Bird is the Word...

.... but not one you want to hear at 2am.


A little revelation about life in the laundry pile. The Professor snores. 
The kids insist that I do and given my history of sinus issues, I just might. On the other hand, when I do snore, I wake myself up, adjust, and go back to sleep. 


When the Professor snores - He just sleeps right through it.  I, however, do not.


so out of the kindness of his sweet heart he often sleeps on the couch. 


It was that same sleeping arrangement was had going for us the night we were talking about 'the bird'. 


He came and got me about 2am. 'Comfy, the cat dragged in something and has it cornered. It's screaming. I could use some back-up.'


Great. Jack Oy, the Porch Cat strikes again. Through the doggy door he has delivered a frog and a crawdad. In the back yard, he's delived two small bunny carcasses for the dog to de-fuzz. 


Ew. 


I go toward this book shelf where the cat is pacing back and forth. The object of his attention is behind a stack of folders and clipboards. 


The professor sits on the couch. 


I thought I was the back up??


I pull the binders away until something jumps up at me. I yelp and hop back. My first thought was 'frog'. Then I discover that the screaming hopping thing in my house - is actually a small bird. 


not a baby as far as my eye can determine. just a small bird.


I should also mention that it's raining outside. Which might explain why the bird got in Jack's mouth and why Jack decided to bring it in to snack upon. 


I catch the bird between a clipboard and plastic container that had been discarded by a kid. I take him out front, but the entire thing on the porch. I take the plastic container back and step back. I didn't want him to decide to peck at me. 


Bird just sits there. 


He doesn't look broken. but What do I know?? 


I stare at him. He stares at me. 


I decide, 'Forget it. It's after 2 am. You're on your own.'


I wish him luck and go back inside. I flop back in the bed and hopefully I don't snore.


3am. "Comfy. The bird's back."


Swell. Just swell.


This time it's behind a fan and the fireplace.
This time it's got the attention of Gizmo. I guess the dog wanted to pull the feathers off the bird like he'd done to the bunny and its fuzz. (ew)


But darn it. I left my clipboard outside. So I get a cheap (ha!) plastic plate (For a flat surface)


Yes. 


Plate. 


The irony.


I get another plastic container and take Bird back outside.


This time I put him on top of our shrubs. I KNOW Jack can't climb on top of them. So if he's going to get to the bird, he's going to have to work at it.


Realizing that I've just served up a bird on a plate, I watch him to see if I can tell whether or not he's wounded. Jack is purring against my legs. 


I'm guessing he's grateful?
Or hopeful?


I wait a good 10 - 15 minutes. The bird just sits there. 


I decide that at this point, the bird can be cat food. I'm going back to bed. 


I go back inside and put the fan in front of the doggy door. If Bird gets eaten, it won't be inside. 


As I'm resettling myself back in bed, the storms open up and the rains pour out. Poor Bird won't be flying, I guess. But that also means Jack's gonna get wet. 


I figure it serves him right.


The Professor tells me that Jack was found scowling at the back door in the morning. 
The plate was still in place on the shrub and no bird carcass could be found.


I can only hope that the plate was a safe haven and not a serving platter. 


It's given us something to laugh about.
But we all agree... 


bird is not the word we want to hear in the middle of the night.

The Perceptions of Others...

I've come to a place in my life, and it did take me quite a long time to get here, where I am seriously confident in who I am. 

There are times, though, and I admit it that my confidence can be shaken. 
Regarding my writing, it gets shaken a lot.
Regarding my self-image, I shake it myself.

Heh. Pun.

But I'm never sure what to do when I'm the topic of conversation. The perception of others is basically what people think of me. I am what I am. What you see is what you get. 

I don't have it all together but i certainly won't be smattering my issues all over you.

Unless you ask.

But ... The perceptions of others. 

It's almost like this .... standard.... which I have to achieve.

Like: happy all the time.
 --- I'm not. 

Witty 
  --- mostly. But sometimes i'm quite wit less.


confident
 --- not every moment of every day.


I'm never sure what to do with the wrong perceptions either..


I've been told I'm religious.
 -- I'm not. He meant I'm a person of faith - but he used the phrase religious because he misunderstood the meaning. But it still made me question where I might be walking in a religious mindset.


The perceptions that hurt the most are the ones from my kids, i think..


I've been told I'm fat. (I'm not skinny...but I prefer chubby to fat)


The other day I waxed poetic for a moment, wondering aloud if I could handle having a baby right now. (Writing about pregnant characters brings up some odd emotions, let me tell you) 


J-man said, "Why would she want another kid, she's always stressed out now."


He's 7. 


He's a meanie-head.


I'm not stressed out...but it's a phrase The Professor brings to the table when things are not smooth sailing. I know stress. This isn't it.


