Anita Blanchard: Cats and Dogs

Wed, 15 Mar 2006 01:38:45 GMT

Good News/Bad News

Well, the bad news is that my online survey is not ready for me to evaluate. The good news is that my online survey is not ready for me to evaluate, so I can “take off” from work tonight. I could actually work on my NSF grant, but I can do that tomorrow instead.

So now I shall blog about…

Sibling Rivalry

Originally, we thought this was going to be an issue with Patches and the cats. But it’s turned into a real issue between Patches and Conor. And the rival-ous one is Conor!

First, we learned when we first got Patches that they have the emotional capacity of a two year old. But it’s as Conor approaches two that we see an awareness of his “brother” as a competitor.

Honestly, the real issue occurs when Patches picks up one of Conor’s toys. We can easily tell when this happens by the loud, high pitched NOOOOOOOO’s that we hear echoing through the house. Patches usually does it just to get attention, although there was a duckicide the other week. It was duck decapitation. And we had to hide it from Conor, this small headless duck.

Poor everybody, really. Conor is in the midst of toddler selfishness. It’s a “mine” field out there. My Milk! My Duck! Mine! Mine! Mine!! Patches is just starved for doggie attention and will do anything, including petty thievery, to get it. The cats are starved for attention beyond being thrown off the bed at night and readily pee on any stray pile of clothing. (Actually, it’s mostly “Basa”, but as she is Conor’s favorite, we mostly forgive her and wash everything in hot, hot water) I’m still really tired but can’t separate working mama fatigue from head-full-of-snot fatigue. Dave is just trying to keep out of trouble when I keep reliving the post-mortem of my flu (why, exactly, did I drive to work with 103 fever? And why did it never occur to me to stay in bed even though I had to nap to walk from the parking lot to my office? What on earth does that say about me? And shouldn’t we focus on that as a family discussion for hours on end???? My working premise is that it wasn’t a good thing to have done that but oddly, others in the household are not as singularly focused on this issue as I am)

Oh, and final observation: my antibiotics are $50 for two weeks worth of pills. I’m going to have to spend $200 on antibiotics alone to make a dent in this sinus infection. Thank you, State of North Carolina, for your prescription drug plan.

Tue, 29 Nov 2005 15:41:19 GMT

So what ARE the animals doing?

As predicted by many of our friends BC (before Conor), the furry children in our house have taken a serious backseat to the human child we now have. It’s not that they are not still an important part of our household, but our focus has shifted, and rightfully so, to our non-furry offspring.

Nonetheless, they continue to be important if not frustrating parts of our household. (Feel free to skip today’s entry because it is sappy and dwells on other people’s pets---a topic about as exciting as other people’s dreams)

Thus, we shall use this entry to catch up on the animal shenanigans in our home.

Let’s start with Sergio, the red Betta, since the poor fish is clearly not at the top of any list otherwise. He continues to swim around….actually, no he doesn’t. He hangs out in his fake grass and waits for his three food pellets to appear twice a day. We’ve eliminated the major problem we were having with algae by not using gravel in his bowl any more. But that leaves his home place with just floating grass, which is a little bare. Conor loves him though and will point to him again and again. Simba loves him, too, but has not yet tried to eat him.

Oh yes, Simba, our small 6 pound minx of terror. She is the best cat with Conor. She’ll let him pet her and pull her tail and will just purr and roll over. Nonetheless, she continues to pee on any pile of clothing we leave out over night. (I’m not particularly fond of that habit) She has also started sleeping in bed with us, but has not quite learned to draw the line between kitty and Mommy. She likes to sleep on my head. Originally, that meant sleeping on the pillow above my head. But the colder it gets, the more likely it means actually, physically, literally, ON MY HEAD. And she’s not really all that willing to move, which leads to a fun game of black flying kitty at 3:00 in the morning. She is getting along better with the other cats. Dave even saw Scarlett give her a nose kiss two days ago. Of course, not too long after, there were paw swats exchanged which is still more of the norm for her.

Scarlett is the normal cat around here. This is an unexpected twist of events because for the 5 years previous, she was known as Psycho Kitty and with good reason. She has been quick to hiss and swat at strangers. And that has not necessarily gone away, but considering she is the least likely cat to pee outside the box, that gains her points in our normal poll. As far as Conor goes, she’s not too thrilled with him. She’ll let him get close to her and touch her, but it’s clear that Hiss and Swat are not that far from her mind. It doesn’t help that Conor screeches every time he gets near her. It’s ear piercing to us; I can’t imagine what it sounds like to her.

Duncan is actually doing much better. He is now close to 15 years old but can still get around pretty well. He is actually peeing less than he was, but we’re not taking many chances. He tries to keep as far away as he can from Conor. As soon as he sees the child, he runs—under the bed, into his new favorite spot in the linen closet, anywhere he can as far away as he can from Conor. (Perhaps this exercise is what keeps him in share?)

And finally, Patches. Patches is the one who probably has it the best and the worst with Conor. He loves having a small human around to play with, but he’s getting more and more jealous of the attention we give Conor. And our small human loves his similarly sized dog. Looooooves. Looooooooooves almost too much. More than once lately we’ve had to rescue Patches from some Conor love/torture such as trying to honk his nose his he honks ours. Patches is so good natured about it, but he still has a pleading look in his eyes when Conor screams and pokes his snout again and again.

Patches is not always so good. Dave and I continue to lose underwear and socks whenever Patches can reach a snout into the laundry basket. Used diapers within reach are also up for grab-and-tear. (Fortunately, these are only pee pee diapers, otherwise, I’d still be retching) But overall, Patches is amazing in our new household. He dits with Conor tells him too. He protects Conor’s toys from the cats. (Although the cats don’t really give a hoot about the toys, he really just chases them away as they walk by Conor’s toys.) In the morning, Conor rushes over to Patches’ bed and pets him and Patches just rolls over and licks Conor when he can.

It is true nonetheless though that when Dave comes home, Patches really, really, really, really, really wants Dave to come outside and throw the Frisbee until Patches can move anymore. Now, though, the Frisbee throwing has to occur with a little peanut by Dave’s side. Dave throws. Patches fetches. Conor picks up the Frisbee and gives it to Dave and the process starts again.

OK. You probably were not so curious about how everyone has been getting along around here. It’s just another area of guilt for my neglect that I can check off my list now.

Sun, 27 Nov 2005 17:44:26 GMT

Maybe I Should Have Skipped That Second Helping of Dressing

“My belly is poking out. Really. It’s really poking out a lot sooner than it did last time. Don’t you think my belly is poking out?”

“Not as much as your ass.”

You may not find this funny, but I find it hysterical. It’s nice having relatives who are a bit sharper than most tools in the shed.

Dit and Day

Conor has been helping Dave feed the dog. (Apparently, this entry deals with food) As part of our feeding routine, we have Patches Sit, Down, and Stay as we fill his food dish. With Conor helping, it tends to be a bit longer process of Down and Stay as Conor pours (sort of) Patches’ food into his dish. There is now an inevitable puddle of drool accompanying this process.

Just this weekend, Conor has started adding his own commands to Dave’s during the feeding routing.

“Sit!” Dave says.

“Dit!” Conor says.

“Down!” they both say.

“Stay” cautions Dave as the drool starts pooling.

“Day!” Conor adds on with an emphatic hand gesture (the “Down” sign we’ve taught Patches).

Conor then toddles off with a handful of food while Dave follows along behind him with the full cup. Patches patiently dits and days until he gets the magic “OK” command that means he can eat.

Whatever dominance Conor may think he has over Patches is really part of a collaboration as Conor continues to steal handfuls of catfood for Patches to snack on throughout the day.

We shouldn’t find this as humorous as we do, because we know we’re encouraging it.

Nonetheless, I don’t think any of this behavior is going to stop anytime soon.

Tue, 25 Oct 2005 15:27:08 GMT

I Hope You Know That This Will Go Down on Your Permanent Record

It was inevitable. We’ve been expecting it and should actually feel lucky that we escaped for as long as we did. But it happened, and we’re ok.

Oh, it’s not that dramatic. Somebody broke into our car on Friday night and stole two whole dollars. Actually, they weren’t two whole dollars, it was probably more like two dollars in dimes and quarters. (And what exactly am I supposed to think when they left the new suit I’d bought from Steinmart in the car? I thought it was a cute suit!)

It’s our neighborhood. We love it, but there is a lot of economic diversity both in and around our ‘hood. It’s one of the things we love about where we live, but it makes us susceptible to petty theft like this. Shed break ins and stealing change out of the car are very common. And yes, I was foolish to 1) leave my stuff in the car even though they didn’t steal it, and 2) to leave the car unlocked. I heard you gasp! Yes, I leave my car unlocked a lot. I’m very trusting.

Dave discovered it Saturday morning when he went out to get the paper. He noticed that the car door was open and the lights were on. It wasn’t until he saw that the glove compartment had been emptied that he knew something was up. (His exact quote was “I didn’t think you were that messy.” I resemble that remark)

Once we figured out what had happened, there may have been some harsh words spoken towards our lame ass guard dog. Phrases like “You’re fired!” and “Couldn’t get off your comfy dog bed and alert us to those folks rummaging through our car, eh?” and the most cutting of all “What would Lassie think?” This from the dog who does a lap around our .5 acre lot whenever the UPS man drives by and who literally barks himself into a hate filled frenzy at the sight of the mailman.

