beauty of technology

My husband was very unhappy with my last blog post. “So don’t read them” I said to him. “I can’t help it,” he replied, “I subscribe.” He is uncertain why I would want to post such mean things about our family on the internet for all to see. I explained that “all” is a very relative term, and that I was only venting, I don’t really hate my husband OR my children, and that writing keeps me from shooting people or doing drugs. He was not sympathetic. He told me to stop.

So I did. Then today I wondered if I could actually control my subscribers. What a great notion! (True, if he had me on an RSS feed I was screwed I think) but guess what? I CAN control my subscribers, all 3 of them…well now there are 2. See how easy that was? Now he won’t be bothered, and I don’t have to think up another catch phrase for my blog! I feel so savvy.

Since my last post I HAVE indeed become somewhat of a crock-pot mom. Meaning that I haul the thing out once or twice a week now; but at least I’m making the effort to put a meal on the table..and someone it seems so politically correct in these tough times to be making a crock-pot stew (or in tonight’s case, a pot-roast) what’s more all American than pot roast?

I hope everyone’s kids are settling into the school routine. I am proud to say that mine are managing to drag their little behinds out of bed pretty well lately and my yelling has been minimized. I think that’s also because it’s before 7am and my lungs aren’t at full capacity then. It is dark in Florida before 7…it seems a little sacrilegious to be yelling before dawn unless you’re a drill sergeant, and I am definitely NOT in good enough shape to call my self by that name.

That’s really all for now. I’ll try to think of some great topics now that big-brother isn’t watching me. Happy New Year for those of you in the tribe…I made my first batch of Matzoh Ball Soup (only because the school where I’m working had the day off and I felt I should at least COOK something Jewish) and it was YUMMY. I love soup. Isn’t fall a great time for soup? Oh, and it works in the crock pot!  Will coincidences never cease?

Cheers

Heigh Ho

Remember those cute little dwarfs singing that catchy little tune? Off to work they went, with smiles on their faces and a spring in their step. I went back to work yesterday with that same attitude. Mind you, this is the first time in over 20 years that I’ve been to work at a business I didn’t own, so I’m being extra careful not to piss anybody off (since I have to actually answer to somebody….nothing like a little pressure) but I’m confident that I can do a good job etc. etc. etc. No, work isn’t the problem…it’s what’s going to happen on the home front that worries me.

In my past “working” lives, I’ve either worked out of the house or had a competent nanny/au pair, or SOMEONE to hold down the fort while I was at the office. I thought that prudent since I had 4 small kids who all needed a full time mom just to help them with homework and listen to their whining. Well now that they’re older (and I need to make some $$ to pay for stuff like college and increased teen-driver car insurance) I need to work and not have half my income go into someone else’s pocket. So there will be no nanny (or chef, or masseuse….darn it) keeping the home fires burning. I learned this yesterday. Please don’t forget that my husband works from home and is fully capable of making a sandwich or doing a load of laundry..this is important, because I am about to rant.

So yesterday I started back to work. It was a long day because there was a dinner involved at the end, so I knew I was going to be gone for a good 12 hours. I bribed my eldest to help the others with their book reports that are due the first day of school (husband off the hook there). I warned him I’d be gone and that Adam had tae kwon do at 6:30 and that we pay for it whether he goes or not (that usually generates some interest on attendance where my husband is concerned).  Puff puff toot toot off I go.

Fast forward to 8pm.I walk in. The house smells of burnt popcorn. That same burnt popcorn happened to be what was served for dinner. Adam is in his pj’s and that’s not because he’s had a lovely day and has already showered and gotten ready for bed. He hasn’t left the house. No tae kwon do, no nothing. I won’t go into the condition of the house. The book reports, thanks be to God, are done. (because I put someone without a Y chromosome in charge).