This is life with four world changers. Who are completely different personalities.
Who are often at odds with each other. 
Who are constantly having to be reminded to honor each other.
I see glimpses of this love and honor but we're not fully walking in it -- yet.


However, his perception hurt my feelings.
I don't like being the bad cop all the time. I don't like it when the Professor gets to come home from work all happy and cheerful, glad to be home, and I'm still the bad cop. 
It's not fair... and I realize that life is no fair...


but I find this perception of me just a bit concerning. Yes. Fine. I'll say it. It bothers me.


I don't want him growing up with only memories of me 'being stressed out' in his brain. 
I'm not sure what to do to counter it except to trust that God can and will deliver my children from my mistakes. 


In the meantime, I've found myself curiously introspective and watchful on how I react to things... 
I'm not sure much can be done.


I'm out numbered.

Seasons...

The seasons change each ...well.. each season. We have the natural progression of seasons. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. 

Lather Rinse Repeat

The seasons of life, apparently, aren't quite so easy to predict.
The Laundry Pile is in a hard season. 
It's a pressing season.
It's a training season.


I've got some majorly dramatic children. I've got 4 world-changing individuals on my hands. And often they don't get along. It makes life very challenging. J-man is learning to deal with anger and frustrations. Mini-E has to learn not to annoy people to the point of anger. G-man has to know that it's NOT okay to be alone in the middle of a small house filled with 6 people and try to stand in the middle of his room. Mini-Me is just trying to walk on egg shells.


i don't like any of it. It's difficult work. 

The Professor is in a hard place, much like Joseph in Pharoah's prison. The work conditions suck -but unlike Joseph, The Professor doesn't seem to have much favor with the jailor. So that's also to be contended with...as you know, Daddy's mood also effects the household just as much as the mommy's does.

All of this combines into extra work. 
It combines to wear against me, like sandpaper, until I feel fractious and emotionally drained. 


It's just the season and things will get better... They have to because God promised.
Keeping a hold that hope does...well, sometimes my grip seems really slippery. 


It's the season. I'm trying to hang on until it changes. Until that happens, this is really the only form of the phrase "this too shall pass" that I'll take. 


I know it'll pass. I just really want more to hold onto than a cliche.

Teasing Dogs ...

First off -- I never thought I'd have to say, "Don't put your foot in the popcorn."

But I did. Mini-E was proud of the fact that she could bend her knee just so. Luckily, we were not eating out of the same bowl. I don't know where that foot's been. (Yes I do. It's been outside.) 

There's something else I never thought I'd have to say.

"Don't tease my dog."

Our east side neighbors have grandchildren that are either living with them now or visiting constantly. The eldest is about 5 or 6. The younger girl is about 3 or 4. They have a dog over there that's just had puppies. 

It bothered me that the little girls were just carrying the puppies around with no care or concern. Freaking the puppies out -- and bothering the mama dog. I could suck that up. Not my puppies. Not my concern. Right?? 

Then today the eldest girl was kicking our chain link fence. Needless to say it made our Gizmo frantic. She then ran up and down the fence line. I made my way outside as quickly as I could to explain and to calm Gizmo down.

"Don't tease my dog. I don't want him to bite you. I don't mind you running with him because he likes to run. Don't tease him."

There's another problem here. These girls are rarely supervised. RARELY. It bothers me. BUT The problem is -- their gate handle locks into spaces at my chain link fence. RIGHT where Gizmo can bite and lunge at the fence. 


Right after explaining to the girl about not teasing my dog, G-man and Mini-E bounced a ball back and forth over the fence. The dog was fine. 


Then Gizmo started the "I'm angry" barking again. G-man was outside but I know that the dog has no fear of the children. I am the alpha female in this house. I hold the squirt bottle.


I go out to see.


ANOTHER neighbor girl is sitting on her bike, in our side yard, with her tire right next to our fence. "Guys!! Don't tease my dog! He might bite you and you'll bleed and that's not good."


My son actually laughed. 


I coulda smacked him. 


He's been safe, for the most part, from dog trauma. I'd like to keep it that way.
I'd like to keep the neighbor kids safe, too.


They just don't seem to get it.
Why aren't the parents teaching them things like -- NOT to go into people's yards without permission? But more importantly - how to handle a dog.


If Gizmo got out, I'd like to believe that he'd hurt you out of excitement.
But I just can't be sure.
I wish they'd get it. 


I wish the parents did doggie safety training but they apparently don't. 
It makes me sad to think that I'll be saying "Don't tease my dog" again. 
I just hope I don't have to say, "told you so."


Oh - don't get me started on the meanie head girl across the street who hit my cat with a stick.

Shoes....