The car was not parked on the road, by the way. It was way down the driveway, about 60 feet or so, behind of our other car, under a street light by the garage, and pretty much behind our house. They had some cajones to go after both of those dollars.

It wasn’t until later that morning that we found out that our neighbor likely scared them away. Her dogs woke her up with some crazy barking around 2 am. She turned on the light in her den to look for the cat she believed was making them so absolutely crazy. She even peered out her front windows which we think scared the thieves away from our car.

We were very relieved and thanked her and her dogs profusely for preventing any more damage.

Still….

Patches, our collie, our Timmy’s-in-the-well-and-I-will-bark-you-to-it dog, got schooled in home protection by a poodle. A poodle.

What would Lassie think?

Sat, 18 Jun 2005 17:08:41 GMT

Get That Dog

We’ve been taking Conor and Patches on walks around our neighborhood between dinner and bedtime to help Conor calm down and get to sleep. Yesterday, we had a bit of an incident on this walk.

We had just turned the corner onto the main street in our neighborhood. We saw a young woman standing on the leash of her very large dog, which may have been a bull mastiff. We stopped walking and stared at her because even from a block away, we could tell the dog had on a spiked choke collar digging into its neck. And both of us thought it was odd that she was standing on his leash right beside him so that his leash and collar were tight on his neck. We realized as we approached that she was trying to make him Down by using the weight of her body on the leash. He wasn’t budging (My first thought was that she was doing it wrong and that she should lead him down with a treat, not by force)

“Is that dog OK?” Dave asked.

“Yes, we’re training,” she replied. OK, fine. I thought. We’ve trained Patches on this same street.

We started walking past them with Dave and Patches in front of Conor and me. The dog started growling at Patches. Within seconds, the dog lunged at Patches, knocking his owner off balance. I saw Patches run to other side of the sidewalk while the mean dog flew through the air at Patches, teeth bared ready to bite Patches. My only thought besides “He’s going to eat Patches” was “If he can’t get Patches, he’s going to go after Conor.”

“GET THAT DOG! GET THAT DOG!!!” I shouted. She struggled but finally gained control of him and dragged him back to the side of the street.

“That dog needs training!” my own teeth bared at her and her dog.

“Yes, that’s what I’m doing” she replied, her eyes wide. “We’re in a training program.”

“NO!!!! That dog should NOT be on the street. You need to get that dog off the street!”

Now, let me pause here and explain a few things. First, when I said “GET THAT DOG!” I was loud. Really, really loud. No, actually louder than that. I was louder than the aggressive dog’s barking. Other people walking up the street stopped; a wise decision, I think especially for the couple with their tiny beagle. I was so loud that as soon as we passed them and Dave and I could talk, the first thing he said was, “I think you scared the dog.”

I think he was right. I saw the dog’s ear twitch towards me when I shouted. I really did. And I’m not proud of scaring an attacking, aggressive bull mastiff. I’m more than just embarrassed. It's not an attractive feminine characteristic. And again, when I say I was loud when I shouted, I meant I was loud and low. I can understand how that dog heard my shouts as very aggressive barks back at him. I was louder and lower than that big dog’s bark.

Second, when I said No! to that woman, I meant No on so many more ways than I could explain to her while I was standing there shaking. No, you don’t train a dog with a spiked choke collar. No, your trainer is not worth what you’re paying him or her. No, YOU have to dominate that dog; YOU have to become alpha. You need to feed that dog every meal out of your hands for two weeks and if his teeth even touch your skin, he doesn’t get to eat. You need to lie on your dog to show your dominance. You need to keep that dog off of all your furniture. He needs to know YOU are in charge. And you need to keep that dog off a busy, public street until he is better trained. Because if he had hurt my dog or my baby, you really don't want to know what would have happened. (I think she probably got that last part)

This morning, I woke up and continued to be embarrassed. I wanted to find her and explain all that to her. I wanted to give her out trainer Teresa’s number so that she could have a very knowledgeable alpha helping her train her very aggressive dog. I wanted to apologize for shouting at her. I’ve always thought it funny to think of myself as an alpha bitch, but to be so on a busy street was embarrassing.

Oddly, the walk didn’t help Conor go to sleep early last night. I wonder why.

Wed, 01 Jun 2005 13:44:34 GMT

Welcome Home or I Love You, I Missed You, and Now I’m going to Pee on your Stuff

Duncan was a love bunny all day yesterday. He followed me around the house, pawed at my leg while I wrote and wanted to sit in my lap while I worked. Considering that usually Duncan spends the day asleep on the bed, I was impressed just by his following me from room to room.

Then, in the late afternoon, I saw him squatting over my shoe. Knowing his tendency to leave unwanted presents, I called the Collie Cops who nosed him off that spot. Later, however, we found Dave’s backpack where Duncan had decided to leave his welcome home gift.

When it was just Dave and Duncan, Duncan’s welcome home ritual was to love, love, love on Dave and then bite him hard on the hand. Now that it’s Dave, Anita, Conor, Patches, Scarlett and Simba, it’s love, love, love and pee. I guess I’d rather have him pee than try to bite the baby, but still. It’s weird. Duncan is a weird old cat.

Teeth Aplenty

Well, Fang is about to be Fang no longer. His front two teeth, in their right spots, have finally started to come out. They have been visible for well over a week and since last Friday we could actually see them through the blister of skin that was bubbling up over them. This morning, I finally felt the left one. Yes, our poor guy has been pushing out 4 teeth at once. That has got to hurt.

Isn't he cute chillin in his ride? He loves riding around like that!

English Peas

We had our first real meal of English Peas from the garden last night. Yummmmmm. Those were dang tasty. For lunch, I’m going to make a salad with some of our over enthusiastic lettuce. I’m also hoping on going running in the late morning. My runs have finally started to progress. Yesterday was the first good run I’ve had since the Charlotte (Half) Marathon in January 2004. That’s a long time ago. And it wasn’t even close to that distance. Nonetheless, it didn’t suck, and I’ll take that in a run right now.

Off to work.

Mon, 25 Apr 2005 02:15:10 GMT

Two More Weeks of Hell

And then I can properly tell you about my half-clever idea of using newspaper in the garden to control weeds. You put it down where you don’t want weeds and as the summer progresses, it disintegrates and becomes part of the soil. You do, however, need to do this when you’re not having a wind storm. Otherwise, you’re somewhat cute backyard becomes all white trashy with flying newspaper trapped against the fence and various shrubbery. (BTW, I don’t think I used enough mulch on top, but still in 20-30 mph winds, paper’s gonna blow)

I could also properly tell you about our first batch of lettuce from the garden and the watercress soup we made from our first real batch of watercress. I’d also ask if anyone knows if watercress can be harvested only “once” (i.e., the whole plant) or if you can just pull off a few leaves here and there as needed.

I’d also tell you about all the dill sprouting up in the lower right corner of the garden where last year’s lone dill plant grew and died. It may have been a loner, but it was a slut. There are little dill plants all over my garden. Who knew??? I love dill and lord knows, we didn’t have enough last year, so I’m letting it grow. I thought dill was an annual, and, ironically, all of my supposed perennial herbs are dead, dead, dead. I also have a mint sprout out there. Are those perennials, too??

Patches is still having the midnight runs, and after Friday night’s fiasco in which Dave prepared the house so that we could use the doggie door (i.e., put wily Simba in the den, which she repaid Dave by pooping on his chair; don’t blame her as there was no litter box for her), so where was I? Oh, he put Simba in the office so she couldn’t escape through the doggie door but then didn’t OPEN the doggie door so that *I* had to get up at 1:45 and let the whimpering little dog out. Yes, as I was actually sleeping through the night until that point, we were not amused when he had prepared for NO ONE to have to get up and then didn’t follow through by actually opening the door. (I was a bit cranky when I figured that all out)

Last night was not much better except Dave had given me permission to poke him to get up and take care of the dog. It’s not much better seeing that I am still waking up first, but I certainly enjoyed the good poke I gave to get him out of bed. I confess that I can tell we both lie in bed waiting to see if the other one will get up and take care of whatever nighttime parenting chore we need to do. Or that could just be me. Nonetheless, I have earned a week’s worth of poking and I’m going to use it.

Patches actually scared us yesterday by not eating his dinner. And he did not eat his breakfast this morning. We called Dave’s sister the vet to see if we could wait to go our regular vet on Monday or if this was something more serious. She said it was very, very good that he wasn’t throwing up. She also thought that as collies are quite sensitive, he could be experiencing collie colitis—a stressful tummy. Irritable Bowwow Syndrome, if you please. She suggested cooking some lean hamburger (draining well of fat) with equal amounts rice until he feels better. I cooked it up and Patches stared at me slack jawed wondering what he ever did to be such a good dog for that meal. Needless to say, he ate it up and seems OK. Dave will still be on poop patrol tonight.

I’m running late, per usual. I want to get to bed early. And I still have some chores to check off my list before I’m done. Bleah.

Fri, 22 Apr 2005 13:11:57 GMT

Doggie

When Dave dropped Conor off at daycare yesterday, Ms. R told him that on Wednesday, Conor had been able to correctly point to pictures of a cat when they said cat and to a dog when they said dog; they even believed they heard him say “doggie” twice.

