Just One Spring Morning

The Elder of The Two didn't want to wake pleasantly, or at all, this morning, and I refused to hang around trying to convince her otherwise.  Then began the slamming of doors.

So, I devised a training session.  The Younger of The Two and I would walk across to Starbucks, get some brunchy fun snacks.  The Elder missed out.

When we came back, Miss Monkey was lamentable and tragic as expected.  I empathized with her though she would accept none of it.  She got it in her head to go on her own.  She grabbed her money, donned her Easter shoes and headed down the sidewalk.

And *gasp* I didn't follow her.  Breathe. Pray. Repeat.  Not that I could follow in my gravid state, to engage would've created a physical altercation, in which I am unwilling to participate.  

She made it as far as the intersection (50 yds or so), hung around the fence line.  I could see her, though she didn't see me.  And I have it that she was looking to see who would follow.

She returned to change her shoes, left again in an entitled huff.  Made it just as far, returned again to tell me how I'm a Terrible Mother, and jogged back toward her ultimate goal again. This last time she was gone for almost 20 minutes.  20 loooong Mommy Minutes.  

I phoned everyone who knows Love & Logic....because what's next?  I even considered stretching my resources to instill a big scare from the Police, kinda grateful it didn't come to that.

When I began the phone call to a retired neighbor in our ex-townhouse unit, asking if he would take a walk and let me know where he spotted her, there she came walking from t'other direction back to Miss J's.  Her attitude hadn't much improved, but the door slamming wasn't quite as vehement.  

She never made it to Starbucks.  Knowing exactly where she was safe, she never crossed the road. (grateful mommy)  My guess, she stuck pretty close in to the Townhomes she's become so familiar with these past 2.5 years (grateful again).

perpetrator of drama

There will be a conversation later today, maybe tomorrow latest, regarding the situation without a total rehash lecture.  It's been a challenge with the upheaval of moving and the uncertainty of when we'll be in our house.  I'm so very very thankful for the skills I've gained parenting, I didn't engage, I didn't lose my temper, I used all my L&L phrases + empathy.  

I let her work it out and saw evidence that we've done right thus far.  She knew her limits, and was entrusted with them, and entrusted that she'd work it out and return, which she did. Some part of me knew that she would.  *momma relieved sigh* 

Now, to get on with the day.  Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day!

The witness, who fell out of a chair &
was scratched severely by Porter (she insists on getting in his face)
during the whole fiasco.

Tragedy of Feline Porportions

Yesterday 4am my alarm going off as it always does but I have been responding to it rarely.  I frankestein-monster myself downstairs to catch it before everyone is awake.  It was playing Awake My Soul by Mumford & Sons.
I heard a ruckus outside, cat yowls and crashing.  Siddius Kittius didn't come in when I called him, after I stuck my head outside & called once hearing the noises again, I figure I had better go out and see what's up.  I paused to put on boots, hoodie, grab flashlight.

Outside in the moonless early morning, I "skskskss" again for the cat, sense a motion off to the left, shine the light.  A pair of glowing marbles look back at me and the shadow begins to lope away as I approach the scene.

Poor Siddius, curled slightly, breathing shallow, not moving.  I picked him up and brought him inside, went to wake The Man.

On our tile his breaths continued to be shallow for a bit, he eventually calmed and appeared to sleep.  He knew he was safe.

The Man & I debated at length about what to do, the prohibitive cost of repairing a cat vs. the less prohibitive prospect of euthanize of course Miss Monkey had to be involved.  Siddius never moved from the place I laid him, we wrapped him and re-wrapped him.  He was in pain, let out a groaning sigh now and then.

We woke Bigger Little Girl and told her what happened.  The Man and she prepped to go to a local 24 hour vet clinic I had to stay behind as Toddleator E has been experiencing a rather daunting fever.

Off they went to say final good-byes to Darth Siddius, we were all sobbing off an on.

