Category Archives: Motherhood

goodbye kitty

06 Tuesday Oct 2009

Posted by in get along like cats and dogs, Motherhood, Writing

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The last two weeks, I’ve looked out the window what feels like 500 times, waiting and watching for the cat to come home.

She went out at night, like she had 500 times before.  Most every day, for six years, she went outside for a while then came back, a few hours or a maybe a day later, her little round white face popping back up by the patio door, her mouth opening in near silent meows that couldn’t be heard through the glass.

One day last spring, she did not come back for a day and a half, and I was worried.  I walked along the woods behind our neighborhood, calling her and watching the bushes for a sign of a rustle.  Then, just like that, she came trotting out from the brush, her tail in a happy question mark, ready to be scooped up into my arms and carried home.

She always loved to be outside.  It was where she was happiest, ever since she was a kitten.  She did not catch birds or chase mice — she just seemed to like the freedom, even long before we brought home the dog.  All our previous cats had been indoor only, because letting them outside seemed too dangerous.  But there was no question with this one; to keep her locked up would seem cruel.

We knew we took a chance that her life may be a shorter one, but wanted to make it a happier one.

She was always my garden companion all spring, summer and fall.  When I went out to plant or weed or prune, she would trot out of the woods and come wind around my ankles, waiting for a pet from muddy hands.  Then she would wonder about, and keep me company.  For years, I think we were both hiding outside from noisy children…  In the years I ran my outdoor children’s portrait business in my backyard, she would sometimes come “help” with the shot, and some families had portrait proofs with the cat in them.  Surprise!

She had a reluctant yet softening relationship with the dog.  She had an on-again, off-again relationship with Buster, a male stray that courted her so often we gave him a name.  Buster, the cowboy of stray tomcats.  Oddly, that first night she was missing, I saw Buster for the first time in three months — he startled me in the dark yard as I scanned the rainy night, walking with my flashlight.  He froze with that deer-in-the-headlights look, which I’ll probably now always think of as a cat-in-the-flashlight look.  I whispered “Do you know where she is?”, but he was no help at all, a cowboy cat of few words.

So, I have kept searching, walking not just the perimeter of the woods but all through the brush and branches and along the creek, looking for any sign of her.  I emailed neighbors with a photo, asking if anyone has seen her.  I put up flyers at the vet office and in surrounding neighborhoods, and knocked on doors of people I don’t know asking if I can search the woods behind their houses.  I know there are coyotes that roam the neighborhoods here.  I know that a Yorkshire Terrier disappeared from his nearby wooded backyard three nights after Kitty was last seen.  I know what I find in the woods may not be pleasant.   That is the image that haunts me most.  But I’ve thought for two weeks that if I could just find something, I could stop hoping and stop watching and stop listening for a tiny squeak of a meow at the door.  Since that has not happened, it is now time for me to just let go.

Some well-meaning friends have suggested that she might have always lived a double life, and has had a second “home” that she visited on a regular basis when she stayed out all night before.  Maybe That House just switched to the canned food she was always begging for, so she ditched us with our dry kibble.  Maybe They decided that she should be kept inside at their house from now on, because she is so beautiful and they did not want anything bad to happen to her.  That’s a happier story, and really all of life’s stories are up to us to write.

Someday, maybe I’ll be able to pen one of those heartwarming tales of the pet that disappeared for a long time, and against all odds found its way back home after many adventures and mishaps along the way.  That would be a fun story, but I am going to stop crafting that one in my head, at least for now.  It is time for me to say goodbye.

sometimes, it takes a strong constitution

17 Thursday Sep 2009

Posted by in Motherhood, seasons

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The Professor told me that today is Constitution Day, a day to celebrate the formation and signing of the U.S. Constitution in 1787.  I am not a history buff, but I have to believe the process to complete this document had to be contentious at the time.  So many details to resolve, so many people with strong beliefs trying to do what they believed was right.  The signing must have been the culmination of long years of arguing, proposing, fighting, compromising, thinking, discussing, more arguing — nothing that monumental is easy.

The more things change, the more things stay the same?

what's out there?