Now it won’t always be like this, right? Because they’ll be in school and he won’t be “in charge”…but what about dinner and laundry and homework and housework? I am not whistling my happy tune anymore. Am I going to have to be a crock pot mom? Will I spend my weekends planning menus and pre-cooking? Even if I do that it won’t help with laundry, and he’s going to HAVE to pick them up and get them places…are they going to get left all over town? (I think I’ve already written about the shame of being the last mom in the pick up line) Oy….I think I’m going to be pining for those au pair days…

So for all of you who’ve been doing all of this for all of those years…I salute you. Send calm and organized vibes my way..I’m going to need them.  For now, I’m off to the grocery store….we’re out of popcorn.

cracking the code

I’ve figured it out, I’ve found the answer, eureka! There IS a way to stop yelling at your kids. It’s called sending them to sleep away camp! Two (very quiet and peaceful) weeks have passed since I dropped off Anna and Adam at camp in New Hampshire. The silence in the car as Oliver and I pulled out of camp (ok..there was the clicking of the gameboy) was deafening.  We have clean clothes and the kitchen is spotless. Why? Because there are only two kids and one husband contributing. There are only a couple of pick up and drop offs each day, and since Elizabeth only eats 2 foods and Oliver isn’t much better, the demands on my culinary skills have been close to zero.

Since my oldest is in a production of “Cats” this summer, she has spent her time either rehearsing, sleeping or updating her status on Facebook. This leaves Oliver as an only child. He is in heaven. In addition, my marblejar runneth over.  What’s there to yell about when it’s summer and there is only one conscious child in the house? He gets his own cheerios, he paddles in the pool, he goes to art camp. We have dinner at the beach. I sorted through my desk and organized my email. I might be in heaven too.

What’s interesting is the fact that I always blamed a lot of my frustration and yelling on the child who is currently home. True, we aren’t facing homework or tests right now, so the stress level is pretty low, but I now realize that the primary instigators are those two little stinkers who have been torturing their camp counselors for the last 14 days. What a lightbulb moment!  Truth be told, any one (or two) of my kids, alone or together, doesn’t pose much of a problem.  When there is only one sibling around to play with, it’s no fun to  bait each other,  and there’s enough of me to go around so the whining and carrying on is practically nil. If it was like this all the time I wouldn’t even NEED that darned marble jar. There isn’t one “good” or “bad” or “problem” child….it’s that chemical reaction that happens when they’re all together that causes all the fuss. That and a few hundred loads of laundry and piles of dishes.

So what do I do now? My peace and quiet will be beating a hasty retreat in 24 hours when my little cherubs come bouncing off that Southwest flight from Manchester. They’ll be all happy to see me and the dog and their neat and tidy closets (man, have you looked under your kid’s bed lately? GROSS)  But we know that chaos is returning. We still have some waterskiing camps to get to and back to school shopping and summer reading lists to complete. Elizabeth has her show and then foot surgery, and I’m already wondering how it’s all going to get done; so how can I hang onto this calm and peaceful feeling, or just a shred of it, and have it spill into our everyday marble-less lives? How can I keep a cap on my ranting and still keep everyone moving in the right direction?  Unfortunately that is one code I haven’t cracked. But Anna already told me she wants to go to camp for FOUR weeks next summer, so at least I have that to look forward to!

Least Expectations

We just had a great 4th of July holiday. OK, I am overlooking the fact that my children had a knock-down dragged-out altercation which resulted in a broken I-Touch screen and a whole lot of yelling and sending to rooms…but aside from that, the part where we went to the neighbor’s for a cook out and then went down to the beach for fireworks was amazingly trauma/whining free. I think the reason for that was due in part to my extremely low expectations.

We have a checkered history in the major holiday department in my family. The holiday looms large, we get wound up, and then we get let down. It’s hard to get too wound up about the 4th of July. First of all it sneaks up on you awfully fast. Second, in Florida, it rains every day in the summer, so you never really expect that it WON’T be raining on the 4th. Third, after several years of trying to tweak our 4th of July ritual (roof top, high-rise balcony, stay home and ignore it) we decided to try going to the source of the fireworks (which we do at New Year’s…always with less than satisfying results) and see how it went.  So here’s how it went.

At about 6 o’clock, it was POURING rain at our neighbor’s house where we were hanging out. No biggie, we’ll skip the fireworks. By 8 o’clock the sun was out and it was clearing up. Game on. Please notice there was no attempt at a perfect red, white and blue picnic on the beach. Pile in the car, head to the beach. Forget the angst-filled search for a legal parking spot and just pull over onto the edge of the road. Are we going to get a ticket? Unlikely, since about 30 cars followed suit. Why were we so worried about the legal thing all these years? So much less stressful to simply risk the ticket.