And the grieving began.  I miss that little cat's presence over and over and over.  He was an incredibly sweet cat.  Attacking feet, chewing on toes, knocking things off the counter and sill chasing flies, chasing dogs out on the path, he'd come running running running when I sat out to call him in after a ramble.  Porter misses him, they played Bite-Face-Huggie-Paw the last time as a friend & I looked on chatting about pros/cons of letting cats out.

Repetitively all day with Miss Monkey talking about feelings, "I feel so sad...", that it's normal & natural to feel sad because we loved him so very much.  Letting her emote in her own way, completely.  I think the habit is too much to stop  it, to attempt to fix it, to medicate with with distraction.  These feelings are necessary to allow the moments to pass in a healthy way, eventually the hurt will subside if we feel all the way into it.

More later on this, and last pic or vid when I find it.  Right now I've a gymnast to rangle.

Death at the Door

There they are, eyeballin' their next possible tribute.  Twice last week I found offerings on the front step, narrowly missed stepping on a fresh vole.  No sign of chewing, I assume that's Darth Kittius' first offering to us, usually Porter enjoys at least a bit off his tributes before sharing.  A day later, a smattering of feathers and a piece of entrails drawing flies---my main concern, having gotten used to the lack of insect annoyances here, it's unfavorable to suddenly have a bottle fly banging on the windows.  Worse still, Darth enjoys chasing them in his still-kitten way, felling photos and spreading countertop items to the floor in the process.

Cowprint Killah

He strikes again, aka Pookus McDookus, aka The Cowprint Killah, bka Porter.   Caught him out front with a tasty tidbit.  

Nom-crunch-nomm-nom-crunch.

Kitties finally making nice.

After the initial adjustments they're starting to get along....mostly.  There's an occasional hiss-fwap-spat with a stair chase, mostly they're wrestling buddies at opportune times of the day when the girls are sleeping or otherwise occupied.   Watching movies after Littles are asleep, we hear what sounds like miniature elephants in the playroom directly above, 'cause when kids are away cats will play.

Narrowly Averted Heartbreak

I let the cats out before we went grocery shopping.  Only one came back in...the kitten went missing.  I was driven to distraction with guilt that it was possible he was gone, he was a baby, and I just let him outside into the wilds of the world, woe to me I broke my own daughter's heart indirectly causing her very first beloved pet loose.  He's a cat though, and has a bigger cat as a great example.  I kept thinking, "weird that he'd go much farther than the small patch woodsy area where he and Porter normally play."  When I prayed it out, I somehow felt that Darth Siddius Kittius was safe and close, but we had to find him.  Of course all sorts of scenarios were played out by both The Man and I, his of course were darker and more sinister, filled with mean people doing mean things.  I was mostly worried that he'd been strangled by his almost-too-small collar and we'd never know. The worst part of the ordeal, the not knowing.  When some loved one, even a pet, goes missing the worst is not really knowing whether it's appropriate to start the grieving process. I did cry some, and yet still something told me that he wasn't far.

So, yesterday we were hangin' outside, Miss Monkey attempting practicing her two wheel skills a bit more.  We overheard neighbors talking about a kitten up a tree.  Immediately, "what kitten? where?"  Turns out Darth  Kittius was up a tree---almost 30 feet up a tree.  A tree that both The Man and I walked under several times in our attempt to locate him. 

Though the fire department said, "we don't do that anymore" when I called (which I totally understand, I grew up where cats/kittens come down on their own), a small contingent crew showed up anyway.  

And I'm really really glad they did, imagine having to explain to her much much later in life why the Firemen wouldn't help, and what really happened with her kitten who mightn't have had sense enough (at 7 months) to come down...that'd be some dark story to work out in therapy.

A hero is someone who helps us to avoid disaster and heartbreak.

Huzzah!  West Metro Fire Rescue! Huzzah!

e.t.a: according to neighbor-lady, Darth Kittius was playfully pouncing on doggie snouts as they sniffed those 'special' spots....guess he pounced the wrong pup, no wonder he skittered that far up a tree!