Something about the fact that my son can now remind me of important things I used to know but have now forgotten — and there are so, so many — something about that feeling made me remember this photo, and how I wondered what he was thinking about that day as he stood looking out at the world, under the flag.  There is a good chance that he was looking at a bug, and sincerely hoping it would not crawl toward his foot.  There is a minuscule chance that he was thinking about our founding fathers signing the constitution.  But when I look at that picture, I think of him looking toward the future and what it may hold, all the things he is learning and which ones he will remember.

finding the message

08 Tuesday Sep 2009

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I am proud of our President.  At the same time, I feel befuddled, astounded and saddened by the actions of some people, hopefully a vocal minority, and their reaction to his televised speech to the nation’s schoolchildren set for today.

Read his back-to-school speech, if you want.  Decide for yourself if it is a conspiratorial left-wing socialist brainwashing invasion of vulnerable young minds, or just a speech from our democratically elected leader meant to encourage and inspire kids to do their personal best at the start of this new school year.

My kids will not hear his speech today.  Our school district is not showing it today.  That’s 18,000 kids that are sent one message before they even hear the speech, just here in my town.  That means it’s up to us as parents to help them find and hear the positive message in his speech, and the political situation surrounding it.

Some parents choose to speak up, in ways big or little.  As found on the Daily Kos, here is one Ohio mom’s permission slip for today:

“Despite the warnings of right-wing radio hosts, and fully cognizant that my daughter risks learning a lesson in civics, I, nonetheless, grant her permission to watch a televised address by the duly-elected leader of these United States, President Barack Obama, on the controversial subject of the importance of school.”

That note helps me laugh a little when what I really want to do is cry.  The whole situation is so absurd it leaves me speechless.  The negativity is so thick it is up to our ankles.  What can we do but try to put the event in context for the kids by talking to them about the importance of freedom of speech;  about listening to others’ viewpoints respectfully but making our own decisions;  about why some people are so filled with hate and bitterness that they see everything the President does through that lens.

Great, that will all be easy to explain.

Good grief.  Makes me yearn for the carefree days of explaining the birds and the bees…

3…2…1 and we’re live!

03 Monday Aug 2009

Posted by in Motherhood, Writing

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So, the radio interview went well.  It was exciting and a bit nerve-wracking — especially when the very kind host called me at home right before I was leaving for the studio, to tell me that she had inadvertently left all her notes at home, and since she did not have her pre-prepared questions, did I know what I wanted to talk about?  “FOR 30 MINUTES”?

LIVE?

?????

She was so apologetic, and I could tell that she always prepared well for each interview, and she was now wondering how this one would turn out.  For some reason, this put me oddly at ease immediately.  I realized I was comfortable winging it;  it was not knowing the questions she might ask that had my stomach doing flip-flops.  And, it turns out, as she started telling me some of the questions she could recall off the top of her head,  I DID NOT HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I WOULD HAVE SAID TO ANY OF THEM.  It would have been a disaster.  Well, as big a disaster as an interview can be if no one I know hears it.  Seriously, as far as I know, NO ONE I have ever met heard the actual broadcast.  I did mention that this interview was broadcast on a very small public radio station?  The one with the distinction of being the only official public radio station in the U.S. that broadcasts out of a retirement community?  Still, I had been nervous, even if it was possible some of the audience may have been people who could not get up to change the station.

The broadcast booth reminded me of the one on Frazier, except there was no Roz, rather a very encouraging grandmotherly woman instead.  And there was no psychiatrist.  But other than that, it was a lot like the show.  The room had a big control panel with lots of knobs and levers, and people wearing headphones talking into humongous microphones.  The Panel-Operator-Guy did count down “3…..2…..1 ” then point dramatically to us that we were live.  That was a heart-skipper.  Actually, in retrospect maybe it was more like WKRP in Cincinnati.  With no Les Nessman or Herb Tarlek.  Or Loni Anderson.  But otherwise it was a lot like that.

I received a copy of the show on CD in the mail the other day.  I don’t think I wanted to write about the experience until I heard it myself.  Of course, my voice doesn’t sound anything like it does in my head — it had a distinctly northern Wisconsiny nasal quality that is uncomfortably close to Palin-esque.  Like I could almost see Alaska from my old house.