We were a bit skeptical, so when I came home last night I put two of Conor’s alphabet blocks in front him and asked “Where’s that cat? Where’s the dog?” and he picked up the correct one each time. True to a decent N=1 design, I switched the order of the blocks and the order of my asking Cat and Dog. He picked the right blocks correctly 4 consecutive trials (that actually means 8 successes), and missed only when I was trying to show off his new trick to Dad. We tried again later and he picked the blocks correctly again. Wow! He knows cats and dogs and maybe, just maybe, he did say “doggie” at daycare.

Son of a bitch.

There are three important “people” in Conor’s life: Dave, Patches, and me. If he really said doggie, then both Dave and the dog trump me. What am I??!?!? Am I just the boob?! And yes, I do know it’s harder to say Ma-ma than Da-da. But he can say doggie now! Where’s Ma-ma? I want to be more than The Boob! (At this rate with his increasing b sounds, Boob may likely be the next word)

As part of my campaign to get him to say Ma-ma, I’ll frequently just say it. Dave and I were driving around last week with the baby. Everyone was quiet, so I thought I’d get in a practice “Ma-ma.” Conor immediately replied “Da-da.” Some people in that car were very proud of themselves and of their son’s sense of humor. Others were less amused.

Even this morning, after nursing in the big bed, Conor pulls off the boob, rolls over, touches Dave and goes “Da-da.” We’ll just see about that. Ma-ma. Ma-ma! Mamamamamamama.

Worm Poop

We think we have discovered the source of Patches’ poopies. We’re in the midst of cankerworm season. I’m happy to report that both the systemic and the biologically organic germ warfare are helping us in our battle with the worms. (Our cherry trees, which were deforested last year, are thriving this year) However, we did not treat humongous ash tree by our deck. Already, the deck is covered in a thin layer of worm poop from their eating this tree’s leaves.

We think their poop has been getting in Patches’ water dish and have upset his tummy. Today, we’re moving the dish away from the tree to see if the runs leave. We saw earlier last night that he was still having problems so we left the doggie door open for him. I only woke up once last night to bring him in from barking at some thing or another. Unfortunately, I stayed awake for a while afterwards. I think I may be developing middle of the night insomnia. All in all though, a better night.

Let’s just hope that decreasing the worm poop decreases the dog poop, too.

Off to a great day at work.

Thu, 21 Apr 2005 13:21:57 GMT

No Sleep for Mommy!

That’s actually what Dave said to me during the middle of Tuesday night, but it was more accurate last night.

1:00 am: tap, tap, Tap, TAP, TAP….TAP, TAP, Tap, tap,tap. Patches’ tummy still had problems. He was trotting (!) back and forth from the bedroom to the backdoor. I let him out, he did his business, and I let him back in.

2:00 am: tap, tap, Tap, TAP, TAP….TAP, TAP, Tap, tap,tap. Screw it. I let him outside. I didn’t care if he barked the whole night long as long as we was out and I could sleep.

3:30 am: the cats glory in the eviction of the dog. Scarlett celebrates by running down the hall and jumping as hard as she can on the bed to wake us up. The she climbs to the top pillow and tries to sneak to the dresser where she can swat off jewelry and scratch on the mirror. Dave and I take turns hurling a grey kitty across the room.

3:50 am: Duncan hacks up 3 fur balls outside the bedroom. I seriously miss Patches now because he doesn’t allow Scarlett to jump on the bed and he often cleans up yakked cat hair.

4:00 am: Baby wakes up. I bring him to the big bed. He nurses and goes back to sleep. I curse our laziness for not making up the bed for the last three days because I now have no covers or sheets on my side of the bed and my feet are hanging out. Dave snores. I whack him.

5:30 am: Alarm starts to go off. I hit the snooze button. The baby hits the boob.

I’m actually not that tired this morning. I believe it’s because I’m more sick than tired. I think I either have allergies for the first time in my life or I have a truly nasty sinus infection. I’m voting allergies because in LA, I had no problems, but as soon as I got off the plane here, it started again. However, I have a wicked sore throat, from drainage (lovely) I believe. I’ve read that is more cold than allergy. Bleah.

I see the end of the semester though. And it is a glorious sight. Yes, I will be working my booty off all summer on research, but I can have my flexibility back. Well, I’ll get it back once I get these three papers written. Bleah again.

The good news is that my first master’s student is defending her thesis today. I think it looks good!

Wed, 13 Apr 2005 14:06:34 GMT

What the Hell Are You Doing?

Conor was ready for his nap. He was a little fussy and had a mild fever. I was looking for the new bottle of Tylenol. And then Patches started barking. I could tell that some sort of delivery person was walking by because of the tone of his bark. And he kept going and going and getting more worked up.

I went back to the baby’s room with the new bottle of Tylenol and looked out the window to tell Patches to “Quiet!” Patches was a few feet from the fence. The meter reader was standing at the fence. Great, I thought. Our loud barky dog is bugging someone doing his regular round of work.

And then the meter reader leaned over the fence, screwed up his face and growled at Patches. And then he lunged at Patches: he squared his shoulders at Patches and jumped towards Patches over the fence. Patches was three feet away, his long fur fluffed up, in an aggressive pose.

I slammed the blinds in my rush to open the window. The meter reader’s eyes grew wide and looked with surprise at the sound of my fury. I unlocked the window and threw it open.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m reading the….”

“Don’t. You. Tease. My. Dog.”

((Silence.))

“I will let you in and can check the meter then.”

I picked up the baby, went outside and called Patches to Front. I was still in my pajamas. I made Patches Front. I told him Quiet. I have no idea what happened to the meter reader. After he taunted our dog, he got his readings and left. He didn’t need to get in the fence. He didn’t even have to lean over it to see the readings. He had no reason to be a jackass to our dog.

What a son of a bitch. I feel like I caught the bully in the third grade teasing my child. What the hell was he thinking??? Taunting a dog in his own territory? Please, throw your hand over the fence so it can bite you. What the effing hell???

I’m still worked up about it.

Two hours later we’re at the vets to discover that Patches’ dewclaw was torn. Who knew he had a dewclaw (a thumb on his leg). He apparently tore it on Sunday running through the yard. As it was torn off to its quick, they removed it. Lovely. Taunted by an asshole in a uniform and having his toenail removed; one can imagine better days.

TMI

On a completely different note, after again having pump problems over the weekend, Aunt Flo stopped by for a visit. Just to let you know why that’s Too Much Information, it’s been 18 months since I’ve seen AF. That’s a hell of a long time.

Even more TMI, I haven’t had an AF like this in about 20 years. You may recall that I really haven’t had a period in a long, long, long time. Neither have I really had a comma nor a semi-colon. In fact, telling Dave about my amazing AF visit, I revealed that it’s been since I was in college (age 20) that I had my last “real” period. (Did you hear that? That sound of an internet window closing, a clearing of the throat, and a man walking away? That was my Dad. Hi, Dad!)

But anyway, since I started exercising 20 years ago, I really haven’t had to use many if any “products” during “that time of the month.” But this time, the first in 18 months, I’m using all kinds of products and I’m amazed. Is it because I’m not exercising as much anymore? Is it because I’ve had a baby and the plumping is all excited about what it ought to be able to do???

“Go! Go! Go! We can get that baby in here now!!!”

“Cancel! Cancel!! No need!! No incoming baby floating down the tubes.”

“But….but….she took so long for everything! We never thought anything would happen in this god forsaken death valley of a reproductive system. She took forever to start dating, even longer to get married, and she’s near the end of her eggs. We’re readddy! Come on!!!”

I thank you all, little body parts, and I really do appreciate the great showing this month. It has certainly been a long, long while since I’ve needed even half this amount of monthly accessories as this, and honestly, I do hope to need your services in the future. But get a hold of your fool selves and let me catch my breath before we start again.

Thank you, body. But meter man, don’t ever let me catch you teasing my dog again. Because you will draw back a nub. And it won’t be the dog’s fault if it happens.

We’ll be off line for a while; I’m going on a conference.

See you next week!

Tue, 12 Apr 2005 13:50:33 GMT

It’s a Whole New World

Every time I say that, I end up singing and thinking of Disney. Our whole new world, however, comes from our scooty booty baby. He’s not crawling yet. He’s still pushing himself backwards when he’s on his belly. But on his booty, he’s a wily little scooter. He made it off the dining room rug and to the other side of the kitchen on Saturday.

He figured out how to do this first by grabbing a hold of a chair and pushing it forward and then pulling himself behind it. Sort of like a walker for old folks, but in reverse. That lost its appeal when instead of pushing the chair and pulling himself behind it, he pushed the chair and pulled himself under it, ending up with him in a frightful chin up position and his having no idea how to get out of it without letting go and banging his head on the floor. I rescued him from the chin up position, but still had to pry is stubborn little fingers off the chair so that he would stop the walker moves.

He then figured out how to lean over from his sitting position and pull himself with his hands across the floor. This has led to some serious scooting around on the hardwood floors.

I am so not ready for him to be mobile. I’m happy with carrying him around and trusting that he’ll stay on the rug a few feet from where we’ve put him. Now, he can explore. And we are just not ready for that.

