I absolutely love animals. Well, okay, maybe I am not an equal opportunity animal lover. I prefer furry, non-rodent types. My son wants a snake, and was told to read his apartment lease carefully so that he can get one when he moves out. I don't mind snakes (or frogs for that matter) but they aren't companions, like cats or dogs.
A cat lives with us. Other families that share their home with a cat understand that cats are pets you never really own. They just tolerate you because you feed them. My cat, Denali, is absolutely insane but quintessentially feline. She loves you on her terms, will sit on your lap if she wants to, and reserves the right to stalk your feet if she happens to be hiding under the bed. She has a great purr- which is one of my most favorite sounds. A good loud purr makes me feel like everything is right in the world. It's just so relaxing...ahhhhh. She is also an outstanding hunter of mice, crickets, tree frogs, anoles, chipmunks, birds, and baby squirrels. She was staking out the rabbit burrow in the yard, but I don't think she did anything more than that. In NY, I had one of the few mouse-free homes in Stony I housing area, and would offer to lend the cat to my neighbors. She isn't particularly big and no one believes that she is about 10. We aren't 100% sure of her age because she was adopted from the Ft Lee Vet Clinic's shelter.
Okay, so maybe I am a sucker for strays.
Denali was an insane 18 month old thing, most likely feral and on the small side. For the record, I wanted to adopt a medium-coated cat that looked more tranquil, but my husband convinced me that short hair was the way to go (he was right- read on to Shaw's story). She was litter box trained, which is the only thing that made the relationship work initially. Our dog (Murphy, RIP) would watch the cat run around and jump on things with what looked like amusement, coupled with confusion about what the hell was going on. Denali would try to run, but we had wood floors, so she didn't have any traction and slid out on corners. Yes, I laughed- especially that time she actually slid into a wall. One day, she ran down the stairs, across the LR/DR and jumped into the wastebasket we kept under our desk. She stayed in there for about 30 minutes, then hopped out and casually strolled into the kitchen for some food. Loony, no?
Murphy (our black lab/something mix) was a stray as well. She wandered into our yard in Clarksville, TN and was halfway to starved with BBs under her skin and a collar two sizes too small. I swear I was only going to keep her until we could find her a good home. I was working and pregnant with #2, #1 was only 19 months old. I did not need this dog. But Murphy was so sweet to the kids and scared of everything else....well, needless to say she still lived with us when she died shortly after #5 was born in 2007. It broke my heart and I actually mourned the silly dog. #1 was very upset also. He felt bad that he called her a dumb dog sometimes and thought he should have been nicer to her. Bunch of saps, we are.
When we moved to TX, I adopted a Lab from a rescue. She was returned to rescue and now works for DEA as a drug dog. She was very smart and energetic, but my kids made her anxious. I researched breeds and met lots of dogs. I ended up adopting a cat (that makes 2) that my friend found in her yard. He was old, dirty, long-haired, declawed and just pitiful. I named him Shawangunk (Shaw or Gunky for short). Shaw was the first cat I ever put in a sink and washed, which is where "declawed" came in handy. He had an ENDLESS supply of hair and I would just comb and comb and comb that cat until I had a cat-sized ball of fur. Then I would flip the cat over and brush his other side. It did keep me busy while my husband was in Iraq- at least I had a cat to groom while I watched TV at night. I was grateful my husband insisted on a short hair cat all those years ago when I brought home Denali. Shaw lived with us for 19 months, until his body really went to pot and we had to have him put down.
During this time, I worked with an Austin rescue to pull 2 fabulous dogs from the Killeen shelter (a Border/ Pyrenees mix and an Aussie/Sheltie mix). My heart broke every time I heard of dogs being abandoned because people did not educate themselves fully about a particular breed and (even worse!) the person that sold the dog didn't take the time to educate them. I eventually decided to volunteer with the Golden Retriever rescue.