Growing up, I had a border-line shoe fetish. I say border-line because I would buy cute shoes and then realize I really had no place to wear them and not buy more shoes for ... months. I'm still that way. I have a pair of flip-flops, a pair of tennis shoes (essentially, they're sneakers - because I *don't* play tennis) -- and those are the shoes I wear. And I only wear flip-flops because I can slip them on my feet and run into the library without the librarian snarl at me for being barefoot.

Small town America. Gotta love it. 

I was cleaning out my closet and discovered that I apparently have simple taste in shoes. I found three pairs of black shoes. All with the same heel height. They're a different, um, body type design but I laughed when I saw it. 

I apparently have classic taste when it comes to shoes. 

Part of the problem, though, and I say this in my own defense is that I've got flat feet and rolling ankles. So I can't wear things that are really flat or I'll be icing a body part at the end of the day. I used to!!! Not anymore. 

With my simple taste (I just need something to go with jeans!) and complex needs (support my ankles, please), Imagine me taking my daughter shoe shopping. 

Mini-Me HATES to shop. If there are too many choices and nothing is especially cute - or particularly pink - she really can't pick. 

Tennis shoes. She wants CUTE. She wants PINK. Those are not always available in a women's shoe. Other than say, Converse. 

So what's a mom to do?? 

I try to explain to her that really the tennis shoes she wears on a constant, daily basis should be expected to be dinged up and beat up. They don't necessarily have to be CUTE. 

Her: *frown* *sagging shoulders* 

What's a mom to do??

 Compromise. 

Yes, I have small hands. Shush.

You go for the bling. Shiny sparkles = CUTE shoes = Happy daughter.

The bonus came on the way home -- She talked to me...even telling me, "So it's your turn to start the conversation." 

Oh, and??

Her feet are bigger than mine.

Brain Overload....

Am I the only one whose brain shuts down protectively when there's just too much over load??

When I get stressed, I need to blow off steam for just a moment and then I'm able to cope. I really want to be able to blow steam out of my ears like the cartoon characters do when they get heated. 

Or the scene in "Real Genius" that takes place during finals week. The scene is of a study group, all in various poses with various books. One young man has had ENOUGH. He just starts to scream. He looks at several others and screams at them before running away. Another student takes his vacated seat as if frying brain circuits was normal. And in the movie school, it probably was. 


That's me. When I get into overload, there are several things I want to do.


Hide. That's a huge one. I can hide in a book. I can hide in a nap. I can hide in a Facebook. I can Hide in a video game, if I've got one. (mostly I game vicariously through the Professor's gaming)  I can hide in the plot of a work in progress. 


Lately, I've wanted to run screaming through the house, "Too many plot points and not enough brain!"


Or hide from the kids because they're all in a serious stage of bickering with each other. 


Then there's the fact that summer is coming. Do I enroll the kids in swim lessons?
Or not? We're no where near where I wanted to be in school work for this time of the year. Must be that hiding (hey, I'm honest). There's also the many times we weren't home. Or were sick. Or just not interested in school. 


Then there's the constant struggle to get (and keep) G-man on task.


The professor had such a bad day at work yesterday that he ground his teeth until one broke. 


Then there's all the other daily stuff. 


Laundry.
Kids outgrowing clothes.
House work.

Drama that happens at unscheduled moments. Seriously. I wish I had the schedule for that so I could plan the drama into my imaginary schedule. 


All that to say, I'm having a day of brain overload. 

It'll all work out okay - because ... well because it will. I still believe in God and He promised. 

Speaking of Him. 
I can't discount that he's been talking. Being easily amused, I'm glad that he talks to me in a way that I know it's Him and brings me amusement. 


I woke up one day, with an overloaded brain to the lyric, "All things are going to happen naturally"


From the Jason Mraz song ... That's all. 


So being me, I listened to the entire song. 
The entire song matters not - that one single lyric from the song was for me. 
It was my God kiss. 


I like the song - so that was an added bonus. 


But with brain overload, it has become my mantra, after a fashion. 


All things will happen naturally. 

Desiring Faith

If you read the Bible at all you know the concept as laid out in Matt. 19:14. It's an oft touted concept ... the faith of a child.

It's a faith so simple that anything is possible. It's the adult in us, the life experiences that we live through (how else do you get experience?) and really, the fact that we try to reason in our own minds that creates a more complex faith. Our emotions lie to us. Our thoughts betray us. We believe one way and we might not see the answer because the way God answered isn't how we perceived the end result.

Which ... that goes back to our thoughts and emotions getting the better of us.

The last few days, in living through an emotional time here in the Laundry Pile, I've been contemplating the faith of my children.

Do we sit around and have devotionals every morning?? Nope. I can't even claim that we do them weekly.

Heck. I don't remember the last time I picked up a devotional.

However, we talk about God. We experience God. We worship God.  Those tangible things have been building in my children a faith that I am envious to have for myself.