But all in all,  it turned out to be a great experience.  I got to talk about about my funny motherhood story, and the experience of being published for the first time.  I talked about what a kick it is to be included in an anthology, and how it opens doors for interesting experiences, like being where I was that day.  The host could not have been more kind or encouraging.  She has authors lined up to interview each week through November, and has done this show for many years, so I was in good company.  In fact, the author on the second half of the hour-long program was a fascinating man who lost his sight in college when hit by a stray bullet, and the book he has written about the inspirational life he has led since then.  I listened to his interview on the drive home — it kind of put my little story about poo, lying, and chocolate cake into perspective.  The show was very professionally produced and conducted.  And it was just fun.  Before I did it, I kept thinking of it as my “first practice interview”, which makes a giant leap of faith that there will be more opportunities like this in the future.  Even if I never get the chance to do it again, the experience is something I will always remember.  I felt honored to be there.

a year of no watch

17 Friday Jul 2009

Posted by in Motherhood, something important, I'm sure, Writing

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It is the one year anniversary of my decision to stop wearing a watch.

This would, on the surface, appear to be an illogical decision.  Those who know me personally know that I have long been habitually late.  I would joke that I arrived two weeks after my due date (true, my poor mother), and I never made up the lost time.  Actually, I became 15 minutes late around seventh grade, and maintained that 15 minutes of tardiness for the next 30 years.  It is not really a joke though — it is disrespectful to all those around me who have to wait for my idiosyncrasies to arrive where I am supposed to be.  It also does not set a very good example for my kids.  Jeez, how hard can it be to just get somewhere on time?

Without a lot of bothersome self-deprecating commentary here, I do think The Tardinesss is related to perfectionism.  I would always glance at my watch and think I must accomplish just this one more thing before I needed to ________ (insert deadline here).  A lethal mix when combined with a sketchy sense of time management and a strong propensity to procrastinate.

So, last summer, I took off my watch and vowed to change a life-long bad habit.  Without the crutch of glancing at my wrist and thinking “oh, I must do that before I go”, I had to consciously:

1)  seek out the actual time

THEN

2)  make choices for what to do next

Occasionally, if I can not find a clock (and my cell phone is once again inexplicably dead),  I will still ask strangers for the time.  Most people actually look happy to tell me, like it reminds them of a time-gone-by when people actually talked to one another and made eye contact.  To increase my chances of a pleasant encounter, I do tend to seek out those who are not texting at the time.

I spent the first weeks of this experiment continuing to look down at my wrist only to see it was a hair past a freckle.  But somewhere along the way I found (some of) my lost 15 minutes.  I am now only occasionally late, sometimes ON TIME, and a few times I have shocked people by being early.  It feels good.  It is a time-management work in progress.

I recently found a great article with some tips on how to be on time.  Author Dustin Wax shares “10 Ways to Make Yourself More Punctual“.  I am going to incorporate more of these nifty tricks into my routine.  Just FYI, Dustin is also the author of a useful blog The Writer’s Technology Companion.

And, of course, I need to be remember not to let the pendulum swing too far to the other side.  As usual, Gretchen Rubin at the Happiness Project provides excellent perspective, this time for not being too rigid about being on time.  She has the opposite problem of never being tardy, but her advice still brings balance to my quest.

So, not sporting a watch is working for me.  After wearing one for 30 years, its conspicuous absence is like a string tied around my finger, except with less blood flow restriction.  I still have my cuckoo clock, but that does not count, not just because I do not wear it on my wrist, but because it does not actually keep time.  It just keeps ticking, which keeps me clicking (on the keys…)

Now if only I could mail cards to arrive on (or before) the desired date… hhhmmmm, maybe it is that crutch, the calendar…?

10 things I learned on vacation

08 Wednesday Jul 2009

Posted by in Motherhood, seasons

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1. 15 days on the road is exponentially longer than 11.

2. The Ford F-350 Super-Duty has superior towing capacity.  We did not actually drive one — I just picked up this trivia from the conversations around me.

3. If the Yosemite Lodge pamphlets and wall placards say “don’t leave your windows open if you have food in the room”, it is a good idea to heed their advice.

4.  The shiny red HHR looks really cool in the rental car Emerald Aisle, but is smaller than it seems at first (giddy) glance.

