Several days ago we let Rachel know that she would be expected to stay home tonight; she could make plans for tomorrow, even if they involve Cheese and I would drive her (or them) to whatever destination she had in mind. We gave her the advanced notice because Ian was sure that he would be feeling up to snuff today, finally, and we need someone to stay home with Kevin, so that Ian and I can finally get out of the house. She didn't seem to have a problem with this--until today, when Cheese asked her to go to a movie with him.
Now, we specifically targeted Rachel to be home with Kevin (for his sake, we're not referring to it as "babysitting" because that apparently is offensive) because Alex has had plans in place for a long time. Valentine's Day is on a school night this year, and having the sense to plan things out, he and Stephanie decided that they would celebrate it a few days early this year; he picked a nice restaurant, made a reservation, and afterward they'll walk the two blocks to the theater for a movie. He asked us several weeks ago if we would drive them there and if, after we picked them up, if we minded one more stop some place to get dessert, and if we wanted to join them, we were more than welcome (we won't, but that's beside the point.)
Now that Cheese has asked her out, life is woefully unfair. How was she supposed to know that he would want to go out tonight and not tomorrow? Why can't Alex stay home? It's not like he hasn't already been out with Stephanie a million times. We are so unfair!
Ian let her wind up and vent, then reminded her that Alex has done his fair share of staying home to keep an eye on both Kevin and her, and he has canceled plans in the past in order to accommodate our parental whims. Now that she's older, it's her turn to step up and do something she doesn't want to do; Alex had plans first, and his are, frankly, more important.
Then Rachel made her first real mistake. Ian can overlook an occasional flare-up of disappointed temper, but when he said Alex's plans were more important, she said, "Well that's just bullshit!" She said it loudly, and she said it with emphasis of the bullshit.
I just wanted to shake my head sadly. Up until she said that, she was fine. He understood she was upset. But now she's grounded, and ohmygod, you'd think he'd rescinded his permission to date at all, ever again, and told her that she will never speak to, text with, or even think of boys from here on out.
Needless to say, she is so outraged that Kevin was actually uncomfortable being left alone with her tonight.
Ian drove Alex on his date, and during an incidental phone call with my dad a few minutes ago I related his granddaughter's latest teenaged drama queen moment, and when he was done howling with laughter (not that he can relate or anything, because I was never this dramatic. Really!) he said he would be over in half an hour so that we could still go out.
I tried to assure him that we were grown up enough to withstand the disappointment, but no, he insists. The lesson is Rachel's to learn: her temper doesn't get to change anything, and if she's going to act like a small child, she's getting a babysitter like a small child. She is going to be furious when he gets here, because my dad will make her sit in the living room with him. He's not going to let her hide in her room with her cell phone, texting to all her friends about what awful parents she has.
I almost wish we could stick around to witness her entire indignation ;)
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Kitty No Name No More
Our newest addition spent far too much time without a name; the kids debated it, Ian humored them, and I complained about her nameless state until he pointed out that our other two cats were rarely called the same thing for years and seem to understand who's who. But, during dinner, when given two choices, Oz or Weezer, the vote was 4-1 in favor of Weezer.
My consolation was that Oz can be her middle name ;)
There was some concern yesterday that we weren't going to be able to keep her, after all. One of Kevin's friends was calling around to everyone he knew in the neighborhood because his cat's kittens had gone missing and they had found all but one, and it turned out that yes, this little girl was the missing kitten. He told us, sadly, that he knew where she lived and who owned her, but ten minutes later the boy's mother called back to tell us that they only wanted to know where she was and that she was all right. They were getting ready to try to find homes for all the kittens--and hey, if we wanted another one, they had two more!
One more cat here is enough, at least until Ian decided to become a crazy cat lady.
He is totally taken with this kitten and lets her crawl all over him, and he still says he doesn't like cats. I think he's just afraid he'll have to turn his man card in if he admits he likes the cats as much as he likes the dog. It also amazes me how easily Goofy, Pluto, and Tank accepted her. There was no hissing and spitting and no barking, but I think Weezer is getting tired of being bathed by other cats, and especially by Tank's giant tongue.