L&L Report

The Toddleator has been brought into the "Uh-Oh, bedroom-time, you-can-come-back-when-you-can-be-sweet/friendly/gentle" song. If she doesn't like what I'm saying, screams over and over in obvious defiance as I'm talking, it's "Uh-Oh".  If she's not listening to my request of "stop" usually related to safety or mitigation of messes, it's ""Uh-Oh".  If there's excessive hitting, it's "Uh-Oh."  Throwing or spitting food, it's "uh-oh."  Recently she's been really pushing her limits, and I have to remember 1) not to warn her over and over, 2) not to lose my cool--it's too entertaining.  

One day this week, a little trip outside I used "All those who listen to mommy can stay outside longer."  Incredibly, she processed the info and came right back to me.  Sometimes it takes a solid 5 seconds before my direction has been filtered through her ears, into the head, trickled down through her body to the toes, then back up to the brain to be received...it's the processing time I've also got to remember.  Toddlers don't think as quickly as adults or bigger kids, they're still forming all those neural pathways. So, it's my discretion whether she's being defiant or the information hasn't percolated enough yet.

Darth Siddius--yes I'm aware it should be Sidious, but really prefer our spelling 'cause it's too close to the word insidious, and didn't want to prematurely label him Kitten of Doom.  Anyway, Darth Siddius has proven quite a test of listening for the Younger of The Two.  We find ourselves in almost constant verbal cycle of "put the kitten down please...that hurts kitten...no touch kitty please...all done kitten," repeat, repeat, repeat.  I've noticed that if he really doesn't want to play he'll run away from her, if he does and plays too rough then she'll run away from him (in tears of course).  They will eventually work out some balance.  It's highly unusual for small children to really hurt an animal, especially if the animal in question can squirm, scratch, and bite enough to defend itself if in discomfort.  The Firstborn learned her lesson with Porter...eventually.

Miss Monkey's tantrums have definitely subsided from the early changing-of-method fireworks.  

She hates when I reply, "Maybe so" when she says "This is/You're stupid!"  She'll yell at me, "Stop saying 'Maybe so'!"  *win*

As she's stomping and screaming up the stairs, "Hey, could you be a bit louder?  I think the neighbors missed that one."  She screams, "No!"  *win* ---also works in public.

When she curses, and she does say something like, "I think she is/you are sh*t!" lately only while already in her room.  "Oh, thanks for your creativity, you can come out when you're sweet."  One day on an errand to the bank, this came back on her, she wanted a lollipop.  "Oh, you know, sweet things don't come out of your mouth, sweet things don't go in."  It was doubly sad when baby sister did get a lolly.  *win*

At my last Love & Logic Class I asked if it's permissible to keep a notebook of poor decisions awaiting consequences.  I found it difficult to keep track of delayed consequences, i.e. refusing to contribute to household one day might mean not going to the park a couple of days later, my memory mayn't be that great in some circumstances.  So I started the notebook and decided I needed clarify to Miss Monkey it's purpose, and since then haven't have to use it at all. *win*

I love that when she wants something at the store, I simply ask if she brought her wallet.  Today all I had to do was utter a quiet, "uuoohhhhhhh" and the immediate look I received was a *win* and then total compliance.

My favorite phrases lately:

"How do you think this is going to work out for you?"

and

"I think that's a pretty poor decision, pretty sure it'll work out poorly for you."

Happy Momma here.

House Arrest

Or rather self-imposed quarantine.  It started with the Younger of The Two (Toddleator E) with a nose running as a faucet, culminated a couple days later with a 104.9 F in the Elder of The Two (Miss Monkey), then me, of course, in the fray with some wicked head congestion.

I have not driven my car in 5 days, but gave it a once-over clearing kid-detritus.  We've been inside for almost a week straight.  Save a few moments outside to re-arranged garbage & recycles, or check the mail, then a brief outdoor "bonfire" build with Miss Monkey while the weather has been unseasonably warm (as is the habit of weather fronts here, beautiful then freezing & snow).  Not my chosen way to start a New Year, but at least I can say we're over it, and it won't be returning.  Is it consequence from stretching so thin prior to Christmas?