Since I have a lot of kids and not all that much free time, I was happy to find things I could do. I did phone interviews with prospective adoptive families and I checked the rescue's voice mail for a week from time to time, and we were on a list of approved foster homes for dogs awaiting adoption. The voice mail was known as the "hotline" because people could call anytime to leave us a message. Too often, it was a call from a GR owner that wanted to surrender his or her dog. When I first signed up for hotline, another volunteer (who did an amazing amount of things for the dogs) said that I must have a true "rescue heart" to do that. After my first week on hotline, I figured out what she meant.
There were a record number of surrenders that first week. One woman I spoke with for almost an hour, because she was so heartbroken to surrender her dog, but a neighbor was trying to poison it. There was the dog alone in the yard of an empty house in the summertime, whose owners left it when they moved away. There was the woman who spoke of surrendering the dog like one might talk about getting rid of a couch.
A rescue heart:
I was not there to condemn or judge the surrendering owner.
I didn't let the dog's current quality of life get me down.
I knew that the dog, once we had it in our custody, was going to get the best care and most love the volunteers (and vets) could provide.
I worried more about dogs left on country roads, or stuck in the pound and sharing a cage with an agressive dog (like the border/pyr mix I got into rescue).
I feel the same way about kids. It's kind of a "let's take them all home" feeling. If I didn't have six young kids, I would seriously consider being a foster parent. Maybe I'll do it when mine get older. My big, liberal-sounding, save-the-world pipe dream is to open a school. I'm not sure if it would have to be private or charter, but it would focus on freeing kids from the horrible schools some are trapped in and giving them a real opportunity. It could be urban or rural, but urban seems more likely. I would require parental involvement and would insist on discipline in the school. The beauty of private schools lies in their ability to tell the kids who aren't interested in learning to leave. I hope to catch them early enough that they will be interested in learning, but cultural pressures are hard to overcome. Perhaps two schools, one for each gender, would be better.
Okay, reality check....
I signed up to be a volunteer for a dog rescue here in VA.
My school(s?) will have to wait at least until everyone is potty-trained.
22 October 2010
20 October 2010
They are these completely different people that just happen to look an awful lot like me
I think every parent falls into the trap at some point. During a pregnancy, it runs rampant and is unrestrained. An eager father-to-be buys a football for the little baby boy he just saw on a sonogram. Moms dream about girls in tutus or cheer uniforms. People joke about what college the baby will attend.
As a child grows, we are responsible for exposing children to as many opportunities as are reasonable and prudent. I (like most parents) tend to sign my kids up for things I don't mind watching. Ballet and gymnastics are both indoors and tend to have chairs for waiting parents. Soccer is fun to watch, but it is BYOC and it is hot at the start of the season and freezing by the end. Indoor swimming is fabulous, but outdoor swimming runs into the heat and seating issue again. I loathe football, hence, no one plays football. Hockey is expensive and hard to find in the south. You guessed it, no one plays hockey either.
Call me cold and unfeeling, but I don't feel even a teeny tiny bit bad. I only got to take ballet because it was down the street. My single working mom (for most of my childhood, anyway) was not going to come home from a long day at work to schlep me to activities. I let my kids do scouts and 1 other thing and that is it. There are six of them, for crying out loud. I have to make dinner at some point.
If only our children's interests closely patterned our own. But God has a sense of humor, so He gives you kids that look like you, but that is where the resemblance ends.
Take #1 (please... no, jk). He is 12 and in 7th grade. He may be in 7th grade for the rest of his life at the rate he is going. He "doesn't find school all that interesting." Oh? Well, in that case, just sit in front of the TV for the rest of your life.
He has gotten 3 progress reports, which means he has less than a C or is not turning in work in THREE subjects. Oy vey. The kicker, of course, is that he is quite intelligent, but is a disorganized mess and just can't seem to turn in homework. And I just can't relate to him on this subject. I have thoroughly enjoyed learning stuff since I can remember. Maybe my curriculum was empirically more interesting, but he is giving me excuses I didn't pull out until Calculus 2 (ie. "I don't actually need to know this in real life."). I would argue he really does need to understand percentages, or he'll end up with a crazy mortgage and lots of credit card debt.
My husband's reassurance that he didn't like school either is, well, not very reassuring.
