The Life Saver

Due to popular demand (of one whole reader) I am going to regale you with the story of how Buster the guinea pig saved my life.

In my younger (and hipper) days, I lived in Washington, DC. Georgetown to be precise. Not in the really cool part, but in the more “studenty” section up north of the hospital. I had a basement apartment. It was dark and cool and it was ALL MINE.  The all mine part was key after college and graduate school. I was even employed, and blew my entire first paycheck at the Door Store buying furniture that you had to put together with an allen wrench. Remember that stuff? I think it took me 4 tries to get the bookshelves put together right.

Anyway…I was lonely. My boyfriend at the time was still in Williamsburg  studying for the bar exam, and I wanted company. A pet. I purchased Buster from a very up scale pet store across from the Safeway on Connecticut Ave. The cleaning lady from Peru that my landlord sent down every once in a while wanted to cook him (!)…he was my pal. I took Buster on walks. He nibbled on the lawn. He was awesome.

Well winters in DC are pretty cold. My little basement apartment was VERY cold. This was a bummer since my student neighbors were very loud and it was useful to run the window air conditioner to drown them out on Saturday nights..but it was WAY too cold for that on this occasion. I was lucky though. I had a fireplace.

Please bear in mind that I am from California. I had no experience with fireplaces at that time other than the kind where you turn on the gas. I knew nothing about flues and downdrafts and chimneys. I went to Safeway and purchased some lovely “Presto” logs. Do they still make those? I’m sure they’re poisonous but what did I know? I was cold and that’s what I saw…I think it said “duraflame” on the wrapper. I plopped it in my fireplace and lit ‘er up.

Ahhh….lovely….

I went to bed. Now mind you, I am not a complete idiot. I didn’t go to bed with my room filled with smoke or anything like that…but somehow…after I fell asleep..the draft (or is it draught) in the chimney sort of “shifted”…and the updraft turned into a downdraft…and my apartment filled with toxic fumes.

Buster didn’t like that. Buster began to squeak like crazy. Then Buster began to SQUEAL. I woke up. It was WAY smokey in there, and that presto log was throwing off some kind of terrible fumes. I opened doors and windows and worried that I’d have to give Buster mouth to mouth (and I would have..he just saved my life!).

We survived, and I got a safe electric radiator after that to warm the place up (although I was NEVER really warm in there..but that’s ok because as it turns out,  when you work in admissions at Georgetown you spend a lot of time in the office during the winter months…who knew?

Buster lived on to move with me to New Hampshire, (where I learned A LOT about wood stoves and fireplaces and chimneys) and I even nursed him through bumblefoot. I finally had to euthanize him and I was so upset that I even had the vet crying. He was a good guinea pig….no, a GREAT guinea pig. So far our new acquisitions are showing no life saving tendencies, but they’re young yet…

So next time you speak ill of the rodent family…please remember Buster. It goes to show you just never know who’s looking out for you.

The Menagerie….grows..

Those of you who know me MUST have realized that I would feel the need to fill the void left by the death of our dear fishy and friends. You KNEW that didn’t you? Well you should have. This weekend, Anna was bored. She wanted to DO something. She wanted to MAKE something. She wanted a HOBBY. Knitting? Too hard. Clay? Done that. Mall shopping? Sounds good. We head off to the mall. She mentions the cute puppies at the mall pet store. I remind her of the evils of puppy mills and their cruel ways. No pet store puppies for us. Besides, I have four kids to put through college and I need to stay married.

We mosey through the mall. Oh look! The pet store! The puppies are cute, the kitties playful. I am not swayed. The rats and hamsters are cute but they bite, and are nocturnal…we have learned THAT lesson with the rats and the recent hedgehog debacle. Besides, daddy doesn’t want more pets. We’re past that stage. We’re just LOOKING. Ahhhh a bunny…I’m allergic and they get big and mean and pee everywhere. Then, we see them. Two of the cutest little guinea pigs you ever did see.  I LOVE guinea pigs. I have had several. One, Buster, saved my life (that’s another story…but he DID!). I owe guinea pigs big time.