So, it's day 5 and we're finally all free of fever, I wonder how I'll keep my sanity if we don't get out and do something, even if it is a menial errand.  I hear pleasant play interspersed with squealing wails of frustration or hurt feelings.  Parts of me kind of enjoy the forced quiet and slow down of illness (shh! don't tell Perfect Mommy Club).  It feels when the Littles do return to normal that they are ++active, as if they're making up for lost time.

Christmas Kitten, Darth Kittius(Siddius), has been brought fully into the fold.  Porter mostly tolerates kitten's surprise pounces, and Toddleator E "hohlps" him by squeeze-carrying him until he struggles free.  We certainly can't head to the gym or hang out with buddies the way we all sound, horking up gunk and sneezing out the goo.  It simply wouldn't be kind to others around us.

At least I've saved on gas.

The Cats Pajamas

The Kitten.  Of late, rightfully named Darth Siddius, as he has been an absolute nuisance at night and the wee hours of the mornings.  It's rather like having a new baby in the house, at least that's my reference last I felt this sleep disturbed.

After her laborious endeavor to ensure receiving a "real live kitten" from St. Nick, Christmas morning the mewing package was opened.  The Firstborn is enamored of her feline to a point of distraction--which may not be saying much as she is a 5.5 year old.

kittenish in kitten pajama, with real, live, kitten

proper 'crazed' look of kitten

Porter was, er, less than enthused about Darth Kittius (code name: Breakfast Cheese).  After 4 days, the elder cat has begun venturing out from under the bedside tables (where he hissed and mowled at kitten's attempts to play) to his usual haunts.  We plied him with canned wet food, a rare treat, and a new collar with proper tag.  He is slowly becoming accustomed to the new addition.  To get a taste of what it's like cat + kitten, see Double Trouble.

Thank You Gratitude

I'm likening gratitude to a steam engine.  Some days it's challenging to get it going, the wheels might slip with that initial forward chug, but once the momentum has gotten the best of the weight of my activities, gratitude is self perpetuating.  This moment gives birth to the next.  If I fill this moment with gratitude, the next moment can't help but bring blessings.

A is for abilities, of which I have many (apple pie, too, I made for The Man's birthday).
B is for bounty, which will be on our table this Thursday.
C is for cat, Porter is older than the kids. <3
D is for downward dog, yoga-yoga-yoga.
E is for Toddleator E, whose bright silliness fills our moments with giggles.
F is for Miss Monkey, whose imagination, energy, and intensity are sparks through the day.
G is for gymnastics coaches who take my Bigger Girl and have aided teaching her strength and determination.
H is for help, and knowing when to ask for it.
I is for me, and the I Am that I Am.
J is for juggling, 'cause one day I'll know how.
K is for kites.
L is for love, that really does conquer all.
M is for magnets as grateful hearts collect blessings.
N is for night, when those babies are sleeping.
O is for others, those people that change me.
P is for pumpkin, with which I will bake.
Q is for quiche, because it's so tasty.
R is for ribbons for little girl hair.
S is for soup, 'cause Soup Season is here!
T is for The Man, he's totally tops I tell you!
U is for umbrella, as F is obsessed with them.
V is for vibration, and a higher frequency at that.
W is for water, running through my home.
X is for Ximena, who complimented my Spanish accent.
Y is for you, yes, I'm grateful, thankful, for you.

She's 1 on the 11th in 2011

Yep, an actual, real delivery photo.  One year ago today.