Then there is #2. He is 10 and extremely smart. Like really, really smart. Like so smart, he will never be invited to keg parties because he can't interact with people. Hey, he could go to USMA. ;) lol
What is amazing about him is that he uses his brain in a totally different way than I do. I like to think of myself as verbally dexterous. I enjoy reading, writing, music, the arts, politics, all that good fuzzy stuff. I have wide ranging interests, but those are the things I enjoy the most. #2 sees numbers. He understands them the way I understand sentence structure. I was giving him a math lesson when he jumped in, gave me the answer and explained why it would be completely obvious how to solve that problem. Then he gave an example of how one could solve it a different way and what one could do with the solutions to the equations he just solved. That was one of the many "Who are you?" moments that I have experienced as a mom. I'm sure he's mine because I was there and he has a birthmark, but let me guarantee that if he becomes a math-lete, I had nothing to do with it. He is a perfectionist when it comes to schoolwork and strives for all As.
#3 (6 and in 1st grade) thinks he shouldn't have homework because he was already at school all day. I tend to agree with him for that age group. #4 loves pre-K (whew!), but wants to leave our family and move in with my sister-in-law. #5 loves Mommy- that'll wear off with age. #6 uses her crawling skills to keep me in sight.
I have found that a great truth of parenthood is that the longer you do it, the less sure you are of what the heck you are doing. Especially when you have more than one kid, because, trust me, they are these TOTALLY different people.
As a child grows, we are responsible for exposing children to as many opportunities as are reasonable and prudent. I (like most parents) tend to sign my kids up for things I don't mind watching. Ballet and gymnastics are both indoors and tend to have chairs for waiting parents. Soccer is fun to watch, but it is BYOC and it is hot at the start of the season and freezing by the end. Indoor swimming is fabulous, but outdoor swimming runs into the heat and seating issue again. I loathe football, hence, no one plays football. Hockey is expensive and hard to find in the south. You guessed it, no one plays hockey either.
Call me cold and unfeeling, but I don't feel even a teeny tiny bit bad. I only got to take ballet because it was down the street. My single working mom (for most of my childhood, anyway) was not going to come home from a long day at work to schlep me to activities. I let my kids do scouts and 1 other thing and that is it. There are six of them, for crying out loud. I have to make dinner at some point.
If only our children's interests closely patterned our own. But God has a sense of humor, so He gives you kids that look like you, but that is where the resemblance ends.
Take #1 (please... no, jk). He is 12 and in 7th grade. He may be in 7th grade for the rest of his life at the rate he is going. He "doesn't find school all that interesting." Oh? Well, in that case, just sit in front of the TV for the rest of your life.
He has gotten 3 progress reports, which means he has less than a C or is not turning in work in THREE subjects. Oy vey. The kicker, of course, is that he is quite intelligent, but is a disorganized mess and just can't seem to turn in homework. And I just can't relate to him on this subject. I have thoroughly enjoyed learning stuff since I can remember. Maybe my curriculum was empirically more interesting, but he is giving me excuses I didn't pull out until Calculus 2 (ie. "I don't actually need to know this in real life."). I would argue he really does need to understand percentages, or he'll end up with a crazy mortgage and lots of credit card debt.
My husband's reassurance that he didn't like school either is, well, not very reassuring.
Then there is #2. He is 10 and extremely smart. Like really, really smart. Like so smart, he will never be invited to keg parties because he can't interact with people. Hey, he could go to USMA. ;) lol
What is amazing about him is that he uses his brain in a totally different way than I do. I like to think of myself as verbally dexterous. I enjoy reading, writing, music, the arts, politics, all that good fuzzy stuff. I have wide ranging interests, but those are the things I enjoy the most. #2 sees numbers. He understands them the way I understand sentence structure. I was giving him a math lesson when he jumped in, gave me the answer and explained why it would be completely obvious how to solve that problem. Then he gave an example of how one could solve it a different way and what one could do with the solutions to the equations he just solved. That was one of the many "Who are you?" moments that I have experienced as a mom. I'm sure he's mine because I was there and he has a birthmark, but let me guarantee that if he becomes a math-lete, I had nothing to do with it. He is a perfectionist when it comes to schoolwork and strives for all As.