My consolation was that Oz can be her middle name ;)
There was some concern yesterday that we weren't going to be able to keep her, after all. One of Kevin's friends was calling around to everyone he knew in the neighborhood because his cat's kittens had gone missing and they had found all but one, and it turned out that yes, this little girl was the missing kitten. He told us, sadly, that he knew where she lived and who owned her, but ten minutes later the boy's mother called back to tell us that they only wanted to know where she was and that she was all right. They were getting ready to try to find homes for all the kittens--and hey, if we wanted another one, they had two more!
One more cat here is enough, at least until Ian decided to become a crazy cat lady.
He is totally taken with this kitten and lets her crawl all over him, and he still says he doesn't like cats. I think he's just afraid he'll have to turn his man card in if he admits he likes the cats as much as he likes the dog. It also amazes me how easily Goofy, Pluto, and Tank accepted her. There was no hissing and spitting and no barking, but I think Weezer is getting tired of being bathed by other cats, and especially by Tank's giant tongue.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
She's still mine, even so
 |
| What a black kitten might look like |
The boys want to call her Lucifer.
My daughter wants to call her Weezer.
Char, Hoover or Dyson.
Kitty needs a new name, I guess.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
It happened because I was sick, dammit
We had a snap of seriously cold weather recently, like half the country, it seems. I slept through a lot of it, but I wasn’t in a coma and I wasn’t immune to hearing the kids both complain about it (we can’t go anywhere!) and celebrate it (no school!) At some point I heard Alex telling Kevin he needed help moving the dog house closer to the back door, which puzzled me because there was no reason to put Tank outside for more than a minute at a time.
But, when I heard Rachel digging in the hall closet, I got up to ask her what they were doing. She was looking for old towels and blankets because there was a kitten hanging around the back yard and they didn’t want it to freeze.
I vaguely remembered hearing the weather on the news; even with the doghouse, that cat would have been a goner. The temperature wasn’t going to come anywhere near zero, and the wind chill was in the sub-twenties.
This is how I know I was sick: I told them to grab it if they could, and then set up a place for it in my office. We have two cats so there was cat food in the house and they’re pretty clever; they could come up with a litter box. I told the kids to make sure the door stayed closed and to keep Tank and our cats away from it, and then went back to bed. And then I forgot about our feline visitor.
Yesterday morning Char reminded me of the extra furball and said it was warming up; the cat would be all right outside as long as I let the kids keep feeding it and provided blankets in the dog house. But it had been in the office long enough already, and if they were feeding it, they might as well keep feeding it inside.
Just keep the dog away from it, so he wouldn’t be tempted to eat it, and the other cats, because they’re both borderline stupid and who knows what they would do?
Yesterday evening, though, someone left the office door open. I heard soft meowing and a dog whining, so I tore into there, afraid Tank was having himself either a snack, or just terrorizing it. I walked into the room where Tank was curled up on the floor and Goofy and Pluto lounged on the chair with this little black furball between them.
There was massive head licking, but no fighting.
I picked the little furball up and realized it was maybe 3 months old. And it purred hard, trying to crawl up my arm so it could rub against my face. With an oh holy crap feeling I sat on the floor and let it crawl on me, wanting to see what Tank and the other cats would do.
And the biggest mistake? Char walked in and saw me playing with this kitten and joined in.
Char presumed we were only left with a few choices: put her back outside (there was a gender check) and risk her running off to who knows what, try to find her a home, or take her to a no kill shelter. Because she knew, without a doubt, that I would not allow another cat in this house.
But, she’s just a kitten and the dog didn’t try to eat her. Goofy and Pluto seem to love her. She might die if put outside. In a shelter she might not find a family for months, and as hard as she was purring, she needs people. I don’t know anyone of our friends who want a cat. And really, what’s one more cat to feed?
I want to keep her.
No, Char couldn’t believe I was saying that any more than I could. The kids spent the afternoon looking for missing cat flyers around the neighborhood just in case, and looked for a mother cat looking for her kitten, but nothing turned up. We’ll still keep an eye out but I think we have another cat.
Her name is Cheeto, and screw the kids, she’s mine.
But, when I heard Rachel digging in the hall closet, I got up to ask her what they were doing. She was looking for old towels and blankets because there was a kitten hanging around the back yard and they didn’t want it to freeze.