And now, a year later, Birthday Dress at Mile Hi

Birthday Muffins

Of course, the Birthday Hat

Kitty is always involved

The Man just congratulated me on "raising another human creature to reasonable survivability."  She walks, she talks a bit, Bpoppah (Papa), Deeee-deeee (Kitty or anything fuzzy n' furry), Yiah-yiaaah (Fiona), makes "nyumm-nyumm" noises if she wants food, or if she thinks something might be food.  She signs almost consistently now, unless she's upset which has shown her to be a tummy-tantrum girl.  E will throw herself on her tummy, spread eagle, and complain loudly.  Little tantrums are beginning to show up, throwing her body around when I wouldn't pick her up immediately today, bonking her head only causing more frustration.  She nods, which is a little unusual for her age, and she'll shake her head as well.  Getting closer to Toddler, Baby E, is very nearly walking on her own.  It's especially entertaining for Big Sister to aid her walking around stores by guiding whatever cart we happen to push.  E will give us "big eyes" when we attempt to correct or guide her away from something.  She's still very noisy, jabbering, humming, plain outright yelling, "buchika-buchika-buchika" among her mouth sounds---is it possible that this one might talk more than the other one??

Here I sit a proud proud Momma with a super great big 5 year old, and a slightly smaller super great big 1 year old.  So neat!

Porter in the Klink

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!

Cat Pecking

ORDER.  The Feline Pecking Order has taken weeks to become established.  There are 2 cats that live with Miss M, one very skittish, stand-offish Pan, and a fairly laid back always hungry Agnes.  At first hiss Porter understood that he was low on the totem, and he acted very respectful as a guest in Their house.  Slowly, slowly Agnes let Porter get a little bit closer, and a little bit closer, every day or so.  At about 2 weeks they were able to be within a couple of feet of each other peaceably.  Then it developed our Cow-Print Killah figured out just how panicky Pan-kitty really is.  So he's turned bully, and chases her up the stairs if he sees her coming down for dinner.  Miss M keeps the spray bottle close at hand so that bullying doesn't get out of hand, but still Pan takes most of her meals in the bedroom.

  

One morning, too early to be human, a catty racket echoed through the house---apparently between Porter and Agnes.  My guess, Porter must have made his move on Agnes to be Top Kitty, and she would have none of it.  He was so unnerved having his tail served to him, he started horking up his dinner.  The Man bolted out of bed and rushed convulsing kitty to the bathroom to avoid cleaning carpet.  In the daylight Porter had a scratch on his nose, and spent the day in his kennel-box under observation.

Currently, the order stands now with 1) Agnes, 2) Porter, and begrudgingly 3) Pan, at least for the next 2 weeks until we move to The Townhouse.

I mentioned Agnes is hungry, always always always hungry.  She'll start the mewing at 4 am or 4 pm making sure to get the early reminder in to the household that it will be time for Her to eat---in two hours!  Apparently she's started panhandling at doors down the street as she was recently returned by a neighborhood kid.  In addition to learning what time food is dished here and adopting local attitudes about it, our kitty is quite taken with the menu here.  He's a special needs kitty, with his Adult Urinary Tract Formula cat food, he cannot eat much of anything else or he'll back up his tract.  It doesn't stop him from getting in where he can though.  The Man came upon him licking out the bowl after Agnes had finished eating.  And when I sprinkled a few meager pieces of food during a feeding one evening, Porter immediately proceeded to hunt down each and every one, munching away.  That's just sad, but then I have to admit that a strict diet of only food that will support urinary tract health doesn't sound appealing to me, either.

As moving day quickly approaches, I'm starting to feel the pressure for real. Miss Monkey was moody today and I'm trying a new method of simple detachment. 4 year old beligerence is amazing, and I'm not going to engage with her any more. She got a bunch of natural consequences today, fell out of a chair (goofing around instead of sitting), got scratched by the cat(tried to stuff him into laundry basket), went to bed without her blankie (forgets where it is every night). I've been talking to her a LOT about thinking before she does something, asking her, "do you think that's a good idea or a bad idea?" and "what could you do differently?" She's made a connection with saying "I'm sorry..." to get out of time out. Well, today, "I don't want an apology, I want you to think about your behavior" let's see what you could change. I feel that at a certian point--when she's squealing n' screamin' sitting in timeout spot--I have no recourse and we need to be separated else frustration emerges in ugly ways. Today I was successful in the dis-engage theme, and did not lose my temper even though I ran up against that gritted teeth feeling in a handful of moments. I probably use the phrase "USE YOUR WORDS" 3 dozen times a day, maybe it's losing potency.