I can take no credit. It is not something taught. It has all been learned.

During this past month, I have struggled with my writing. I've struggled with my self-perceptions and self-image. I have struggled through thoughts that seemed slippery and un-tamable.

Through it all, I've been looking for that weapon to use to fight back. I know what God says. But I needed something tangible for NOW. Not something I could flippantly spout off...I knew that wasn't going to work. As I hunted for this weapon, I pondered the faith of my children.

I fell in the shower. It was a weird thing. I fell and hurt my back against that thing that I think is supposed to be a seat. Or a shelf. If it had been sharp or even square-edged, I'd probably have cut myself or done some serious damage. I *FELT* how it hit. It took me a second to find my footing and get up. I'm a bit cumbersome. Especially when slippery.

Mini-E came up to me after I emerged from the shower. She'd heard the noise and wanted to check on me. By the way, she's five now. I told her that I'd fallen and I hit my back. She asked if she could pray for my body - and not one to miss the opportunity of a moment with Holy Spirit, I said yes. She pressed several tiny fingers against the exact spot I hit in the shower and prayed for me. "Jesus, please heal mommy's body." It was that simple and that sincere. It touched my heart. (Where two or  more are gathered and all that.)

I want that sort of faith. Where my FIRST response is to speak God's power.

Last year, I submitted my first manuscript to an agent. His automated e-mail told me that it would be up to a year before I heard from him, depending on his work load. Fine. I waited. Somewhere in the middle of that time, someone asked if they could read the story. So I sent it to them. They could not open the same file. I didn't think much of it - thought the systems weren't compatible. But it niggled in the back of my mind. So I finally tried to open the file to discover I had sent the agent a corrupted file. Somewhere in the conversion from one software to another, the file was corrupted and unreadable. The agent never let me know. I suppose, he just didn't want to waste his time on it. That's fine. I decided he probably wasn't going to do me much good, anyway.

The point of it all was, and still is, the children.

"Mom, have you heard from your agent?"

"YOUR" agent.

Not 'the' agent.

These children have been a constant encouragement to me as a person. ... as a waiting writer. I want that kind of faith. I'm still searching for an agent - and they're still encouraging me.

--- several people have prophesied into our lives on three different occasions. Separate occasions that God will provide a bigger house for us. Which is excellent. We need a bit more elbow room. (I hope it's not contingent on finding an agent!) (God doesn't need an agent.) (I love that about Him)

We were talking about it one day. Mini-Me overheard The Professor and me talking about moving. It bothers her. She's not so sure she's a fan of change. Except monetary. So we talked about how God promised a bigger house. (I wouldn't have told them... if I didn't trust the sources). J-man was first. He disappeared and came back with a handful of coins. He wanted to give money toward the new house. I prayed over his 'seed money' and It's now sitting on my kitchen window sill... reminding me of his great faith.

I want faith like that.

The faith to simply believe. To not just say -- "But God .."

I want to be like Mary, who said, "Let it be to me as you say"

I want to be like my children -- who don't let thought clutter get in the way of their faith.

It is a desire of my heart.
It's a weapon of warfare.
It is possible. Hopefully tomorrow, I'll be able to walk in it even more.

By the time...

I figured something out today.
It was profound.

At least for me.
By the time, I figure this whole homeschool/raising children thing -- they'll be grown.

Then I'll be like everyone else who's got it down to a science.
No children in the house.

:-)

I cracked myself up.

How weird it is...

Last post - I showed the front yard in it's arctic condition.

Today. The thermostat says it's 80 degrees out there.

80.

The snow is gone, leaving nothing but wet, sand/salt infused mud on the roads...and inches of mud in my yard.

Usually we don't have this much much until April.

I would have been glad to wait.

Feeling arctic...

This was what I woke up to today. They said we'd get anywhere from 4- 6 inches. I'm fairly certain we got more. 

The professor shoveled that walk on his way out to work. It's got at least four inches in it .... and 

It's just cold. ^_^

What's funniest? It's supposed to be in the fifties this weekend. 

Gotta love this state.

Blizzard in recap

Blizzard Day 1:

The sleet started in the night. It was a storm complete with lightening and thunder. The sleet continued all night, gradually turning to snow by morning.

Since this is an anomaly here in our state, there was a proper level of freaking out. There was also an improper level. 

Because the professor has a car with low clearance, he could not get out of our drive way. Or down our road. We were snowed in. 

School was not even attempted. I am not a perfect homeschooler. My children were bouncing off the walls, from window to window often exclaiming, "WOW! Look at that snow! Can we go play in it?"

They could not. The winds were putting us at -10 degrees. 

The next day? The next day we let them out. 

But not before I took this picture: 

That snow  covered car surrounded by the drifts? That's the Professor's car. 