Stroll to beach, no cooler, no special beach table, no worries about sand in the appetizers. Flop down a blanket. Kids play cards until it gets dark. Fireworks go off. Since it’s summer, there’s about 1/4 the New Year’s Crowd on the beach. Stroll back to car. Drive home. Piece of cake.

Now it’s true that my husband was mumbling something about fireworks being boring after 5 minutes but I’m going to ignore that because I didn’t have to yell at anyone about anything and there were no bugs. It was a perfect evening.  Yes, today we have to send out the I-touch for a new screen, but I can’t really blame that on the holiday or my expectations…..my unruly children I will save for another day.

Hope your 4th was sparkling.

Fasten your seatbelt

I am on the road today. I’ll be spending the next couple of weeks traveling and touring college campuses in North Carolina and foreign places like Minnesota and Wisconsin.  At the moment I”m in the Baltimore airport food court; where the people watching is excellent even if the food is not. Baltimore is so different from Orlando (my usual chageover spot). For starters, hardly anyone is sporting a  Mickey Mouse T shirt… thank goodness! There are lots of student types, and since it’s a Sunday and I am the veteran of many a June wedding, there are lots of bridesmaids making their way home with garment bags and hangovers. Even though the temperature in Baltimore is almost as steamy as Florida, people are still dressed in black…what is it with black? When did black escape from New York as a mandatory color?  Oh well. I am wearing navy. Navy is the new black; you’ll see.

It would figure that the first time I have a long layover I’m stuck in an airport that has crummy shopping. Whenever I’m in one of those really cool airports with all the good stores I’m always dashing for  a plan. Now I’m stuck with Booksmith and Cinnebon….BORING.  I think I’ll study footwear for a moment. Sneakers and Teva’s (is that the right way to use an apostrophe there? I don’t think it is…but the plural “Tevas” didn’t look right. Please forgive me. Anyhow..those are the footwear de jour. Crocs appear to have fallen out of favor with all but the youngest travelers. There are a few strappy sandals and some unfortunate women wearing platform wedges…(oh how silly you look stepping down off those at security!) but mostly it’s sneakers. I hate wearing sneakers when I fly. For one thing, they’re hard to get on and off. For another, my feet get hot. Of course the consequence of that is that I have a pair of sneakers hogging space in my luggage and my clothes will have sand sprinkled over them, but oh well…I can’t abide hot feet.

I love those fanny packs and man-purses too.  Those appear to be very popular for the folks traveling through Baltimore today. Sometimes it is necessary to carry more than one. Now I really shouldn’t poke fun at people with a lot to carry. I’m the one who has to check luggage because all my hair products could not possibly fit into a quart sized plastic baggie, but it looks like stuffing that fanny pack (which is always carried in the front, as if to balance out said “fanny”… might give you back problems! What could possibly be in there?

What I have NOT seen today, and am sad to say so, are any cute doggies. I always LOVE to see the pooches and their look alike owners…not to mention the carriers. But I truly am an animal lover and so I really do like to see pets traveling with their people, and am always jealous that Maggie can’t be here with me.

I’ve probably rambled on long enough…but one can’t really write about airports without mentioning the indispensible in-flight pillow. That comfy thing you buy at the gift shop (usually 2 for $20!) that’s going to allow you to snooze your flight away. The trouble is that there is NO way one of those squishy things is going to fit in your fanny pack, or even your doggie carrier..so what the heck do you do with it in between flights? And what do you do with it at home? This explains why we have lost, and then purchased again, many of these microfiber monstrosities. I wish I had thought of them because I bet there isn’t a soul out there that hasn’t had to buy more than one. I like it when people just wear them around their necks as they stroll through the terminal, kind of like half of a muffler or a sort of cervical collar. I remember that Oliver had a tube shaped travel pillow that he liked to form into a kind of mushroom shape on his head…at least we could find him in a crowd. It worked great until the little styrofoam beads decided to bust out all over the place…I’m sure you all have experience with little foam beads so I won’t elaborate.

Enough travelogue. I’ll try to keep everyone posted as I make my way through the great state of North Carolina. Y’all take care!