Babies are easy compared to 4 year olds. I should have listened when people exhibited this in their love-the-baby examples. But I am stubborn and like to make things harder than they need to be. First-borns are so SERIOUS.

Moving a household is tough, I don't wish it on anyone. I realized today that The Firstborn has moved Maui to Cali to Colorado (Denver to Broomfield), that's almost one move for every year she's been on the planet with us. This pattern is unacceptable. I am so very very grateful that we will fine a permanent place soon and deepen our roots here.

Spit n' swim

My swimmin' Monkey has a habit of spitting when she emerges from a swim n' dive. Certainly a bit more difficult to catch her little arm and look slightly away to avoid a face full of PBBBB! when she bobs back up. Constant reminders for her to blow bubbles underwater to best avoid the spray---seems to think it's funny.

She enjoys trapping Porter-kitty in various places as well. Most recently after hearing muted repetitive kitty noises, we discovered him inside an end table...locked and barricaded with pillows. Porter has also been buckled into the resurrected high-chair, for check-ups with Dr. Miss Monkey and her early morning antics. One would think that after being trapped in her dress-up box for an inordinate amount of time one day, that cat would have learned his lesson. To his feline credit he is more than a little patient with her, and yet she is still surprised, feelings hurt, when he finally loses his kitty temper and unleashes on her. It's actually a very feline interaction, adult cat batting down that more rambunctious kitten when he/she gets out of hand.

The other spitter in the house really can't help it, as she's only just learning how to eat. Baby E has been a good sleeper when she's sleeping. Most of this first month she's been rather easy. Comparatively though, since I can barely remember any details from the Firstborn's iddy-biddy days, I'm at a loss. Some days baby girl is easy as pie, others however, are, well, not pie but more like a razor-filled cream puff.

A baby's cry is a special thing. It can make people truly crazy. I can take about 10 minutes of crying, if I'm fed and not too too tired. Getting on a bit longer though and my shoulders begin to tense, my teeth set on edge. A crying baby will 'cause me to be in the closet shrieking like a banshee that "I've not a gottdam thing to wear!" The Man swears she was awake when he moved her around. All I know is she was sleeping before he left. Then, finally in the car, my sweet big girl, gives me a hug as I'm buckling her in, "A hug solves everything, Mama."

Baby cries are insane-making for a reason, really causing in humans a reaction to take care of that baby! Makes perfect sense from a species survival standpoint. The thing is, when there's a tiny hedonistic creature crying in one's arms, it's hard not to take it personally. This also makes sense to me 'cause I'm the end-all be-all of existence for this little creature...and as the premiere care-taker it'll get pretty personal if I let it. But it's not personal, babies are non-discriminatory criers. They will scream their sweet cheeks blue for anyone within earshot.

Then there's the flip side, the iddy baby gurgle and coo combo. Tiny yawning stretches, sneezes, coughs, and E's ruthless hiccups that will take on a likeness to barking when really intense.

Oh, the baby love---and the big sister love. Miss F has been truly stellar in her adjustment, has even taken to skipping the diaper/training pants at night. Keeping her bed dry for several nights at a time. Way to go kiddo! Today she was "graduated" to the K-1 room at Mile Hi, a step I was ill prepared for. I kept asking The Man, "really? they said she was old enough? did she have any problems with it? did she enjoy it?"

They just keep growing. Makes it easy for me to keep in mind that soon enough Baby E won't want to sleep on me at all, and will barely stay in my lap wanting to follow big sister. I will remember to enjoy this sweet snugly person while I can. Oh, and by far the best feeling so far is having both of them curling up with me at the same time. I made TWO of them! How NEAT!

Disappeared Kitty

I thought I heard something rather odd.