We are ready, however, for him to feel better. Yesterday was his 9 month appointment and to get out of his shots, at 4 am, Sunday night/morning, he came down with a 101+ fever. He also had a really bad cough that Dave gave him a steam bath for. This was one of those times we were glad he had a doctor’s appt already scheduled. Everything looked good for his measurements (21 lbs 13 ounces, 28 ½ inches), but no shots for the sick baby!

Last night was not much better so I’m staying home today with him today; Dave stayed home with the baby yesterday. Of course, our furry son has a problem with his toe-on-his-leg thumb so I’m off to the vet this afternoon. Bleah.

Thank You From Cathy

Saturday, we received a handwritten thank you from Cathy Guisewite (the cartoonist) plus a signed wedding cartoon of all her cartoon characters. Whaaaa? When Cathy and Irving got married recently we bought “them” a wedding gift at Pet Orphans of Southern California. I like the idea of giving charity for weddings (and that shout you just heard was our friends saying “NOW you tell us!”) so I was happy to give to charity even for a cartoon wedding. As we are pet lovers and the gifts were only $10 each, I’d like to encourage you all to consider giving, too. Why not help prepare a stray dog or cat for adoption to a loving home? Here is their registry.

OK. Off to feed my slightly feeling better baby. I, on the other hand, am pooped.

Sat, 02 Apr 2005 15:58:51 GMT

Trouble on the Dismount

Our cats are very dramatic when they leave the litter box. They spring, jump, or otherwise shoot out of the box when they have done what needs to be done. We assume that when you’ve got your paws in your “business” you want to get out as quickly as you can.

Recently, however, the animals have begun to disrespect each other’s privacy during this very awkward moment. Just yesterday, Dave had to chase Patches out of the house because he wouldn’t let Scarlett shoot out of the box in her normal manner. Patches has even started going to check on the cats in the middle of whatever they are doing, which, again, seems like a violation of the natural laws of animals. A crime against nature, as it were.

We really can’t figure out what’s up with Patches’ new interest in the cats’ elimination. We’re not sure if he’s just concerned about the cleanliness of the house or if he’s just a freak. The litter box, however, is a herd free zone and we’re going to have to work on that.

We’ve got a different problem with Simba. She’s very curious as to what she’s just done and has the unfortunate habit of sticking her nose right in the wet litter. She must be far sighted. The problem is that the litter sticks on her nose like glue and we spend the rest of the day and night trying to scrape it off of her. Actually, because she is solid black, the white litter looks like a reverse beauty mark. If it wasn’t so weeb inducing, we might let her keep her makeup on.

It’s a gorgeous spring day down here. We’re going to enjoy it by not working like fools and instead just enjoying the day.

Mon, 14 Mar 2005 12:50:03 GMT

Soaker Hose

I have become a big fan of the soaker hose. Unfortunately, unless you’ve been doing a good deal of gardening lately, this part of today’s blog is likely to be boring. So feel free to skip down to the next section.

I love installing our landscaping. I hate watering it afterwards. New plants need lots of water. And the south can be fickle in how much rain it’s willing to provide to keep one’s shrubbery alive. The second problematic fact is that to adequately water plants, you need to let them get a lot of water. Superficial watering (just getting the top wet) does little. You need to let the bottom of the roots get water so that they grow and get deeper and thus get more access to more nutrients and water.

Dave and I have had several, ahem, discussions on our watering strategies. Some of which have ended up with me re-watering the landscaping and professing ignorance to his previous watering. I can tell you right now that it is boring as hell to make sure you’ve got enough water on a plant. And to really make sure our front and back landscaping can make it through the summer heat takes about 1 ½ hours of watering. And finally, I have to confess that I don’t find the zen in watering. It’s just time that I’d rather be doing something else and I start to skip plants and then feel guilty and go back and blah, blah, blah.

So, the soaker hose. You turn it on; it emits a bit o’ water and slowly soaks the ground around the plants. I’ve used it in the garden for the last two years and today, I put it in part of the front landscaping and on our new ligustrum trees/shrubbery in the back. Now, instead of standing there for an hour, I can turn the soaker hose on for 30 minutes or so and leave. Everything is watered and I am free to find the zen of yard work elsewhere.

I am Very. Very. Excited.

Patches Trusts Me

Welcome back to the more interesting part of the blog. While landscaping yesterday, we had both the baby and the dog out in the backyard watching us. The baby loves it. He watches us and plays with his toys and tries to eat the grass. The dog loves being out there watching and guarding the baby.

When we were finished and I had just installed the soaker hose (!), I heard Patches yipping and sounding afraid. I saw him turning in circles trying to pull something off his back side. I saw that the wire trellis that I’d put up way, Way, WAY too early for the garden peas was hanging off his backside. He must have run through the garden and gotten caught in it. But he was scared, he was yipping, and it looked like was hurting him.

“Patches! Patches!! PATCHES!!! SIT! SIT!!!!! SIT!!!!” I called to him.

I will never forget the expression on his face when I said that. He was afraid. He wanted help. His ears were down and his brow was furrowed. But he stopped turning and he looked at me. He looked at me and he thought. He considered what I said.

He didn’t believe that sitting was the right thing to do. “SIT!” I said again. And he sat. He looked at me and thought, “I don’t believe sitting is the right thing to do, but I’m afraid and you said I should sit, so I will sit.” He gently, very gently, sat down on the trellis hanging off his backside.

I reached him and started scratching his chest to help relax him. “Good boy, good boy” I said. “DAAAAAAAAAVE” I shouted.

If you don’t know me, then you don’t know how loud I really am. I thought Dave was in the house. “DAAAAAAAAVE!” I shouted with my deepest, loudest alpha bitch growl. Neighbors came out of their houses. Dave came out of the garage.

I had been trying to pull Patches’ leg out of the wire trellis off his leg, but every time I touched his leg he whimpered. “Get some wire cutters!” Dave ran back to the garage. I continued to pet Patches and tell him what a good dog he was. He was starting to completely relax in my arms. In fact, he put his snout on my arm; then he put it between my boobs and stayed there with his nose in my cleavage while Dave got the wire cutters. Apparently, my boobs are the source of comfort for both baby and beast.

The wire cutters didn’t work. A neighbor shouted out that he had some better ones. They went to retrieve them and my Mama adrenaline kicked in. I began to bend the trellis and tear it apart. By the time Dave got back we only had two more junctions to break. We freed Patches who was too afraid to stand (!) by that point and we had to try to get to walk around. He had a limp but he was ok! He even went to thank our neighbor (I am not kidding) for helping us.

There are two weird things that I come away with from this. First, Patches was subsequently embarrassed around me and right after the event averted his eyes from me. Why??? He was so relaxed in my arms while we were waiting for Dave. I could have held him all night like that and he would have been OK. Why was he averting from me when everything was OK? Second, Patches trusted me. He and Dave are so much closer than he and I are. But when he was afraid, I was able to reach him and get him to believe that I knew how to make it better. That made me feel good.

I’ve always had that trust with the cats. I’ve talked my cat Savannah (at 23 lbs, not a “kitty”) back off a beam suspended 12 feet in the air just by the tone of my voice. But I’ve never, before yesterday, seen that same sort of trust from Patches.

OK. I must get to work. Tomorrow, I’ll blog about the new cat pee policy. It’s working so far. No pee on my shower curtain for a whole week!!! Sadly, that’s progress!

Mon, 21 Feb 2005 12:22:48 GMT

Fantasy Vacation

BC, my fantasy vacation involved sun, sand, and a drink with a little umbrella in it. The ultimate fantasy also included me with lots of athletic opportunities in which I could indulge in easy and skillfully. I wasn’t really aware that my fantasy had changed until Friday.

Friday’s NY Times’ Escapes section featured vacations to practice yoga and the hang out with monks. Yes, a weekend of strenuous strength, stretching, and soul searching with yoga sounds fantastic. But it’s the weekend with the monks that is my new fantasy.

And here’s the scary part: it’s the only fantasy vacation I’ve had in my life that for the first time, I’m not sure I would return from it. What an amazing way to spend a weekend: No speaking. No technology. No interaction. No nothing but spiritual contemplation and growth. Heck, hard physical work and simple living sounds like a dream right now.

And yes, I know that makes me sound like a horrible mother. But getting up at 5:20 to go to the first set of prayers sounds like sleeping in. No one demanding of me, no expectations of success or failure except for my soul. Just sleep, quiet, contemplation, slowness and eventual spiritual joy. SIGN ME THE F**K UP!

Honestly, I have never thought that I’d go on vacation to Hawaii or Paris or Key West or any of those places and quit my regular life to live there afterwards. But a monastery/nunnery/quiet secluded place, now that’s where I’d be in trouble going away to.

Cat Thrills

It’s been one exciting weekend in the cat household. Saturday, during lunch, Patches was barking at our driveway. Dave looked out and said “Oh, we’ve got a visiting cat.” I stood up and said “That’s no visitor! That’s Simba!!!”

While Dave rushed out to get her, I realized she’d been out for over an hour or an hour and a half. And by her fluffed up black fur and her huge wide eyes, we’d apparently messed up on what she had expected to be the kitty adventure drill. (By the way, her head is resting on my left hand while I type this. Not really convenient) The drill involves seeing her escape, chasing after her with a remonstrative “SIMBA!” and rescuing her, bring her back into the house while she displays signs of adventured-ness. It does not involve actually allowing her to have an adventure outside, because that is too scary.