Before you can say alfalfa pellets we are toting the pair (because I know Adam will want one to play with) and a cage and all the various and sundry guinea pig necessities through the mall. Names? Reggie Bush (is that how you spell it?)..not because we love New Orleans but because we love the  Kardashians! And Randy Moss (that guinea pig has crazy hair and we love the Patriots even though Randy has an attitude). We get home. We sneak Reggie and Randy into Anna’s room and put the whole outfit together. Dad is clueless. We plan to keep him in the dark as long as possible. He NEVER goes into Anna’s room anyway. We might go years without his knowing. We tell Adam, we leave Oliver alone for now since all he wants is a turtle.

I don’t think we made it 24 hours before he found out. But no matter, the fact that the pair are named after football players (and the fact that dad will never have to care for them) has made it palatable.  They are so darn cute! Call me crazy. Call me a rodent loving fool. Ground Hog day is my favorite holiday, after all; and that has nothing to do with the movie! PLUS Anna is learning responsibility, right? And you never know when they might bring stupid pet tricks back to late night television. In case you were wondering, here is a list of guinea pigs I have known and loved.

Holmer (1969-1974ish)

Twirp, Holmer’s illegitimate son (1970-can’t remember)

Buster (who saved my life) 1985-1990

Blackie and Brownie (teen mother and daughter, eventually adopted by New London Hospital daycare and they lived a long long time!)

Daisy (pet of Anna Feins, 2002-2006)

Go purchase something impulsively, I dare you.

The Tortoise and the Hare

My 9 year-old’s most recent report card was straight A’s. This is awesome. He is a very bright little boy. He’s charming and funny and athletic. What he is not, in terms of schoolwork, is speedy. He does not get this from me. I was always the first one done. I was the one who made careless mistakes. I was the one who didn’t like to illustrate my story (that’s because I can only draw stick figures. I’m not kidding.) Slowing down is still very difficult for me. Proofreading these darn blogs is about the most I can handle. I try to be sedate when I drive and stop and savor the “journey” so to speak in most things I do; but this is through training, not nature.

Adam likes to soak it all in. He is methodical. He doesn’t miss a trick. You only have to tell him something once, and he listens to you. But in third grade (even at our “whole brain learning” school) there are centers to complete and papers to cut up and glue and Adam doesn’t always get his work done “in a timely manner”. He had this comment on his report cards last year at a different school as well, so it’s definitely HIM and not the school…. or is it?

All these kids are rushing around the classroom and getting all this stuff done, but who the heck can take it all in? We lament the facebooking/blogging/social networking/gotta always do more mentality, but then when a kid is a bit more, sedate, then he isn’t being “timely”.  His brain is just more methodical. That’s probably why he can remember tae kwon do exercises that have some unGodly number of steps in them.  I’m lucky if I can remember my own social security number.

My other kids all have their own pace. One has executive functioning issues that make it impossible for him to answer quickly, but the answer is in there alright. It took me YEARS to figure out that he wasn’t spacing out when I asked him a question, he was just going into his brain to get the answer! He finally told me to just back off and let him think and now I do. Why isn’t it ok to have our own pace? Don’t we all get there eventually? I’m not saying that Adam shouldn’t have to write the lovely sentences with all the vocabulary words, but if he doesn’t finish in school, can’t he just bring it home? If it  takes Oliver too long to process 30 math problems, can’t he just do 15 (as long as he “gets” it?) Isn’t the point of all of this to TEACH them something other than how to race through life?

Maybe it’s just that it’s Friday and I’ve rushed through yet another week, but I find myself wishing to be MORE like Adam instead of trying to break him of his “unfocused” habits. Sure, an hour in the bathroom with Calvin and Hobbes might be a little excessive…but hey, he’s reading… .

Try to do something SLOW this weekend!