Party Animals

Little Girl has started partying, already, with Porter. In the middle of the night when she wakes, seemingly because she has to potty, the cat hears her and bounds upstairs. I know that he bounds up the stairs because the infernal you-won't-catch-a-bird-with-this-on bell makes a racket. I swear, somehow the Cowprint Killah sneaks about on occasion with the bell silent---why he won't give us some respectful quiet at 2 am as he's one his way to rile up The Child, I don't know. *snerk*

Fiona tells the story of Porter at night, "Kitty's at my door, an' he says, 'meow let me in meow' and so I let him in...."
Okay, great, but you know, Fiona, you can say, "No, kitty, I'm sleeping." To which she smiles. that angelic-small-child-smile. The partying has got to stop though, 'cause it takes a serious toll on my sleep, not to mention the bear of a child that results when sleep is unstable.

Yesterday afternoon, one moment the clamorous noise of a normal 3 year old, then nothing. When I went to search for the source of the brazen quietude, I found my daughter passed out on the floor. Now, I'm not foolish, I don't wake a sleeping baby or child. Mostly because running the risk of then having a cranky intolerant miniature tyrant on one's hands is unappealing. So, don't wake a sleeping child within reason. It is my job to ensure that she sleeps at night so I have to wake her, gently, such that she'll be manageable for the rest of the evening.
This week has been on this "schedule":
Fiona & Porter party from 2-5 give or take.
I go upstairs to chase Porter out of her room several times, ask her to stay in bed & go back to sleep.
I doze on couch listening to Fiona singing & reading---where at least twice The Cat has hung out where I could see him, waiting for me to fall asleep completely then he returns to The Party. B*stard.
Eventually books drop loudly to the floor one at a time---then she sleeps until 9 or 10 am. Which I admit can be nice in a way, definitely throws off whatever plans I had though. I may not sleep again until that night, but Fiona has passed out on the floor twice this week.

The Cat Snores

Really, I mean he really snores. Some nights when Porter chooses to sleep at the foot of the bed, both Gary and I have been awakened by the soft persistent noise. Lay there awake a few moments, listening hard, discerning whether or not Little Girl is awake upstairs? oh, no, it's just the cat snoring.

Yesterday, a slightly stormy afternoon. Fiona wanted to sit outside, she took her crocheted throw and sat on the Tuffo on the deck out back. After a while I joined her, it drizzled a bit, pit-pats on the impermeable blanket backing. We brought up the big side huddling under the green stripes, listening for Tha 'Under. Once or twice thunder rumbled above us or nearby, Fiona, grey eyes wide, ears perked, "Tha 'Under! Tha 'Under, Mama!" she quiets again, listening with her whole being. She takes great care to ensure all my appendages under the blank-tent, asking me if I'm cozy. Little Moment.

días del gato de los muertos

The unassuming cow-print cat has killed again.
About a week ago Porter-kitty caught the mouse that had been traveling from behind the fridge to under the dishwasher. It took a bit of time for him to figure out why I had moved his food dish to the kitchen. After coaxing him to sit in a chair, he drew a bead on mousy immediately as it appeared to sample some cat food. Once caught this particular mouse gave Porter a run for his money, Porter took him downstairs to toy with. But eventually, I'll now refer to it as Mouse1, escaped after being severely batted about.

Now comes the waiting. Our tireless feline stalked the kitchen for at least a day before sighting another mouse, as I now believe them to be different mice, Mouse2. While bathing Little Girl one evening last week, I heard a bang n' crash, Porter-hit-the-floor. When I was able to investigate, I saw Porter smash Mouse2 against foot of recliner chair, I do mean smash. When Mouse2 started bleeding out, a long carpet cleaning task flashed in my mind. I stopped the melee for a moment, asked Porter to move into the kitchen, where at least there is only laminate floor, picked up mouse by tail and lobbed toward the dishwasher. Porter then proceeded to do what cats do best with slightly inanimate objects, smeared it all over the floor, batted Mouse2 about, then promptly ate it up with a chew-CHOMP-CRUNCH!