And also....excuse me a moment. Tap tap tap….is this thing on?? BLAINE! BLAINE? ARE YOU OUT THERE??? YOUR CAT IS PEEING ON ALL OF OUR STUFF. I know she’s our cat now. BUT SHE’S STILL YOUR CAT WHILE SHE’S PEEING EVERYWHERE!

Yeah. That’s been a lot of fun. (Simba has moved up to my wrist now after I tossed her off the desk and she jumped back on it. It’s actually much better) But Simba, really, we need to talk. We took your step brother to the vet and were told he was starting to have kidney disease because he’s peeing everywhere and his kidney something or other tests are slightly off, but not too off to really be sick. But now we know as we saw you brazenly walk up to the laundry and my gym bag and pee on it, that you’re most likely responsible for the pee-age now. We saw you do it!!! Yes, we know that you believe it’s ok because Duncan does it. But Duncan, well, Duncan is a little slow for a kitty. He has brain damage and his paw is bent. He’s old. Yes, we know you were abandoned and rescued, too, but you’re small and lithe. And you can make it to the litter box. And no one is allowed to pee wherever they’d like. The rules are not different here. You have to use the litter box, too. You do. I know you love hanging out on my arm while I type. But you need to only pee in the box. No more excuses or we’re going to have to start some behavior modification. And not just us, but you, too. We really don’t want to do that.

Tue, 30 Nov 2004 15:44:45 GMT

Dog Fancy

I'm working on a paper so I should not be looking out the window (nor blogging about) how much I love my dog Patches as he runs up and down along the fence in our back yard, racing the neighbor's dog. I love how he adjusts his pace so that he's a wee bit ahead of the other dog, but doesn't blow her away like he could in a full on sprint. I love how he keeps going back and forth along his well-worn dog path on our side of the fence and she continues despite the trash and underbrush on her side of the fence. And I just sigh when he finally stops at the far end of the yard, lifts his leg, and pees on her while she catches her breath.

Wed, 24 Nov 2004 13:36:54 GMT

Toesicles

The monkey discovered his toes yesterday. (And just note how long those toes are. There's a good reason why his petname Monkey is appropriate) I love how much his fingers are straining to get the toes to his mouth. See how all that yoga when I was pg helped the baby????

He learned this new feat while I was lunching with a friend. We stared at him for 30 minutes and then she asked when he learned to do this. "About 30 minutes ago" I replied. "I've never seen him do this before." It still blows me away that every day is new and different and every day has some new discovery to be made.

Cats and Dogs Living Together

And in other exciting news, Simba and Patches are now officially playing. She tears around the house, sometimes so fast she's a blur. Patches trots off after her click, click, click, click, click. Then she stops and he does the bowing and barking dog sign of "will you play more with me?" Sometimes she hisses and swats at him, sometimes she runs some more. He knows it's playing and he really, really likes it.

Puppies and Dogs

And we're about to give up trying to prevent Patches from licking the puppy. It's very clear, we may be saying No! but the puppy is veritably shouting Yes! with his eyes, his open mouth smile and his outstretched arms. Who would you listen to? The mean old alpha bitch who won't let you do what you instintually want to do or the smiling puppy who wants you to do exactly what you want to do. We're quickly losing this battle.

Thu, 11 Nov 2004 13:42:16 GMT

Look what Simba Did

I’ve know Duncan for 4 years. In that entire time, I’ve never seen him run. Well, I have seen him scurry from Patches and from us, when we catch him peeing in an inappropriate place. But I’ve never seen him scamper like cats do when they have those “wild hairs” in the morning and the evening.

Last week, I saw Duncan run. And it was definitely a playful scamper from one side of the house to the other. It caught my eye because Duncan, due to his kittenhood injuries, has crooked paws and severe arthritis. His scampering was a bit askew, leaning to one side as he tore through the dining room like a stunt car going around a curve too quickly. The expression on his face, however, was pure kitten mischief.

This weekend, while I was nursing Conor in his room, I saw a streak of black and a streak of grey run into the room. Soon the grey (Scarlett) came behind the glider in anticipation of a pounce, while the black (Simba), with anticipatory cunning, ran out of the room altogether. Scarlett emerged soon afterwards and took off after Simba. It was the first time I’ve seen those two play fight instead of fight fight.

The fight fights are not over, but they are becoming more playful. This morning, it started with Simba in a chair and Scarlett below it, thwacka thwacka thwackaing on each other. Then it devolved into a real cat fight and Patches ran in to break it up. At the same time, Duncan was peeing in Conor’s convertible car seat, so things aren’t just catnip and loose yarn around here.

Still, I attribute the increased playfulness to Simba. Duncan is 14 years old. Simba is only 8 years old. He is just not going to scamper that much anymore. Simba's playfulness is catching on around here.

Golden Baby

This truly has to be the golden age. Conor is continuing to flirt with Dave and me, alternating from wide mouthed, outright smiles to head tucking, shy grins when we make him laugh. Even last night, when he had his fever, he was happy and smiling at us.

I had lunch with a friend of mine on Tuesday whose daughter is 6 weeks old. Already, I had forgotten how tough that time was with his crying for hours on end at night and my utter fatigue. I’ve also become as preachy as a recovered smoker in trying to talk people into bringing their child to bed with them during those nighttime feedings. I know it isn’t for everyone, but I remember the first night we did that. For me, it was like finding a life raft in the middle of an angry, tear filled sea.

And it was also nice to hear that another woman found it difficult to breastfeed in public at that age. At 6 weeks, I was holding Conor’s head, expose my boob and make sure everything was headed in the right direction to have a successful feeding. It was only later (like 3 months??) when Conor had more control of his neck that feeding in public became easier. Now, all I have to do is get him in the general area and he can work his way to the right part. It’s a lot easier and I can be a lot more modest now that he is a bit older. I hope some newbie bfing mom finds this and realizes that it’s not her fault if early bfing in public is scary. It gets better, chickies!!!!

OK. Golden baby is bored with his play mat. I must go entertain. Also, he hasn’t had a poopie in two days. Things could be scary around here in a few hours.

Tue, 02 Nov 2004 19:27:05 GMT

Aggressive Kitty Love

Simba has fully integrated herself into the household. We still have the random tribble attacks across the floor, but usually that ends up being a game of chase between Simba and Patches.

And Scarlett and Simba still are not the best of friends. Sunday night, they had a really girlie cat fight. They crouched on opposite sides of our round silver trash can and each reached a paw around to swat at the other. The trash can took the worst of the thwacka twhacka twhackas and each walked away proud of her own showing, stopping to lick a back leg and saying “I meant to do that.”

But the final big step was Simba coming to bed with me last night. First, she curled up by my head to vibrate with purrs in her contentment of finally making it to the grown up bed. But then she got too excited. She tried to climb on top of my chest wanting, I suppose, to sleep on my smooshie boobs. But to be honest, they are getting enough attention from the monkey, and I’m not that interested in any cat’s loving on them. In fact, I’m noticing that with all the nursing going on, I’ve really got a lot less patience for the animals demanding pets. Mama needs some space, folks. I can’t constantly be giving loving to everyone.

After pushing her back several times, she finally moved down to my belly and proceeded to make kitty biscuits on my belly, pointing out that my stomach is really quite flabby. Finally, I lay back on my pillow and she gave me the longest, hardest nose kiss I’ve ever received in my cat owning life. I opened my eyes with a cross-eyed stare at a small black furry head at the tip of my nose and two green yellow eyes staring back at me. Fine. She’s welcome for a snuggle. She’s really a good kitty. But dude, let me tell you, she has some rank kitty breath. Blech.

Nerves A-Twang

Last night, the monkey-with-a-cold actually slept through the night in his own crib. At about 3:00, I heard him moving about. And once again, I was struck by how I can ignore all the other sounds of the night, including, apparently Patches barking like crazy. But my son squiggles in his bed, and I am wide awake with every muscle tense and ready to go. I’ve been implementing a pee policy to nighttime wakings. When I hear him moving about, I get up and go to the bathroom. And when I’m finished, if he’s still fussing, then I’ll get him and bring him back to bed.

Last night, I heard three major sneezes while I was in the loo. But when I came out, he was back to sleep. So I went back to bed, too.

Voting

I’m assuming everyone out there has voted. Here’s a public thanks to Carolina Karen who is working the polls today. Conor and I went in around 10:30. We had an hour long wait which was just about more than he could handle. When it was finally my time to vote, he was fussing majorly. A poll worker came up and volunteered to push his stroller around the voting hall while I voted. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her zooming around between the other voters. The baby wasn’t crying any more though, so I’m betting Nascar baby was less distracting that the fussy one.

Sat, 23 Oct 2004 14:39:36 GMT

Petestroika

We’re progressing into kitty détente around the house. The cats’ food dishes are lined up side by side now, and everyone appears to be eating their food. There was a time when no one was eating, so in addition to normal stress of a new cat, we had three kitties dealing with the crankiness of low blood sugar. Now I think we’re beyond that.

We also spotted Simba and Duncan giving each other nose kisses this week. That’s a big step forward in their relationship. Simba still occasionally goes after Scarlett like a tribble, but it’s not constant.

Patches is also figuring out that Simba is playing tag with him. She’ll tear past him in a low black blur, and he’ll clicky-click-click behind her with his tail up in the air wagging. She’ll lead him around the house, then jump on a chair and hiss at him. He’ll turn back to us with a confused yet excited expression like “I think she was just playing with me. I think this indoor squirrel wants to play.”