#3 (6 and in 1st grade) thinks he shouldn't have homework because he was already at school all day. I tend to agree with him for that age group. #4 loves pre-K (whew!), but wants to leave our family and move in with my sister-in-law. #5 loves Mommy- that'll wear off with age. #6 uses her crawling skills to keep me in sight.
I have found that a great truth of parenthood is that the longer you do it, the less sure you are of what the heck you are doing. Especially when you have more than one kid, because, trust me, they are these TOTALLY different people.
18 October 2010
Just because you're not paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you
My husband has something of a background in psychology. His degree is in Human Factors Engineering, which teaches that I am absolutely correct when I think I should be able to work basic electronic devices without reading a manual as thick as the Bible. It has to do with human-machine interaction and how to make that flow as smoothly as possible. So along with classes in engineering and math, he took just enough psychology to be dangerous. He studied stuff like Learning and Sensation and Perception, and probably other things that I just don't recall. I used to get fairly annoyed when he tried to apply his academia-based theories to my real-world chaos. I would tell him that a child did some such thing to make me mad, and he would tell me that I needed to evaluate why that was so upsetting to me and just let it go. ???? I thought I must have hit my head, because it sounded like my husband just told me to let my kid get away with something.
The best of all was when I told him that the kids were conspiring against me. It did not seem statistically possible to be summoned by a different child at NEARLY PERFECT 4 minute intervals. And then there would be the designated "bad kid" of the day. One child would dedicate all their time from wake-up to bedtime to yanking Mommy's chain, but it was never the same kid two days in a row. Tell me that is random, because it sure doesn't feel that way.
Needless to say, my observations were dismissed by my husband as sheer coincidence. I think that if there are people that think the Cubans, Communists and FBI killed Kennedy, then it is entirely possible that my kids are working together. It's a great plan really- only one kid draws fire, and the others get away with doing pretty much whatever they want because mom is busy trying to wash all that magic marker off the wall. It's not my paranoia, it is sheer genius on their part. If only I could prove it.
I did prove that they move my stuff around when I am not looking. Like everyone, I do, on occasion, leave my car keys, purse or other important item where it does not belong. About halfway through my husband's year long, all expenses paid trip to Iraq, I realized I spent more hours a day looking for stuff than I spent on anything else. Then, one day, I caught #2 in the act. As he walked through the kitchen, he picked up some (important) papers from the island, looked through them as he walked and placed them over by the computer. He about had a heart attack when I shouted "A-HA!" So, why can't I find anything? Because there are little people touching all of my stuff. Being a mother does not forfeit your right to stuff and the secure maintenance thereof. That is why it is perfectly acceptable to lose your religion when a child (say #4) goes into your bedroom, takes jewelry from your jewelry box and leaves it on the dining room floor.
A child's love for a mother is hard to understand sometimes. They show it in the most unusual ways.
There is something wired into a child's brain that Mom (and only Mom) is the answer to whatever troubles the child at that moment. Feel sick? Find Mom. Need a drink? Find Mom. Didn't put away your shoes and now you can't find them? Find Mom instead, because all that estrogen has given her the ability to know the precise location of EVERY SINGLE ITEM owned by every member of the family. Never mind that I have 5 single earrings that I am holding on to in case the mate reappears. I think one of the best stories I have heard that proves this point was from my dear friend and neighbor. Since her husband was at home, sitting in the living room and watching TV, she decided to go upstairs for a shower. One of their children came in the house, walked right past his father, up the stairs, into the Master bedroom, and knocked on the bathroom door to ask his mom for a drink. He just didn't think to ask his dad for one. It's funny because it happens all the time. I am also not the only mom who has considered changing my name and not telling the kids, so that they can't call endlessly for me.
Mom? Who's that? ;)
The best of all was when I told him that the kids were conspiring against me. It did not seem statistically possible to be summoned by a different child at NEARLY PERFECT 4 minute intervals. And then there would be the designated "bad kid" of the day. One child would dedicate all their time from wake-up to bedtime to yanking Mommy's chain, but it was never the same kid two days in a row. Tell me that is random, because it sure doesn't feel that way.