Fiona watched a little, giggled at the spectacle of feline-death-play, but only at the entrance to the kitchen as I would not let her pad around the bespattered kitchen floor in her pajama-ed feet. I asked what she thought Ported was doing, she replied, "Playing!"
While doing laundry the other day, my multiple trips downstairs I noticed Bovine-Feline's excited state...then I spotted fat Mouse1 that he was hunting. A couple of hours later another trip downstairs I realized that Porter had been stalking the big chair in our bed room for most of the afternoon. Mouse1 must have claimed asylum under it. Porter was simply beside himself with kitty frustration. So, I helped. While I would never kill a mouse myself, I will provide a cat to "take care of" the mouse issue. That is after all the natural order. I lifted both the chair and the ottoman, Porter scrabbled about some, but no sign of Mouse1.
The saga continues....

Dia del la Mierda del Gato

Or if you prefer..."Jour de la merde de chat" sounds more sexy-pretentious, no? Maybe "Giorno della merda del gatto"? Oh, "Tag der Katze-Scheiße" 'cause everything sounds mean in German. Or how about "День дерьма кота" just for sh*ts n' giggles?

First let us review the CAT. His name is Porter, we adopted him on Oahu, he started thinnish, now chubby, but always been spotted like cow---except when he's been dyed blue. After some initial trepidation Gary has completely given over to this cat, it is an understatement to say that the man would be crushed should something happen to the Pookus MacDookus. Which is odd, considering The Man is technically allergic to cats, and is an admitted prior cat-hater. ANYWAY, we have a special super-kewl-neato-fer-sure Litter Maid auto-box with kitty cabana (ask me sometime about Gary trying to assemble that thing). Now this may be one of the only times I will adhere to what the advertising on the box says, regarding using only litter maid litter. We've tried others and it literally doesn't work as well, smell, dust, clumping, etc. The litter maid litter truly is better with this particular sh*t box. It is expensive though, and so happens that a lot of it is wasted in the machine's raking process, I've devised a method to 'save' it somewhat. Part of my afternoon was spent sifting cat sh*t. The rest of my afternoon was spent shifting Porter turd from my clothes, here's why;

Fiona likes to close Porter-kitty's closet door (where the litter box is located), sometimes poor PK gets stuck IN the closet as she has closed it when he's cabana-ed doing his bizness. Before we left for the race in Utah, The Toddleator had closed the door and we neglected to make sure it was open before departure. When we returned home that Sunday evening Porter was beside himself with kitty glee, I opened the closet immediately and briefly searched for cat smell throughout the house. I caught a whiff in my closet but it dissipated and I chalked it to paranoid nasal hallucination. This morning however, my vain attempt to find things that still fit in my closet led me deeper into the first shelf than I had been in a while what with the tri-clothing getting most of the attention, articles that no longer fit simply being ignored and buried...I grabbed a shirt, then the cat pee smell wafted and out flew several dessicated cat turds. I looked closer, and still closer. The realization hit me, and all I could do was chuckle some, began singing "the cat shit in my closet" song. At that point I didn't have the time to clean it all up---besides it was going to be a closet overhaul and I needed more than the insane, frantic fuming attempt would have produced at that point. So, after Little One's nap time I took my time with the disinfectant and deodorizers sorting out the clothes, cleaning everything, more laundry to do (still may not be redeemable clothing though). I glimpsed the large piece of bark Fiona had adopted during a walk, and the idea that "holee goodness, it's everywhere!" flitted through my mind....then I recognized the mulch chunk for what it was. The damage was contained on the one shelf, luckily. Cat piss in one's closet is a super-closet-cleaning motivator! I can be grateful that this didn't happen on Kauai where everything mildews...it could have been so much worse.

In other news, the phrase of the day is "Mommmy, mommy, heolp itt", in use when asking for help with an item OR when attempting to help me with a task. Yesterday's phrases were, "mommy gotch-yoo" and "babee gotch-ooo". The Toddleator asked me for a diaper this morning, I asked her if she wanted to sit on the potty, "Jeasss" was the answer...and voila, poop in the potty! She was proud, I think.

That's my day today, lots of poop, sh*t, doo-doo, doodle, feces, scat...
Mommy or not, Here I Am.