And we’re still learning more about both Simba and the pets and the baby. First, Dave made a disquieting discovery the other morning. He was leaving the shower and noticed Simba on a dismount from her litter box. She then proceeded to scoot across the bathroom mat confusing it with the perfectly good toilet paper hanging near her box. Blainey-pants, I can now explain those odd stains on the floor around your house in case you’re still interested.

Simba is also a devious little kitty. I was nursing Conor yesterday when I heard the distinct sound of a baby rattle shaking. I stood up with my guy still hanging on the boob and walked into the dining room. Simba was sitting by a baby toy, eyes wide in an attempt to look innocent claiming “It wasn’t me. I was just sitting here minding my own business. Personally, I would consider the dog.” Patches exacted punishment by joyfully eating a play mouse later on that day.

Scarlett has become more insistent on helping nurse the baby. I can barely get settled in the glider with Conor before she is trying to get in my lap and snuggle with the baby. And the more I think about it, the more I believe she really does want to help. I’m in a rocking chair. Cats hate any movement that is not her own. I rock the whole time I’m feeding Conor and she still just stays in my lap vibrating with purrs. And she doesn’t move even when I switch sides with Conor. It’s not an easy transition, but she doesn’t budge. And today, I raked Conor’s hands over her fur and she simply turned to validate his hand with a nose rub. I should point out that never has Scarlett voluntarily sat in my lap. In my 12 years of having Scarlett, this is the only time she has ever sat in my lap for snuggles. And even now, she doesn’t do it unless the baby is there.

Patches has extended his love of feet to the baby. Patches loves to lick the baby’s feet. When I’m nursing and the baby’s feet are exposed, I’m having to whisper “Leave it!” on a regular basis to prevent a saliva bath. According to our trainer, we have a lot of scent down there, and dogs love it. It’s why we still find a stray shoe or two in Patches chewy spot under the dining room table. That’s the place where Patches takes his favorite toys, shoes, or clothes to hold between his paws and lick with his eyes closed before he destroys them. Last week, I found a tiny little sock which Patches had apparently snatches off a chair. It had clay stains on it from where Patches had held it between his paws to lick. But it didn’t have any chew holes in it. P-man has gotten better at chewing our clothes and now is happy just to lick them. And despite it being a bad dog behavior, it’s awfully cute to see a big collie licking and protecting the tiny little sock of his new puppy. You really can’t get mad at that.

OK. Dave is off at a race. We’re hanging out, and I’m being neglectful in my mom duties. Or really, in my mom boobies. It’s about time for the 3^rd breakfast of the morning.

Sun, 17 Oct 2004 20:17:32 GMT

Cat Pee for Everyone!!

It an absolute joy to be us right now. Duncan continues to piss us off in new and imaginative ways daily. Besides spraying from under the Boston fern, he’s let loose in Dave’s running shoes by the back door, jumped on top of the washing machine and let fly on some towels, and just yesterday, climbed aboard the clean laundry on the dining room table and had at it.

Simba has become so impressed with Duncan, she has also decided to join in the act. Well, to be honest, she’s not spraying, she’s just confused. We brought in the plants from the outdoors and she was amazed at seeing fresh (to her) dirt. So amazed, she hopped up into the dirt beside a plant and took advantage of the bit of nature we brought indoors. Unfortunately, although she’s small, her booty still hung off the plant and she ended up watering the floor. We finally had to raise the plant up above cat level.

As far as Duncan goes, I cannot put off the excuses any longer. I have to call the vet tomorrow.

I’ve got a crapload of…

Hair. Hair! Let me just go ahead and finish the sentence for the woman who cut my hair on Friday. Hair! I just heard you say that I have a crapload of hair.

Her manager asked why she was taking so long to color my hair. She’d already had to remix the colors two times (despite my telling her that most people use more color on my hair than they think they will). She had someone else’s hair to wash, and she was running behind and frustrated. So she stated (before she had time to think), “Because I’ve got this crapload of …” and then she stopped. She realized she was getting ready to insult me to my face (or to my foiled, monstrous sized fuzz of a head). So she thought for a moment and said “uh, foam. A lot of foam.” There was no foam. Anywhere.

What bums me is not necessarily that yet another person cutting my hair has made some insensitive comment about the massive amount of hair I have on my head, but that I couldn’t figure out what I should do! Should I just let it go and laugh it off? Should I have just said “Pardon me? What did you just say?” Should I have made some snappy comeback? (I wish I could have!) I told myself before I went in there that I would leave if she made some comment about how much hair I had. But when she made it, she was just finishing the coloring and hadn’t started the cutting.

Why should I be so sensitive about how much hair I have? More times that I can to recall, as a little girl, people would call over their colleagues to look at how thick and curly my hair was. As a little girl desperate to have Marcia Brady’s hair, it came off as insensitive and cruel. My “favorite” quotes which usually occurred while they were washing my hair:

“Betty! Betty! Come over here! Feel this! Feel her hair!! I have never seen so much hair in all my life!”

“Lord, my sink runneth over” as she lathered and rinsed my head.

I even take the preemptive strike of making negative comments in a joking way at the beginning so that they will not feel the need to point out how curly and thick my hair is. “Yeah! It’s a mess right now! It’s so thick; I have 3 people’s hair on my head. If I don’t tie it back, I can smother my husband when I roll over at night. It’s so frizzy and horrible looking today! You can tell it’s going to rain by my head!!” I’m the Rodney Dangerfield of curly girls.

And I do like the new do. It’s got some shorter curls in front that I can finally do something with! It’s got some highlights now which look nice. I think I’m just going to have to go back to Blis salon which features Ouidad’s method for cutting. My beef with them is that they push the product so hard. But they won’t say weird things about my crapload of hair. Really? I have a lot of hair? No one has ever me that before!!! You’re the first person in my life to note that I have more hair than every other person in this room combined!! What the fuck ever. Thanks for the cut. I’m outta here.

Wed, 06 Oct 2004 15:08:02 GMT

Zoo Update

It continues to be exciting around here in the zoo of our home. For the most part, everyone gets along. But we still have our moments.

One of the more stimulating ones occurred yesterday while I was at the computer. There was a distinct odor of pee. (Hey! It stimulated my sense of smell, trust me.) And given our history with Duncan, I was suspect. However, my first sniffing investigation concluded that Dave needed to clean Simba’s litter box. She has her own litter box and it’s near the computer, and it was clear that it needed cleaning.

Then later on in the day, I realized that Simba was not sleeping in her regular space on the futon. A space, we have noted, that is now dark grey because it is covered in her discarded black fur. I moved closer to her traditional sleep space. The aroma of stale cat piss grew stronger. I leaned over, took a strong sniff and confirmed that Duncan had jumped upon the futon and had given the kitty equivalent of two handed flipping of the bird to Simba. I soaked the area with Petzyme and we’re going to have to wash everything.

Simba has also decided that she really wants to explore the great outdoors. (Could that be related to having her sleeping spaced hosed down with rival cat pee?) Yesterday, she zoomed out the back door when we opened it and scampered around the back deck. As soon as I called out “SIMBA!”, Patches being the tattletale collie that he is, chased after her and tried to stop her. Unfortunately in the collie world, “Stop, you rule breaking indoor squirrel!” translates to a double pawed whack. Because Simba is so small, Patches only lifts his paws an inch or two off the ground which is a bit awkward for a large dog. Fortunately for Simba, she’s having none of that. Simba simply hisses, bobs and weaves and escapes her herding from Patches. (We know it’s a herding behavior because he does the same thing to his herding ball to get it to do what he wants) Of course, we don’t allow Patches to do that sort of thing to the cats, so he ends up getting in trouble, too. We rescued Simba from both the deck and the dog and brought her back in.

That example is the unusual part of the relationship between Simba and Patches. Simba really wants to be friends with Patches and Patches is trying to figure out what it all means. Last night, Simba gave Patches a nose kiss, which in the cat world is a big deal. He came up to sniff her, she sniffed back and then touched his nose with hers. In the cat world, this is a kiss. It means I like you. It means I want to be friends. That gesture, however, is not in Patches’ cat-to-collie translation manual and he ended up just looking very confused. This is one freaky indoor squirrel.

Patches remains more comfortable in the role of tattletale. And he gets plenty of opportunity for it the rest of the day when the cats interact. We hear Simba’s hyena growl. We hear Scarlett or Duncan’s loud hiss. We hear Patches spring to duty and his quick click, click, click of untrimmed nails across the wood floor as he runs to stand between the cats. He doesn’t do anything. He just stands between them and because my cats hate him, they run away. This interaction happens at any time day or night. We’ve stopped trying to break up the kitties unless we see them firsthand because Patches is likely to get to them first. It’s his job to keep the peace.

But, to be honest, it seems like everyone is getting along fine here. Except for the occasional hissy fits, the cats ignore each other. And Simba would really like to be friends with Patches, which I think it may happen sooner rather than later.

And cutest of all, everyone likes the new human kitten/puppy. Patches has gotten more comfortable around the baby and would lick him all over if we’d let him. Patches really loves Conor. And he’s so gentle with him. But he cannot pass by him without trying to get at least a little lick in somewhere. We’re constantly following up with a washcloth.