Needless to say, my observations were dismissed by my husband as sheer coincidence. I think that if there are people that think the Cubans, Communists and FBI killed Kennedy, then it is entirely possible that my kids are working together. It's a great plan really- only one kid draws fire, and the others get away with doing pretty much whatever they want because mom is busy trying to wash all that magic marker off the wall. It's not my paranoia, it is sheer genius on their part. If only I could prove it.
I did prove that they move my stuff around when I am not looking. Like everyone, I do, on occasion, leave my car keys, purse or other important item where it does not belong. About halfway through my husband's year long, all expenses paid trip to Iraq, I realized I spent more hours a day looking for stuff than I spent on anything else. Then, one day, I caught #2 in the act. As he walked through the kitchen, he picked up some (important) papers from the island, looked through them as he walked and placed them over by the computer. He about had a heart attack when I shouted "A-HA!" So, why can't I find anything? Because there are little people touching all of my stuff. Being a mother does not forfeit your right to stuff and the secure maintenance thereof. That is why it is perfectly acceptable to lose your religion when a child (say #4) goes into your bedroom, takes jewelry from your jewelry box and leaves it on the dining room floor.
A child's love for a mother is hard to understand sometimes. They show it in the most unusual ways.
There is something wired into a child's brain that Mom (and only Mom) is the answer to whatever troubles the child at that moment. Feel sick? Find Mom. Need a drink? Find Mom. Didn't put away your shoes and now you can't find them? Find Mom instead, because all that estrogen has given her the ability to know the precise location of EVERY SINGLE ITEM owned by every member of the family. Never mind that I have 5 single earrings that I am holding on to in case the mate reappears. I think one of the best stories I have heard that proves this point was from my dear friend and neighbor. Since her husband was at home, sitting in the living room and watching TV, she decided to go upstairs for a shower. One of their children came in the house, walked right past his father, up the stairs, into the Master bedroom, and knocked on the bathroom door to ask his mom for a drink. He just didn't think to ask his dad for one. It's funny because it happens all the time. I am also not the only mom who has considered changing my name and not telling the kids, so that they can't call endlessly for me.
Mom? Who's that? ;)
17 October 2010
Jane, get me off this crazy thing!
Several kids ago, I suffered from a terrible running problem. 30+ miles a week, and my favorite distance to run was 8 miles because I could do it in just under an hour. I loved every second of it. What a great sport that gives you exercise AND time to think or chat. Most other sports require focus and concentration. Frankly, that's not my bag, baby.
The most interesting thing about all of the miles I have run in my life (and I did my first road race at about age 11) is that something like 98% of them were outdoors. I have run as soon as the roads were cleared (somewhat) of snow in NY and I have been caught in pop-up thunderstorms in the south. Too damned cold and way too hot- I ran then also. Some people have tried to introduce me to a concept known as the "treadmill." The reason we don't call it "human hamster wheel" is that a marketing person said not to, because that is what those things are. I can go for miles and miles outdoors, but put me on a treadmill and I am looking to get off within five minutes. There is no start or finish line. There isn't any scenery. There is the lady cawing with the other crows on the View jogging next to me.
As an aside- the exercise bike doesn't bother me as much. Go figure.
The punchline is that as mothers, heck, as adults, our life tends to feel like that treadmill. We're worn out and breathing hard, but are have that nagging feeling that, really, we aren't actually going anywhere. The unending piles of laundry (when are they wearing all this stuff?), the dishes, the cooking, driving, homework, commuting, bill-paying, kids' sports, and then collapse in bed. No scenery, no finish line.
Excuse me, Mr Conductor, I'd like to get off this train now.
I've grown weary of the predictability and monotony of the days, and I am exhausted by the feeling that my treadmill is set to 5 minute miles and I'm going to fly off the back (like George Jetson on the dogwalker thing). Maybe it is time to evolve the rhythm of my life. (See, I can't just get a new groove, because many parts of this one I rather enjoy- like my husband and kids. So we'll just morph the peripheral stuff). Step one- everyone who can reach the dials on the washer will do their own wash. I have already taught #1 and #2 to iron the last time they left their school uniform in a ball on the floor, so that's covered.