I vaguely remembered hearing the weather on the news; even with the doghouse, that cat would have been a goner. The temperature wasn’t going to come anywhere near zero, and the wind chill was in the sub-twenties.
This is how I know I was sick: I told them to grab it if they could, and then set up a place for it in my office. We have two cats so there was cat food in the house and they’re pretty clever; they could come up with a litter box. I told the kids to make sure the door stayed closed and to keep Tank and our cats away from it, and then went back to bed. And then I forgot about our feline visitor.
Yesterday morning Char reminded me of the extra furball and said it was warming up; the cat would be all right outside as long as I let the kids keep feeding it and provided blankets in the dog house. But it had been in the office long enough already, and if they were feeding it, they might as well keep feeding it inside.
Just keep the dog away from it, so he wouldn’t be tempted to eat it, and the other cats, because they’re both borderline stupid and who knows what they would do?
Yesterday evening, though, someone left the office door open. I heard soft meowing and a dog whining, so I tore into there, afraid Tank was having himself either a snack, or just terrorizing it. I walked into the room where Tank was curled up on the floor and Goofy and Pluto lounged on the chair with this little black furball between them.
There was massive head licking, but no fighting.
I picked the little furball up and realized it was maybe 3 months old. And it purred hard, trying to crawl up my arm so it could rub against my face. With an oh holy crap feeling I sat on the floor and let it crawl on me, wanting to see what Tank and the other cats would do.
And the biggest mistake? Char walked in and saw me playing with this kitten and joined in.
Char presumed we were only left with a few choices: put her back outside (there was a gender check) and risk her running off to who knows what, try to find her a home, or take her to a no kill shelter. Because she knew, without a doubt, that I would not allow another cat in this house.
But, she’s just a kitten and the dog didn’t try to eat her. Goofy and Pluto seem to love her. She might die if put outside. In a shelter she might not find a family for months, and as hard as she was purring, she needs people. I don’t know anyone of our friends who want a cat. And really, what’s one more cat to feed?
I want to keep her.
No, Char couldn’t believe I was saying that any more than I could. The kids spent the afternoon looking for missing cat flyers around the neighborhood just in case, and looked for a mother cat looking for her kitten, but nothing turned up. We’ll still keep an eye out but I think we have another cat.
Her name is Cheeto, and screw the kids, she’s mine.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
There's always next week
Yesterday evening at around 8:30 I put Alex in charge of his sister and brother, grabbed a stack of DVDs, a bowl of popcorn, and joined Ian in the bedroom. He grumbled all day about not being able to take me anywhere on our anniversary, but for me, just curling up on bed to watch a movie with him was wonderful.
I think I heard a dozen times yesterday, "I'm feeling a lot better. I'm not nearly as tired as I was." He even ate more than a few bites of his lunch, and sat at the table with the rest of the family at dinner. He was determined to be present as much as possible yesterday, worried that if he didn't, he would "ruin" our anniversary.
Propped up in bed, he nibbled at the popcorn and declared he didn't care what we watched, leaving it up to me. I picked one I knew he'd wanted to see, RED, got it going, and then curled up next to him.
Around 8:30 I realized he hadn't said anything for a good 5 minutes and that his breathing had slowed down...he was already deep asleep. So much for feeling better and not being as tired.
But, he had tried hard all day.
This morning he did look better. He's not as pale as he's been and he doesn't feel warm to the touch. The one thing he's wanted to eat lately, Trix, my dad brought over for him and he killed a fairly big bowl of it at breakfast, so I have high hopes that the worst of it is over.
If he keeps improving over the weekend we may have a late celebration next week. My dad said he would stay with the kids if we wanted to go skiing or "something." Nice, Dad ;) I may take him up on it, even if we just head up and sit in the condo and watch the snow outside.
But no matter what he thinks, he didn't "ruin" our anniversary. We spent it together, and that's all that matters.
I think I heard a dozen times yesterday, "I'm feeling a lot better. I'm not nearly as tired as I was." He even ate more than a few bites of his lunch, and sat at the table with the rest of the family at dinner. He was determined to be present as much as possible yesterday, worried that if he didn't, he would "ruin" our anniversary.
Propped up in bed, he nibbled at the popcorn and declared he didn't care what we watched, leaving it up to me. I picked one I knew he'd wanted to see, RED, got it going, and then curled up next to him.