Duncan, surprisingly, was the first cat to welcome the baby. When Conor was sleeping most of the night with us, Duncan would try to snuggle up with him, which we wouldn’t allow at all. Finally, Duncan settled for a sniff and a lick on Conor’s head and once, while sleeping at our feet, he tried to sneak his tail towards Conor’s feet. (The cats like to lay their tails on us while we sleep; it’s a form of cat cuddle when they don’t want to get too close) We’ve ended up kicking Duncan off the bed when Conor arrives, but he still tries to sneak back on.

Simba, so far, is just curious. She is interested in the human kitten and likes to watch it, but she’s still too busy figuring out where she falls in the animal kingdom to start worrying about all the humans, too.

Scarlett, per usual, is the most bizarre in her form of affection towards Conor. She loves (and I mean purr-gasm loves) to get on my lap when Conor is nursing. If I use a pillow when I’m nursing Conor, she crawls as carefully as she can onto the pillow, gives a sniff at Conor’s head, lies next to him, and begins to vibrate with purrs. I can pet her, but I don’t have to. She just sits and purrs while Conor, oblivious to her, fills up on nummies.

OK. Are you wondering why I’ve started blogging regularly again this week after being so sporadic the last two weeks? It’s because 1) we think the growth spurt is over and despite blogging on Monday that I feed him every 1 ½ hours, I no longer have to, and 2) we, and Conor, have discovered naps. In addition to sleeping through the night, Conor has started sleeping regularly during the day, too. It’s amazing. I can actually do things around the house. I’m not a slave to a crying baby. And he’s so much happier when he finally wakes up. If this holds up, I should have about 2 more hours before I have to feed him again. WOW! It’s a new found freedom.

Off to take advantage of me free time.

Thu, 30 Sep 2004 14:47:39 GMT

Simba Louise: the Hissy Fit Continues

Dave and I had a family meeting about the new cat's status when he came home. We both recalled the story from the weekend before in which Simba’s Mom talked about how Simba had scared an indoor/outdoor cat who actually hunted, killed and disemboweled rabbits. Scared may be too gentle of a word: apparently, alpha female Simba chased this cat out of its own house for a week. What on earth would Simba do to our scaredy cats??

We decided to proceed with the plan of integrating into the house, but also to see if there were other families who might want an incredibly snuggly cat. And exactly how snuggly is the killer cat? The morning before the first Duncan and Simba meeting, Dave suggested she might replace Duncan as the primary snuggle muffin in the cat herd.

We decided to take things even slower than they had gone before. We kept Simba in her room on Wednesday during the day. I spent a great deal of time in there with her smooching on her so she wouldn’t feel like she was being punished. I also snuggled the other kitties, but they were quite concerned about the closed door.

On Wednesday night we decided to re-introduce them through a gate. We had saved several of the puppy gates from when we merged Patches into the household. We put the big gate on the door and let them sniff each other as we fed them what my vet refers to as “cat crack”—a food so tasty, no cat can resist.

This is a point where Dave and my cat parenting skills showed some differences. Cat whisperer that I fancy myself to be, I kept repeating all the cats names as they sniffed each other and scratched them on the head and rubbed their backs. Actually, I was in the room with Simba, so I petted her, but I said everyone’s names. Dave, my darling husband, sat on the other side of the gate and patted them on the head, a move that I know Scarlett, at least, is not too fond of. She let Dave know with a few choice hisses. She also let Simba know she didn’t like her either with more hisses. And then she hissed at Duncan because, well, she’s a freak. I let a few choice hisses of my own towards Dave, which both of us later deemed as inappropriate.

The good news is that no one charged the gate. Would cats actually do that? Why, yes. I once saw Savannah body slam herself against a window screen to frighten off some huge outdoor cats. Considering Savannah was weighing about 25 lbs at the time, it had the desired effect. But in this case, we let them Duncan, Scarlett, and Simba see each other for about 15 minutes, decided it was a step forward and called in a successful cat integrating day.

The next morning, I went for a run. I came back and Dave had stacked the two puppy gates on top of each other at the entrance to Simba’s room. They were at least 5 feet tall. The door from Simba’s room was open and nothing big seemed to be going on. The vacuum was running so I assumed the baby had been crying. Patches was on the floor guarding the swing where the baby was now sleeping. When he saw me, he became very excited and ran between the nursery and the bedroom where I was getting out of my running clothes. I knew it must have been a noisy time while I’d been away! I decided to go smooch on Simba and check that she was ok. She must have been upset, I assumed, because she was hiding in her room. Or so I thought…

Yes, Simba had escaped! She had scaled the 5 foot high puppy gates and was on the lam! I ran outside to see if she’d escaped the doggie door, but didn’t see her. Dave didn’t believe that she wasn’t in her room, so he went back there. I started going through the other rooms of the house looking for her. I found her, sitting as cool as a cucumber, in the baby’s room’s window. Patches had been trying to tell me that the new indoor squirrel was in the baby’s room!!

I picked her up in my arms and took her back to my room. However, Dave and I had good feelings about this escape: 1) she hadn’t eaten the other cats 2) she hadn’t even paid attention to the other cats and 3) Patches didn’t even bark at her! OK—maybe I was not so much a cat whisperer; we’d bypassed my plans by at least a couple of days, but things seemed really good.

We decided to still keep her in her room and to put some poster board above the gates so she couldn’t jump out. We left the door open so everyone could still get safely used to the sights and smells of each other. Everything seemed really good.

The next morning, last Friday, Dave walked past the door and swears that Simba was begging for freedom. If she’d had opposing thumbs, she would have been grabbing onto the gates and promising not to eat anyone, to stay off the counters and to be a good, good kitty. I said, well, let’s give it a go.

We put Patches out, just in case, and let her out of her room. Duncan lay down on the floor. Now this looks like a relaxed position, but it’s not. It’s the strongest position a cat can be in because it allows full use of the back claws. People think it means they are “giving in” to whatever threat is there, but it really means in kitty-ese, “if you come close to me, I will rip out your innards and feed to them to the fish.” Simba kept her distance.

She also ignored Scarlett and decided instead to explore the house on her own. However, Scarlett began to stalk her, hatefully hissing at every opportunity. Of course, Scarlett is not the smartest cat in the world, either, so I could put a piece of paper between her and Simba and she’d get distracted. But then Simba would move and Scarlett would go after her again. Fortunately, they only had one fisticuffs episode and it was really more hissicuffs than fisticuffs.

So all in all, it was going great!! Despite the awful beginning, they were now doing their best to ignore each other. What more could you ask for in the cat world? We decided to let Patches in. And here’s the biggest surprise at all: Simba didn’t give a shit. She was aware of Patches and had her eye on him, but when he tried to herd her, she just let him sniff her butt. Patches became very confused. This indoor squirrel wasn’t like the others! She didn’t hiss at him or run away like the others. She didn’t do anything!! Unbeknownst to Patches, Simba spent several years with a lab, I believe, and already had some cross cultural experiences.

In fact, she was so cross-cultural she did escape through the doggie door about 15 minutes after we opened it. Fortunately, Patches is still a tattletale and let us know almost immediately. We brought her back in and closed the doggie door.

So Simba is free to roam, but she stays in her room for now. I think that may change eventually, but she has staked her claim. There are still some hissy fits, but nothing too big. Simba still ambushes Duncan, and he’ll run. But then he’ll come back and have his own word with her. We’re not at that cat lovefest place yet, but I think we will be sooner rather than later. I'm planning to blog later about how she has such a distinctive personality and what a change it's made in the house! You don't always expect that with new pets.

On other fronts: Monkey has not slept through the night again. Babysitters are f'ing expensive, and can be snotty when interviewed. I received a laughable raise at work (it works out to 1% more buying power since when I was hired) and what is so pathetic is that it was a "big" raise for a state employee and more than many of my peers received. We cannot afford childcare next semester and are having to cut way back on many items in our budget. We're selling the Jetta (anybody want a 2002 Jetta TDI in excellent condition?? 49 mpg on the highway! Maintenance and fuel are exceptionally low!!) I would love to figure out a way to publish a few essays from this blog and make some extra $$...any ideas? And finally, I am still fat, but I think I've lost 2 lbs this week. That's the lone good news. Hopefully, back to baby stuff tomorrow.

Tue, 28 Sep 2004 19:10:24 GMT

Simba Louise

We’ve adopted a new cat, Simba Louise. Her real name is Simba, but every time I say Simba I think of Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Organization. And I started by saying Simba’s Knees, but Simba Louise really does just fit better.

So we’ve adopted Simba (Louise) from a girlfriend who is moving up North and for various reasons can’t take Simba with her. Simba is a very cuddly, adult, tiny, solid black cat and since I’ve really wanted a new kitty for a while, I talked David into it.

Now, I fancy myself as a bit of a cat whisperer. I’ve merged 3 cat household before, and although there has always been hissing involved, these merges have always turned out successful. However, because I did not know Simba’s personality as well as the other cats I’ve merged, I decided to be extra cautious. I read up on the web and took the most conservative cat merging plan I could find.

First, we put Simba in her own room with a closed door from Friday night until Sunday. We spent time petting her and paying attention apart from the other cats. We also put her food dish near the closed door so that she could smell the other animals and associate their scent with food things (i.e., food).