Memory

Memory is really weird. Last night, Adam was doing his Charlotte Web homework. He had to find these quotes in the book and tell what was going on at that point in the story. Now the last time I read Charlotte’s Web was at least 10 years ago, (although it is true that I have read it many times not to mention the video), but still, for every quote he read me, I could tell him exactly where in the book it was and what was going on at the time.  Then let’s take MY homework.  I have roughly 3 ADHD books that I should have finished by now (but I’m blogging instead) and in my coaching class today I can tell you that I will remember very little of what I’ve read. True, brain wiring is slightly less fun and exciting than Charlotte’s Web but I’m trying to make a point here. Why can I remember lyrics from 70’s rock ballades (Best of Bread..a classic) yet I keep forgetting to get paper towels at the market. Don’t tell me that paper towels are less important than the Best of Bread. They most certainly are not! Paper towels are VERY important since I hate a sticky counter and won’t use a sponge. So there. You can generalized this to all kinds of things. Maybe the “current” part of my brain is too full and the “older” part is less active….but I sure can’t remember half the classes I took in college let alone the material. Yet if you ask me about making butter with Ms. Hoover at Sugar Plum Tree Nursery School (at the old Neighborhood Church) in Pasadena in 196? (I won’t divulge) I could tell you all about it. I could describe the nap room. I could describe the BATHROOM ….what’s up with that? Was the nap room that important?

I knew about my faulty memory when I started having kids so I made special efforts to imprint the important events. “OK…this is a birth…REMEMBER THIS”…or “ok…these are his/her first steps…MAKE A NOTE”…..

I guess that’s why God invented scrap books. I can remember really mundane things about my 8 months I spent in France my junior year of college. The bus stop, a class, getting a hair cut…but when my friends show me pictures of different field trips we took and I’m IN the pictures…I have no recollection! (Maybe it was the wine)…like I said..the brain is a weird thing.

We’re working on being “present” and centering and all of that in our coaching. I think I’ll try some of that just on my own. I wonder if I’m more “present” in the present that I’ll remember stuff better. Instead of thinking about the next thing I’ll just focus on this thing. Of course that probably meant that some kid won’t get picked up at some point…but at least it will make an interesting memory! I’ll keep you posted.

What do YOU remember??

A Follow Up

I’ve found myself revisiting some of my recent blogs (in my head, not in print) and have decided that they deserve some follow-up. Mostly because they’re consuming space in my head and preventing me from getting new ideas. Let’s start with that poor fish. Initially I felt a great sense of relief. I could actually walk into the kitchen without a sense of dread..is he floating? (of course he was floating..he was ALWAYS floating)…is he not? Is there anything gross growing on him? Is there anything gross in the tank? All of that is gone. Plus as an added bonus we actually have room for all the kids to sit at the kitchen counter. Not to mention my hands no longer have to touch the stinky fish food. Yet, I miss the little guy. I still feel like a murderer. Not to worry. I’m sure I’ll recover..but I have yet to find a logical storage place for the plastic orb that was his home. If I put it in the garage or attic it will get wrecked and you just KNOW we’ll do this again at some point (probably after I’ve parted with the orb) and I just don’t have that kind of space in my laundry room….oh well..on the dryer it sits along with unframed photos and unmatched socks.

Next is the whole inertia thing. I was thinking that overcoming inertia was a good thing. Now I am pondering whether it is better to just overcome the FEELING that inertia is a bad thing. Let me take a case in point. My husband. Unless he is on the tennis court….he is mostly inert. In his desk chair, in bed, on the couch..just a perfect example of inertia. The beauty of it is he LIKES it that way. It doesn’t bother him in the least that his cardiovascular system may be suffering or his bones softening. More aggravating to me is that it doesn’t bother him in the least that the beds might not be made or the laundry or dishes taken care of. No problem that there are leaves blowing into the garage because the door is up. Who cares that the plants on the lanai are wilting for want of a little drink from the hose….inertia..pure and simple.  That’s my problem…my own inertia bothers me because all I let all those other little things bother me.  Food for thought. I do admit that my current obsession with Farmville has the effect of making me FEEL less inert (I’m farming after all!) even though I am seated squarely in my chair. Farmville is addictive. You should try it. If you do, please let me know because I can’t get the really big plantation until I have more friends.

There…that’s all the following up for now. Hopefully some new and more interesting thoughts will pop into my head for next time! Don’t forget…it’s FARMVILLE…on FACEBOOK….yes, you too can waste a ton of time and feel productive.