The snow was past my knees in many places. 

While I realize I'm short -- this is a lot of snow for our state. We were essential frozen to a stand still. 


Blizzard Day 2: 

There's a lot of snow on the road. We still can not get out of our driveway. 
Apparently there are lengths of highway where people were stuck in their cars in the snow and had been there over night. The national guard was deployed to find such people. And still managed not to find them all. 

I watched the local news with curiosity. 

I listened to them try to create chaos by talking about snow building up on roofs of buildings. The Professor, who IS a structural engineer had some interesting words for the news casters. 

Basically, news anchor school is not the same as engineering school. They should not quit their day jobs. 


Snow levels ranged from:

to: 

And often in the same yard. 


the side roads do not get plowed. Ever...we are still in the house. We mostly don't mind. 

The term "Snopocalypse" was bandied about on facebook. I kept a wary eye out for snow zombies.  

Blizzard Day 3:


We do not have cabin fever. But we do have a funk settling in to the members of the house. 
We are not tired of the snow. We don't really care. The kids are not exactly outdoors people, anyway. 


There is no school work done when the mother isn't interested. 


I'm keeping an eye on the children, they seem to be acting odd. 
What would a snow zombie outbreak look like, anyway??

Facebook comments are getting hateful toward the snow. I am content. Soon enough we'll be in July and the heat.

We also learned that if we ever move to a state that has this type of snow NORMALLY we will have to invest in proper snow attire. Jeans just don't keep out the cold.

Cancelled my date with The Professor. 

Blizzard Day 4. 


The professor made it to work. He was thrilled, I think to be out of the house. 
There is more snow today. Still no school was accomplished. Because, "hey more snow"

I overslept, actually sleeping through my alarm clock. Which might explain why I have "Cisco Kid was a friend of mine" playing on repeat in my head. (Note to self: Find a "best of WAR" CD) By the time we had lunch, I decided "What the heck. Go play outside." They have no system, yet, for donning gloves and coats. SO my assistance is required. 

It is moments like this where I really hate snow. 

 I find myself fighting comparisons. Comments of other homeschool moms on facebook talk about "kids are playing valley forge". 

My kids? 


They're out there playing "Search and Rescue". 

 Am I a bad homeschool mom?

I asked the professor. He said, "Well no. Valley forge was a horrible experience."


Seeing the valley forge posts, though, gave me an idea when Mini-Me complained that her boots were too constricting on her feet. My reply was "You can use your sneakers, or do like they did at Valley Forge and wrap rags on your feet."


She rolled her eyes and went outside in the constricting boots. 

The Professor stopped at the store on his way home. He said most of the staples were picked clean. But he got what he could from memory of our shopping list.  


Blazing trails:

Blizzard: Saturday

More shoveling of snow.
Church is canceled.
Gaming occurs.
Napping. 


Less of a Blizzard: Sunday


Took the professor's car to town. Had trouble getting around the corner of our street. 
Once out of the neighborhood. We made good time. 


Took Mini-Me with me. Her pre-teen angst and intolerance for her siblings needed OUT Of the house. 


We stopped at the grocery store to pick up Sugar and Bread if they had it.
They didn't. But on inspiration, we grabbed some hamburger buns (the only other options were bagels) for sloppy joe sandwiches. 


We go to the party supply store to pick up a few things for Mini-e's fifth birthday. We got some dinner and headed home. 


The blizzard is all but over. Monday, I drove the van out of the neighborhood to mail valentine cards. The bottom of the van scraped the ice 'floes' still packing on the street. 


My mother came by in the afternoon. I tried to convince her to stay and talk to the kids. Apparently they need more people to talk to than just me - but she has to be on her way home.


Today is Tuesday post apocalypse and we're looking at more snow. Anywhere from 8 to 10 inches. 


The historic blizzard is still making news here in the state but, like the melting snow, it is less and less of a topic. The snow mounds will linger to remind us of the blizzard. 


Really, it is too bad that we can't keep some of the snow for a nice break come July and August. 


Oh, well. 

Maybe I'll be....

(c) 2010 ComfyDenim

I don't often post pictures of the kids anymore. Not since a picture of Mini-Me was popping up on my sitecounter as one of the reasons people were visiting my blog. It was weird. So I don't post pictures of them any more.

In order to get the full impact of my story, you have to see this face. 
He's 6. 

He gets caught up in the conversations of his bigger sibs about what they want to be when they grow up.

Mini-Me wants to be a marine biologist and save the blue whales. She rather enjoys the thought that she might have to go to Hawai'i to go to school. If this is where God takes her - then I plan on visiting. 

Often.

G-man wants to be a guitar playing, spy who builds things. He has a list of buildings. He is going to build a house that The Professor will design. He wants to build a church - because no one will suspect he's in the church. Spying. 