But what is step two? How do we make sure each day feels unique unto itself? How do we make sure each day is appreciated for the gift that it is? Every precious hour is something we can never get back. Something so fleeting and magical merits a lot more than the lacakadaisical way in which we use it.
"What did you do today? You know, the usual. Not much." ???? Really? Just another chunk of your unique life- gone.
Tonight, I was watching a movie and holding #6. She'll be 8 months next weekend. She is absolutely huge and at the top of the growth charts. More importantly, she is becoming a truly sentient person. She knows her siblings and laughs at them and reaches for them. She crawls to get her toys. She tries to squirm away when I hold her and she sees something she wants. And it happened just that fast, during all my days full of the "usual." I don't feel like I missed anything, heck, I have been with her all but a few hours since she was born. Yet, I am flabbergasted at the rushing currents of time. She'll never be that snuggly, mushy, new baby again, with those teeny-tiny fingers and eyes that just don't stay open for long.
#1 will be a teenager next year, #4 starts kindergarten next year, #5 will head to pre-K. Time to put down the laundry basket and pay attention, because it'll be over before I know it and the treadmill of "other stuff" will still be there waiting.
The most interesting thing about all of the miles I have run in my life (and I did my first road race at about age 11) is that something like 98% of them were outdoors. I have run as soon as the roads were cleared (somewhat) of snow in NY and I have been caught in pop-up thunderstorms in the south. Too damned cold and way too hot- I ran then also. Some people have tried to introduce me to a concept known as the "treadmill." The reason we don't call it "human hamster wheel" is that a marketing person said not to, because that is what those things are. I can go for miles and miles outdoors, but put me on a treadmill and I am looking to get off within five minutes. There is no start or finish line. There isn't any scenery. There is the lady cawing with the other crows on the View jogging next to me.
As an aside- the exercise bike doesn't bother me as much. Go figure.
The punchline is that as mothers, heck, as adults, our life tends to feel like that treadmill. We're worn out and breathing hard, but are have that nagging feeling that, really, we aren't actually going anywhere. The unending piles of laundry (when are they wearing all this stuff?), the dishes, the cooking, driving, homework, commuting, bill-paying, kids' sports, and then collapse in bed. No scenery, no finish line.
Excuse me, Mr Conductor, I'd like to get off this train now.
I've grown weary of the predictability and monotony of the days, and I am exhausted by the feeling that my treadmill is set to 5 minute miles and I'm going to fly off the back (like George Jetson on the dogwalker thing). Maybe it is time to evolve the rhythm of my life. (See, I can't just get a new groove, because many parts of this one I rather enjoy- like my husband and kids. So we'll just morph the peripheral stuff). Step one- everyone who can reach the dials on the washer will do their own wash. I have already taught #1 and #2 to iron the last time they left their school uniform in a ball on the floor, so that's covered.
But what is step two? How do we make sure each day feels unique unto itself? How do we make sure each day is appreciated for the gift that it is? Every precious hour is something we can never get back. Something so fleeting and magical merits a lot more than the lacakadaisical way in which we use it.
"What did you do today? You know, the usual. Not much." ???? Really? Just another chunk of your unique life- gone.
Tonight, I was watching a movie and holding #6. She'll be 8 months next weekend. She is absolutely huge and at the top of the growth charts. More importantly, she is becoming a truly sentient person. She knows her siblings and laughs at them and reaches for them. She crawls to get her toys. She tries to squirm away when I hold her and she sees something she wants. And it happened just that fast, during all my days full of the "usual." I don't feel like I missed anything, heck, I have been with her all but a few hours since she was born. Yet, I am flabbergasted at the rushing currents of time. She'll never be that snuggly, mushy, new baby again, with those teeny-tiny fingers and eyes that just don't stay open for long.
#1 will be a teenager next year, #4 starts kindergarten next year, #5 will head to pre-K. Time to put down the laundry basket and pay attention, because it'll be over before I know it and the treadmill of "other stuff" will still be there waiting.
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