5.  It takes less than five minutes after returning home to hear the Ode To Joy again, and that’s a good thing.

6.  If the jam-packed-whirlwind-o’-fun trip itinerary does not plan for a down day of doing nothing, my body will create a down day against my will.

7.  Immodium really works.

8.  Turns out I love those boys (all three of them) even more than I thought.

9.  My kid will eat squid.

AND,

10.  No matter how good the trip, I am always happy to be back home.

*

As a bonus, here’s #11 :

Fish with big lips are kinda creepy (and the Monterey Bay Aquarium is spectacular).

Mr. Lips

a trip through their eyes

02 Thursday Jul 2009

Posted by in Motherhood, seasons

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We are having a fantastic vacation.  As with any extended trip, some things have gone awry but many things have gone amazingly well, with much good fortune and some timely lucky breaks.  It is our longest family trip ever, filled with lots of priceless memories and lots and lots of time together.  All together.  Together in one hotel room and one intermediate size car. 

Did I mention lots of togetherness?

Vacations have a way of inviting expectations; they sneak into the suitcase as we pack, unawares.  It is true, on this trip in particular, where Don and I are taking the boys back for the first time to where we used to live, and finally enjoying the opportunity to take them to all of our old favorite places.  We have looked forward to this trip for years, with dreams of how it will be with our sons at our side, gamely hiking countless miles of beautiful trails and scenic vistas.  (Does anyone see a red flag?)  Yes, of course, it was inevitable that these very destinations, golden California memories for us, are viewed by two young boys in a very different light.

So, I have been given the privilege of viewing the family vacation through a boy’s eyes…  and here is how it looks:

Every mountaintop vista or Yosemite cliff or San Francisco hilltop scenic view is evaluated based on projected flight speed, lift and anticipated trajectory of a paper airplane (which we would not let them throw, much to their consternation).  Every rushing mountain stream or coastal tidepool wave is benchmarked by how far and fast the S.S. Styrofoam would travel… but, alas, we did not let them pack their homemade “ship” on this trip either.  So basically, Don and I are just big spoil-sports who take them to cool places but then won’t let them test the laws of physics.  Damn the need to not litter and to preserve our national parks!

And the cars — oh, the cars!  As we drive Highway 1 along the coast, or up and down forested mountain roads and past national landmarks, they keep a running commentary on every car we pass, what liter engine and how much torque it has, and was it an XT or an EX?  Many hours of entertainment (and heated debate) on the specifics of a car that is now a quarter mile behind us, yet still oh so very fascinating.

About 25 times, Don popped a vein in his temple and “told” them to stop talking about cars and look at the scenery.  But being a boy at heart himself, about 10 seconds later he would see a really cool car and he could not help himself, he would comment on the year, make and model and start up the whole automotive conversation all over again.  I started a “Car Jar”, which is like a “Swear Jar” wherein whoever commits the infraction of discussing another auto would have to put in a quarter.  The proceeds could then potentially be used to buy me some Xanax.  The Car Jar lasted about 45 minutes, because the boys did not have any money and Don ended up with the most infractions and all of everyone’s quarters had to be used for SF parking meters anyway.  Sigh.  I just lapsed into a coma for a short time to calm down.  Could everyone please just look at the trees and the flowers?

On a more positive note, we have walked many, many miles of incredible scenery, and eventually this exhausted the small ones so thoroughly that they could no longer focus their vision on cars.  Plus, since we stayed on the valley floor of Yosemite, we parked our car and almost everyone else parked their car which meant the boys could only debate the fuel source of the shuttle buses and tour buses (hybrid or biodiesel?)

We have also played countless games of Pooh-Sticks, which has nothing to do with any body function, but lots to do with Winnie the Pooh floating sticks down a stream and watching where they go.  Good clean fun, and there must be some physics in there somewhere.  We hiked and rode bikes and played on beaches and by waterfalls and streams.

It is all good, these experiences together that I believe we will always remember.  I’ll remember everything I ate, because I always do; my memory is based more on taste and smell than vision.  Don is often amazed that I can recall in detail a meal from 10 years ago, yet accidentally rent the same film three times.  Hey, I can’t help it that I can’t taste Appollo 13.

Mostly I hope I will also always remember how my boys viewed the world at this age.  How we all can look at the same view and see something completely different, and how their view is no less right than mine.  Just different.  Just boy.