So really, J-man gets caught up in it.


Once he wanted to be an animal rescuer. 
Then he wanted to be a spy with his brother.
Sometimes he wants to design video games.


Tonight I prayed over the boys that "my boys will be arrows in Your hands" and I explained what that meant. Because he's six and he thought the wording was weird. So I explained.


Then he told me that he wanted to be a spy.


"Cool." I said and went on to put Mini-E to bed.


He followed me later and said, "I've changed my mind. I think...um ... that I want to be a regular guy. You know. And ...um .... get married and stuff."


That's cool, too. 

Cat Fish...

While the rest of my hemisphere was talking about the lifetime event of the lunar eclipse that happened last night, I was sitting on my couch writing.

I'd have to say it was right around ten PM...
When, what to my wondering ears should appear....but a cat through the doggy door.

Okay - it didn't rhyme. 
but that's what happened.
Jack Oy came through the doggy door, hurried quickly through the front room. He HURRIED so quickly, he had Gizmo's attention. He kept low to the ground as he moved quickly...

and he jingled all the way. 

I kid you not. 
At first my brain thought it was odd then I realized how Jack was running, low to the ground and the jingling was coming from the back half of his body. And it was green...

Something was wrong. And it was a fishing lure.

I said so to the Professor and gave chase. Luckily, Gizmo had given chase, too. I followed the jingling of Gizmo's dog tags to find Jack.

He had wedged himself between the storage bins under J-man's bed. I tried to pull him out, but his claws held to the carpet. I got my hand under him again and picked up up and pulled him out. He still tried to hold on to the carpet but I got him out from under the bed.

I turned him over and sure enough. There was a fishing lure embedded in Jack's stomach area. It was more than a little freaky to see.


I was close to disturbing sleeping children, so we went back to the front room. I had the Professor grab a towel. We wrapped the towel around Jack's upper body to keep the professor from getting scratched (and he doesn't like cats). 


I tried to see if I could remove the lure. It wasn't budging. He was caught and good. 


I nearly took a picture of it - but that seemed especially cruel. 
Instead, The Professor held Jack while I went to get the carrier. Cat in Carrier. Called the Kitty Urgent Care. Put shoes on. Drove down the highway. 


When I got there, the receptionist had pulled Jack's information from when he'd been in before. December 9th. 


Sigh. 


They took him back into the exam room. 
There was another crisis in the animal urgent care and I felt for them. They were saying good bye to their friend. 
I had a book to read and I waited.


One of the vet tech's came out and grinned, "Would it be okay if we gave the cat fish some pain meds? He seems okay with everything and we think he'll do great with just pain meds."


Sure. 


They gave him a local and some pain meds. The Vet had to push the barbs through and then cut them. Everyone in the office were small women. And it was a thick barb to cut but the finally got it cut and removed.


The receptionist told me that the Vet was probably going to keep the lure. She apparently keeps odd things she has to extract from her patients. More power to her. 


When they brought him back to me, a different Vet tech with a glittering nose ring (Shiny!) told me, "He's as high as a kite!"


I could see it. His eyes were glassy. 


When we got him home, he wanted outside immediately but we blocked the doggy door. Showed him the kitty box. He wanted nothing to do with it.
I wish I could have known what was flashing through his little stoned kitty brain. 
They were some good drugs, let me tell you.
He pounced on coats. He pounced on a plastic horse. 


He chased Maggie around the big blue chair.
He and Maggie chased after each other around the table. 
He was playing. We're not so sure about her. 
She kept coming back to him. So she either knew he was stoned, and wanted some drugs, too, or she knew he wasn't himself and hoped to dominate the situation. Show him who's boss. 

I don't know how it all played out. They both have two eyes. There's no blood on the tile.  


He's currently sleeping off his bender in pure kitty fashion.

Maggie isn't available for comment. She's asleep in the closet. 


He may have a new nickname, now. 
I may have to start calling him Catfish Jack Oy.

Jack Oy, the Porch Cat...

Saying Hello

He started coming up on our porch daily. Very thin - but he had a great face. 

I fed him one day as I was leaving the house. He ate dog food and didn't complain.

Then the kids noticed him. 

I knew if they named him we'd be in trouble. Oy.


Mini-me named him Jack. 
A facebook friend added the oy (by asking "his name is Oy?")


And really the name suits him. The Oy's just for fun.


He didn't leave, of course, it was really quite hot during this stretch of August. We didn't want to go anywhere either. He slept in the Boxwood shrubs and we fed him. 


We talked of adoption. We made the appointment and he disappeared. I had to cancel the appointment and he came back the next day. We set the limit for him to stick around. I fully expected him to walk off. 