On Monday, we did the ol’ switcheroo. I put Patches outside, put Scarlett and Duncan in her room and let Simba roam the whole house. According to the merging info, that’s supposed to let the cats get to know each others’ smells. I guess cats don’t like surprises and smelling each other is supposed to be a good thing.

Well, during this exercise, my big fear was that Duncan was going to pee in her bed. Fortunately, that didn’t happen, but Scarlett, a.k.a. Psycho Kitty, started hissing at everything (except me), and Simba ran about the house in barely contained glee trying out all the ledges, furniture, smells, and kitchen counters. Hello, Kitty! That’s not allowed here, chicky pooh! Fortunately, one good No! and she hopped off. After about an hour, I put everybody back in the regular spots and deemed my exercise a success.

Tuesday morning, I decided it was time for the first face-to-face introduction. I knew, being that these were cats, that there would be hisses. I expected Scarlett to be beside herself with hissy fits. But all in all, I expected it to be a relatively easy introduction. I was following the “conservative” plan, for Pete’s sake.

I opened the door to Simba’s room and waited for the first meeting. I spoke soothing tones to everyone to keep it relaxed. Duncan was very curious and came in almost immediately to greet the new smelling cat. We call Duncan the “Phil of cats.” The reason we do this is because of a dog named Phil from Patches’ obedience classes. Every dog liked Phil. Phil calmed everyone down. He was the meeter and greeter of the dog world. When Dave and I merged our cat households, that’s the role Duncan played. Duncan is like the Phil of cats. He came in to greet Simba and welcome her, in his kitty way, to the house.

When this happened, what I saw, exactly, was a low, black furry Tribble from Star Trek shoot across the room. What I heard was loud, evil hissing and growling. What I felt was panic.

Now, Duncan is a slow cat in every sense of the word. He was hit by a car as a very young kitten and apparently flat lined on the operating table more than once. We’re pretty sure his brain was deprived of oxygen for a significant amount of time. He also has a crooked paw as a result of this same accident, a healed broken limb that remains askew. Basically, he’s a lover, not a fighter. And he was shocked by the small black tribble zooming across the room to attack him. I called out a quick “Simba! NO!” which halted all action and Duncan retreated back to the hall.

I need to make something clear: I’ve seen indoor cat fights. I’ve had to break up a few myself. But I have never, ever seen a cat attack like that. Holy. Freakin’ Crap. I thought. What have we gotten ourselves into?

I shut Simba back in her room, went to check on Duncan, and called Dave. I’m not one to frivolously adopt animals. I take pet ownership very seriously. But this scared me. If she attacked Duncan, she would likely eat Scarlett. None of the guys have front claws, but I’ve never seen a cat attack before! And although Patches considers the cats “indoor squirrels,” they are his indoor squirrels. What if he defended his squirrels by attacking Simba? We know about his bird murder. Dave saw a rabbit escape from Patches’ jaws. And Patches is the leading suspect in a squirrel-a-cide from last fall. How could we possibly call up our friend and say “Our dog ate your cat”?

We considered our options and called our friend to let her know what was going on.

Fri, 24 Sep 2004 15:52:25 GMT

Dog Adventures

We’ve had a busy week here at the zoo. The first series of adventures comes from our lovely collie, Patches.

I’ve decided to start taking the baby out in the afternoons for a long walk around our ‘hood. It exposes the monkey to some sun so he can increase his vitamin D intake and I’m hoping the walks will help me lose weight. The first walkabout was on Tuesday. The little monkey and I had a nice time out, running into a lot of our neighbors and reinforcing the notion that I really need to shower and put on clean clothes every day. Even a little makeup might help from frightening the neighbs or making them think they ought to call child services because the Mom is clearly not up to the task of hygiene and childcare.

So the first day we come home and I enter in our back deck. I open the gate and Patches gives his usual “The puppy is home! Is everything OK?! I want to lick his feet!” waggy greeting. And then Patches decides to step out of the gate to help us in. Now, honestly, lately we’ve been a bit lax in this because he’s been such a good dog. He exits and then comes in right behind us. But since our neighbor’s dogs’ recent escape, I think Patches figured it was time for his own Dog World Adventure.

First he goes over to signal to the neighbor dogs (two wonderful standard poodles) that’s He’s Free!! He’s Free!!! And then he starts down the driveway. I put the baby stroller on the deck and then try the “Patches! Chase me Game!!” running around the driveway and back onto the deck. He’s having none of that.

I run down the driveway after him. Then I recall that I have a son! I run back to the deck and check that the baby is securely parked near the picnic table, but he’s starting to fuss. Then I run back down the driveway after Patches. He’s left our neighbor’s yard and is heading over two doors down. I run after him, trying to support my upper regions because running in a nursing bra with loaded boobs is painful.

I see Patches heading into the second neighbor’s house’s backyard. “Can you catch him!?” I call out to the mom, a friend of mine. “He’s going into the back,” she called back, frozen in terror. I realize now that she was deathly afraid of Patches, and who could blame her based on her knowledge. Her son takes our garbage out to the road every week, a neighborhood “chore” that we pay him $5/month to do. Every time he comes by, Patches goes crazy, barking like a wild dog and running in circles. He sounds and looks like a rabid collie ready to tear the leg off of the neighbor boy. Of course, every time the neighbor boy comes into our house, Patches nearly licks him to death, but I’m sure his Mom only knows about the barking not the subsequent licking.

So I have a petrified neighbor, a runaway dog, and a baby I’m sure is screaming on my back porch. I trap Patches, and I run (best I could with the bouncing boobs) back to our house. The neighborhood dogs are going crazy. They are calling out support to Patches. They are worked up by the crying of a human puppy. It’s craziness!! We get home, Conor is frenzied and Patches is back behind the gates, excited and tired from his adventure. I feed Conor to settle him down and Patches collapses at my feet, napping in rebellious joy.

Yesterday, we had another, even scarier adventure. I took Patches with the monkey and me on our walk. Patches was actually whimpering when I started to take the baby out without him, so I put him on the short leash and headed out. He pulled a bit (as usual), but my death grip on the stroller kept him from getting away from me. And he was heeling well by the stroller because if he got ahead of it, the wheels would hit his paws.

So all is well! I’m thinking this walking with dog and baby thing is going to work out ok! Patches is doing his usual dog things: looking for p-mail, leaving his own p-mail, threatening squirrels and looking for dead tidbits in the shrubbery along the sidewalk. It was during a shrubbery excursion when all of a sudden the leash went slack.

In moving through the shrubs, Patches had managed to unclasp the leash from his collar. We are on the main street in our neighborhood, nowhere near our house and Patches is free. I put the brakes on the stroller and begin to gently chase after Patches. I can’t run, or the games will begin. I can’t leave the baby clearly. But I can’t leave Patches to get hit by a car or bus. Thank the dog gods that Patches goes up to sniff someone’s front porch and I trap him again. I rehook the leash and realize that I am shaking I am so scared. My knees are weak and my arms are vibrating. We’re one house up from the baby and I am blown away by this misadventure.

We finish the walk and I keep Patches out of the shrubbery now. I was so nauseous that I’m surprised I didn’t throw up, which is probably what I would have done had he really taken off. I’ve got to work on Patches’ “immediate downs.” Our neighbor had taught his golden that when he said down, the dog went down no matter where or what. Dave and I have got to train Patches in the immediate down.

I’m taking the baby out again today for our walk. But I don’t know if I’m going to take Patches along. I can’t take another doggie adventure.

And that’s not even half of what is going on in our zoo this week. It’s not even a third of the animal adventures!!! This weekend, we will introduce you to our new cat: Simba Louise.

Tue, 22 Jun 2004 12:46:51 GMT

Animal Detente

We have a big leap forward in the pet relations yesterday. I caught Patches and Duncan sleeping together on Patches' new dog bed. I had actually found Duncan on the bed earlier in the day and he acted "caught" leaping (well, moving as quickly as a fat cat can) from his spot. But I could tell by the residual warmth that he had been there. The next time I went by the pet bed, he just lay there, so I gave him some head scratches. The final time I went by, he was at the front of the bed and Patches was at the back, both sleeping and both looking a wee bit sheepish. I ran to IM Dave the big news and he wanted a picture. But by the time I got the camera, Spot, the yippy dog next door, had roused Patches into his own barking frenzy and the moment was lost.

This is actually a big deal for the dog and cat world in our family, so I'm really hoping that it becomes a more common event. Plus, I really want the picture.

Painful Baby Moves

The bun's movements are starting to become a wee bit uncomfortable. He's still more of a squiggler than a kicker. But he's starting to head butt and punch my cervix and pelvic floor. It's enough to stop me in my tracks and, on occassion, bend over in pain. It's still too early for me to wish that he would make an appearance soon (11 more days until term and 25 more days until the due date), but I'm hoping this doesn't get worse until then.

Hooha Bone

Finally, the booty is much better. My sprained a$$ has healed and I can walk with just the normal pg waddle. However, my pubic symphysis (or as my friend Brian calls it, my "Hooha bone") still really hurts, especially at night when I try to roll over. At one point last night, it felt like someone was trying to snip me up the middle with some high powered scissors. One word there: Owwwwww.

Still all in all, this is not the worst state I could be in. Overall, it's been a pretty easy pregnancy. And it's drawing to a close quicker than I can imagine. Yikes!