Around 8:30 I realized he hadn't said anything for a good 5 minutes and that his breathing had slowed down...he was already deep asleep. So much for feeling better and not being as tired.
But, he had tried hard all day.
This morning he did look better. He's not as pale as he's been and he doesn't feel warm to the touch. The one thing he's wanted to eat lately, Trix, my dad brought over for him and he killed a fairly big bowl of it at breakfast, so I have high hopes that the worst of it is over.
If he keeps improving over the weekend we may have a late celebration next week. My dad said he would stay with the kids if we wanted to go skiing or "something." Nice, Dad ;) I may take him up on it, even if we just head up and sit in the condo and watch the snow outside.
But no matter what he thinks, he didn't "ruin" our anniversary. We spent it together, and that's all that matters.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I'm alive...alive...!
I've been mostly curled up in bed for the last week, feeling like I was run over by a loaded down semi, alternately shivering because I could not get warm, and kicking the blankets off because I felt too hot. I haven't felt that bad in a long time, and I think Char is amazed because I haven't been that still for a long time, either. I slept away much of it, had the TV on when I was awake, but I couldn't tell you what was on, and I drank every time Char told me to. Eating, that was a different matter. Food held no appeal at all, and as much as she wanted me to, I couldn't make myself do more than nibble.
As bad as I felt, I know it was really a fairly mild case of the flu. I wasn't coughing up my lungs, just had a mildly irritating cough once in a while. So there was little doubt that as long as I stayed in bed and stayed hydrated, I'd get over it without any problems.
The thing is, I missed my daughter's birthday. I hate missing birthdays. I missed being the one to drive her to her first date, and while Brad did an excellent job of terrifying her date in my stead, there's nothing like doing the job yourself. Hell, he may have done a better job. I was only going to make him squirm until I dropped the kids off at the mall; Brad went into the theater with them and sat a dozen rows back. Rachel's date, the boy named Cheese, didn't even dare put his arm around her, because that giant, scary black dude would probably lift him out of his chair by his scalp.
I give the kid credit; he still called her the next day, and I don't think either one of them will complain about me being the one driving them places in the future.
But the thing that has me bummed out the most; I'm still running a low temperature and still don't feel up to snuff, and tomorrow is our 16th anniversary. We had plans, all of which Char has already canceled. I'm grateful that we'll still spend it together, but it's liable to just be curled up on the bed watching a DVD, listening to the kids argue in the living room.
We'll make do.
I also had it in my head that Alex would be able to get his learner's permit tomorrow, but apparently I jumped the gun by a month on that. Which, actually, I'm glad about, because by then I'll be able to take him to the DMV for the test.
Char sure as hell doesn't want to.
She refuses to admit he turns 16 this year.
Which is fine, because I refuse to admit I turn 50.
As bad as I felt, I know it was really a fairly mild case of the flu. I wasn't coughing up my lungs, just had a mildly irritating cough once in a while. So there was little doubt that as long as I stayed in bed and stayed hydrated, I'd get over it without any problems.
The thing is, I missed my daughter's birthday. I hate missing birthdays. I missed being the one to drive her to her first date, and while Brad did an excellent job of terrifying her date in my stead, there's nothing like doing the job yourself. Hell, he may have done a better job. I was only going to make him squirm until I dropped the kids off at the mall; Brad went into the theater with them and sat a dozen rows back. Rachel's date, the boy named Cheese, didn't even dare put his arm around her, because that giant, scary black dude would probably lift him out of his chair by his scalp.
I give the kid credit; he still called her the next day, and I don't think either one of them will complain about me being the one driving them places in the future.
But the thing that has me bummed out the most; I'm still running a low temperature and still don't feel up to snuff, and tomorrow is our 16th anniversary. We had plans, all of which Char has already canceled. I'm grateful that we'll still spend it together, but it's liable to just be curled up on the bed watching a DVD, listening to the kids argue in the living room.
We'll make do.
I also had it in my head that Alex would be able to get his learner's permit tomorrow, but apparently I jumped the gun by a month on that. Which, actually, I'm glad about, because by then I'll be able to take him to the DMV for the test.
Char sure as hell doesn't want to.
She refuses to admit he turns 16 this year.
Which is fine, because I refuse to admit I turn 50.
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