Especially when we found out the neighbor kid down the street wanted to adopt him. He called Jack "Tigger". Sigh. It doesn't suit Jack at all. It's unoriginal. But Who am I to say?? Little Boy down the street was upset with us but his mother apparently told him that "Tigger" (Jack) was not nice to their indoor cat (A Siamese.) 


Jack and Maggie don't get along either...but I wasn't worried. Maggie doesn't get along with anyone. 


Jack stayed for the duration and we took him to the vet for blood work and ... well.... neutering.

He passed the blood test but he had worms. 
I've never seen a drugged up cat before. I'm fairly certain Jack's eyes were rolling around in his head. Maybe cartoons are based on fact, after all. 


The professor and I happened to be standing outside when Jack was able to venture outside. He looked at us and started walking down the road.
I watched him go. With only shadows of his "manlicathood" remaining, and I laughed. He walked a bit stiff legged. 


Then I laughed harder.  The more I thought about it the harder I laughed.
I called The Professor and laughed ... but the professor didn't think it was as funny as I did. I think he just humors me most of the time.


What if we'd just hacked off the boy parts of someone else's cat?
I laughed and laughed just thinking of it.


"Welcome home Morris! I was wondering where....WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!?"


I just laughed. Every now and again, I still chuckle about it.
I was that amused.

Jack did come back, though.
AND he started coming into the house through the doggie door.
Gizmo doesn't mind. At first, we started seeing Gizmo's herding instincts and I tried to break him of it. After a week or so, I realized Jack and Gizmo were becoming friends.

Of course, views like this helped tremendously to alleviate any inter-species worries.

Sharing a bed in the night

I guess boys stick together. I thought it might be a fluke...but then we started watching Jack and Gizmo playing in the back yard. 

Snoozing on the Couch

 Jack comes in at night, when he wants to nap and when he wants to eat. I suspect, he also comes in when he's stirred up some trouble and needs to lay low.

Maggie tolerates his presence briefly before she turns her regal back and slinks off. 

The kids adore Jack. Gizmo adores Jack. 

But I'm fairly certain J-man has a special fondness for Jack.

J-man and Jack

But it's just a hunch.

we've recently said farewell to Mini-Me's hamster and J-man's betta fish. It's been fun for all to say, "At least we have Jack."

He seems to like us.
So it's a win-win.

I don't dust...

When I was a kid the running joke was always, "Don't dust. You'll break it." 

It worked for things in the house or vehicles. The car would break down after it had been cleaned, "Oh, well, you washed the dust away that was holding it together."

We have this rough wooden beam in our living room. It snags dust cloths, fuzzies from the dusters, you name it- the rough wood snags it. Since I'm short, dusting the beam is not usually something I endeavor to do often. 

I'm short. 

There are so many other things closer to my eye level to dust, or clean, or play with. 

Sitting just right on the couch, though, gives me the perfect vantage point to see the dust and webs collecting in places I can't reach. I guess after ten years of living in a place, they're bound to collect. 

Go figure.

So we endeavor to clean "The Beam". And while we've got the ladder, we might as well clean the dust bunnies from the ceiling fan. 

We have no love for the fixtures the builders put in this house when it was built. They are crap. 
That's just the way of it. They are lousy, cheap pieces of hardware. We've had to replace many. 

Why did we think cleaning this ceiling fan would endear it to us??
We didn't.
We just wanted the dust gone.

We cleaned it. 
Put everything away. Started dinner when BAM whap whap whap.

The ceiling fan drops off of it's drop bar and dangles by its cords.
The Professor is bummed. My Brother, Uncle Kickbutt, and his wife come to our rescue. Uncle KB is strong enough to hold the ceiling fan up so the Professor can reattach it. My brother is also 5'9". A good seven inches on me. 

All is well. 

Until the next night. 

See the cords? The down bar is fine. Go figure.

 We turn off the fan and we all make faces. The electrician I call manages to come out that same day. (I think because it was raining.) He wasn't impressed that we had the lights on. my thought was, "Hey it's not sparking."

He was NOT a very friendly repairman. 

He was barely tolerable of the children. 

He was barely tolerable of me.

I was glad he left. Surly he might have been, he was quick with the installation.

Shiny

We have a new ceiling fan. It's not as bright as the other one, but it's not nearly as ugly.

More importantly??

It's not dangling by its cords. 

I've realized something...

I am quite willing to do an 'inner search' of myself. See? I'm a "what you see is what you get" kind of person with myself, too.

Sometimes, though, in those inner searches ... or quests for correction ... I find things that, really, aren't wrong. I am my own worst critic, after all.

However. Sometimes, when I look to see if 'the problem lies with me' the answer I find is yes.
I'm selfish.

And being selfish - I've come to the realization that homeschooling my children requires a level of selflessness that I am, currently, unable to give. And maintain. I might be able to give a day of it...but by the end of the day, I find myself struggling.

