Friday, October 15, 2010
When I was really small, probably same age Miss Monkey is now, I remember cutting foam up to re-stuff a sock monkey. I'm actually not sure if Mom made it for me from scratch, but it's possible considering the era. I have recollection of the way the foam felt under the shears, clipping it io workable pieces. I remember his mirror button nose being too floppy for my discerning four year old taste, staring at my reflection for eons. When Sock Monkey wasn't turning out exactly how I imagined, he was a bit lumpy and misshapen, I also remember being afraid to ask for something more or different, fearing the answer, guilty of asking at all. I'm working on this new gig, asking for what I want, being specific, and realizing that I needn't feel bad or be afraid of the answer. I'm here just like everyone else, neither above nor below. It's challenging. Better to be a healthy example than to listen to my daughter say things like, "oh, well, I'm so thirsty....I guess I can't get anything to drink though..." like a little martyr-in-training, rather than ask for help.
There are moving tubs everywhere full of oddities, and F came up with Sock Monkey that probably hadn't seen the light of day in almost 10 years (I recall my college boyfriend thought it creepy). The foam was shot and he was dirrrrty. After an overnight spa-soak in vinegar/borax/bit-o-bleach, he washed and dried just fine. But with further inspection, the first born decided she might like to have him re-stuffed, and I happen to have some lovely stuffing on hand from a quilt shop going-out-of-business. She also asked that his mirror nose be tacked down somehow---funny coincidence that. Then, newly firmly fluffed, with buttons reinforced and non-noddy nose, he went to bed with Little Girl and has been under her arm practically all day. I'm proud, Sock Monkey turned out just how I wanted him to, he's the embodiment of heirloom.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Our Porter kitty spent the last few days at Miss M's in his kennel. Evidence pointed to a territorial outburst between Pan and Himself. There was fair warning of this when it was discovered he was searching out Pan to pick fights, then he was found bullying her in Miss M's closet. When he was discovered pseudo-spraying the sewing room, Miss M's inner sanctum, he had to be kennel-ized. For the last 4 days or so while we were with her, Porter was allowed 2 "walks" in the "yard"(a.k.a. the mudroom) where he was fed & watered and used the box. In general he handled it well, I think he understood he had done wrong.
Now we are a week into the townhouse. While certain of the arrangements were rather disappointing---we felt a little taken advantage of---that aside, we are making ourselves comfortable and think we will enjoy it here. Porter has spent the first week tormenting my loving husband, sending him into fits of frustration, clawing his way into the access panels of the master bath tub. My mate was all a tizzy with day dreams of deceased kitty, bio-hazards, and death-rot par fume. Finally, The Man simply liquid-nailed the panels shut, and Porter looked bored yesterday having his fun cut short.
The kitchen is unpacked, the laundry is cycling, we're slowly getting it up and running. About moving: it's expensive to set up household over and over, the workload tends to triple. In addition, to all the regular cooking, errands, tidying, there's unpacking to do in every spare moment. And Halloween is coming, I've got to get costumes together for the offspring, get some activities planned with friends, begin planning for pumpkins! My it's a beautiful life!