So -- while that revelation was poignant...and important... the other revelation was equally so.

I do not like to share the front seat.

Mini-Me is nearly twelve. AND she's passed the height/weight requirements by state law to allow her to ride in the front passenger seat.

In allowing her to do this, I have discovered I don't like sharing.

It's like a bubble of solitude has been burst whenever she's there. I have no time to readjust my thoughts adequately to prepare for the next level of whatever task we're undertaking. Whether it be at the store or at home.

I am unsure what to do about this ...sharing thing. Except to be honest with her. There have been times when I"ve had to be the bad-cop-referee-'no-they're-not-my-favorite'-I-wish-your-daddy-was-here-too-hate-your-sister-from-your-room" kind of mom and I just need time away from .... children type humans. So she'll grump and sit in her normal seat.

Then there are the times I let her sit in the passenger side and just swallow my child-sized-frustrations. (Let's say they are HUGE right now and very difficult to swallow) She likes being 'alone' in the front seat. Even though in a mini-van we're never really alone - but at least she acknowledges there's a separation. She'll talk and talk and talk.

Which makes me realize that she needs and enjoys the one on one time. That makes the frustrations go down easier.

The side-effect of this is, now from the back corner of the mini-van, I'm hearing G-man (who's propensity for whining is normal, so I've been told, but my goodness is it annoying!) whine erm tell me Um.. inquire. (yeah, that's it) why Mini-me gets to sit in the front seat and no one else does (Except the Professor.).

"Cause she can."

I think he gets a secret delight whenever I don't share my front seat sanctuary with her.

Yeah. Homeschooling requires an extra level of selflessness.

I'm working on it.

Maybe by the time they all graduate.

Quotable Kids...

I have some quotable kids. And mostly, though, they're quotable by accident.

~ Mini-Me was playing with J-man. Ages 11.5 & 6. She was heard, in character, "Let him go! He's *MY* Science Experiment!"

Gotta love that.

~ Then there was the time when J-man was yelling at Bubbles, who seems to have made it her life mission to annoy the sibs at random times (She's four. It might be her job description.) He yelled at her, "Go away!! Find your own troll bridge!"

Seriously. I loved it.

~ Let's see. There was the time we were heading home from church. We attend church on Sunday night and it was late. When I left the building, I was hot! The Van was hot. So I cranked up the A/C. If you've got it, use it, I say. J-man developed a case of hiccups. "I've got the hiccups AND I'm cold. This is torture!"

~ Bubbles just told me, "You have a beautiful brain."

Of course, part of me wonders what she's after, but I'll take what I can get.

~ Mini-Me is part of a very small youth group and she doesn't exactly fit in. She said, "The girls were talking about how mean their mothers were."

I asked her, knowing I'm often mean and the established bad cop, "What did you say?"

"I just told them 'my mom is fun' and they just looked at me."

Awwwww.... my kids do love me.

~ J-man will often mangle songs. My favorite was "Old MacDonald had some glasses, with a blink blink here, blink blink there blink blink everywhere I go."

I wish I could capture everything they say. I'd put it in a bottle. to bring out when I needed an extra smile.

501 - An original.

I'm liking the post title. Really I am. Excuse me a moment while I admire it just a bit.

Oh, here...

I'm not sure how to make that bigger without making it grainy...so here's the link.

It was fun. I thought about pasting something from my blog, or a story, but then decided I'd just talk about me. Not necessarily one of my favorite subjects, but it was fun.

So. Guess what??
That last post -- the one about the Gondola?? It was my 500th post.
Oh. My 4th blogversary is coming up, too. That'll be fun.

So - if you're still out there reading. What should we do for my 4th Blog day? What should I have done for my 500th post? I'm not writing 500 things about myself.

Even if I don't know what I'm going to do with all this celebratory goodness -- I know I was going to go back to where it all started. Which was on the Yahoo blog experiment. My friend suggested I switch to Homeschool blogger. So I did. Here is, apparently, my very first blog post on HSB. From that blog to this one, I've met some wonderful people who have become friends.  What's funny? "Emma'smom" from my very first blog post is still inspiring me today. I love that about her.

Just yesterday she reminded me "The world looks better when you're looking at Yellow."
(And I'm probably not saying that correctly but it was close.)

OH!! I forgot! After I blogged about the gondola in the 500th post - I was reminded of something someone said on Friday night. I was listening to him through a webcast and he said something much like "The heat is up - but pretty soon you'll break your shell and become popcorn!"

I loved that. Not all corn turns into popcorn, either, I found out.
But I'm excited that all the heat and pressure will turn into something fun.
I certainly like popcorn.

If you have ideas about what we should do to celebrate - let me know.