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Thu, Jul 28, 2005 11:00 PM
Mother of the Year

So we're sitting in the living room the other night and Calvin brings me his carton of milk so that I may bow at his feet and pour his royal drink (I'm going to install a lock on that damn fridge).

Just as I finished pouring the milk and was getting ready to screw on the cup lid, Joep thought it'd be hilarious to kick a throw pillow in my general direction, right into the cup of milk, sending the milk flying in all sorts of different directions including, but not limited to: my feet, my hands, and MY LAST PAIR OF CLEAN JEANS.

My knee-jerk reaction was a "DAMMIT, JOEP!", but I was good and merely uttered, "ohhhhh...."

And then Calvin came to my rescue and took it upon himself to finish my thought. "Dod-dammit, Papa".

*sigh* Don't worry. I'm turning myself in tomorrow morning.

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Wed, Jul 27, 2005 8:00 PM
Guilt By Association?

The other evening Calvin found a pinny (penny!) on the floor. What was his reaction?

a) Mama! A pinny!
b) Mama! A corter (quarter)!
c) Mama! Gamma!

For those of you who guessed "a" or "b", you obviously aren't familiar with my Mother, the Finder of All Things Copper.

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Thu, Jul 14, 2005 10:00 PM
Chawlie

20 years ago on February 27th, my mom gave me a little grey kitten with a white beard, white bib and white socks. I named him Charlie after Charlie the Tuna (hey, I was 5, lemme alone).

5 years ago, I adopted the first of what would be 3 kitties that Calvin will grow up with. Milhouse was a tiny grey fluff ball that moved with me to Nebraska back in June of 2000. 4 months later, I adopted the second kitty, Thea. Milhouse was not pleased. And to this day, she still sometimes reminds me.

A year later in October of 2001, Joep & I found an abandoned and abused little tabby cat outside some vacant office buildings near our old apartment. We named her Hobbes without realizing that 6 months later, we'd find out we were pregnant with a son that we would eventually name Calvin (for the last time, no, Calvin was not named after the comic strip. Hobbes was, though.)

Since the surrounding counties only allow 3 pets per household, Hobbes completed the family of fuzzies that would soon become Calvin's big "sisters" and, hopefully, his lifelong companions. Just like Charlie was to me.

Charlie tolerated years and years of loving abuse at the hands of my well-intentioned self. (Really, at the time, putting Charlie in the wire basket of my bike with his leash and collar seemed like an excellent idea. Until he jumped out and I dragged him a good 40 feet behind my bike. I now understand why he removed a layer of my skin when I tried to place him back in the basket.)

He tolerated the sweaters and t-shirts I'd force him into and although he refused to move while adorned in kitty clothing, I never seemed to catch on that maybe perhaps he didn't so much enjoy playing dress up as much as I did.

He kept me warm in the winters and curled up next to me in the bathroom in the front of the vent where the warmest air would be. You know, since my mom kept the house hovering at just above freezing temperatures (hey, we did what was necessary). And I happily shared the lone heat source with my Cheese.

One time, when I was younger, Charlie got me into trouble. And to this day, I still don't know if my mom believed me when I said that I SWEAR TO GOD IT WAS CHARLIE THAT JUMPED ONTO THE PIANO IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND CAUSED ALL THE RACKET, NOT ME!! I forgave him, though. It was hard to stay mad at that face. Just like it's sometimes hard to stay mad at Calvin when he WON'T STOP TOUCHING THAT. OR THROWING THINGS. OR REFUSING TO EAT ANYTHING RESEMBLING FOOD.

And in return, Charlie forgave me for that time when I closed the window separating the 2 bedrooms in our old house and called to him, knowing full well that he'd take a flying leap right into a pane of glass (it was always normally open). He even forgave me for doing to it him again after I realized just how funny it was.

And once again, I returned the favor by forgiving him for attacking my face and arms the night I learned that you NEVER MESS WITH A CAT IN HEAT.

It's easy to forgive someone you love.

2 days ago, on July 12th, I came home from work to learn that I was never going to get to hold my original baby cat again. My mom had to take him to the vet and help him pass away because there was just too much pain and as much as we wanted him to stay with us, it wouldn't have been fair to make him suffer just because we wanted more time with him.

My first reaction was shock, after which my heart shattered into a million pieces. Our Cheese was gone. We had 20 years with him, but I wanted more. It wasn't fair. What's the point of getting to love something only to have it taken away in our lifetime? I couldn't decide if I was more angry or more sad. I realized I was more sad.

And then it hit me. Calvin is going to have to go through this at least 3 times in his lifetime and we're going to have to teach him how to cope with it, all while coping with it ourselves. How do you explain to someone who's never dealt with the death of a pet that it's "just a part of life", while wiping tears away from your own face?

How do you teach your child that? And sometimes, even more importantly, how do I tell my mom how grateful I am that she gave me the chance to experience a pet even when she knew this day was coming? Why is it that the life's lessons most worth learning are the ones that hurt the most?

I hope Calvin reads this some day and understands that we chose to surround him with pets and love and companionship mostly because the years of good memories will far outweigh the hurt that comes with them. I know my mom did the same and I will be forever grateful.

Thanks, Charlie, for staying with us long enough to meet Calvin. And thanks for letting him "pet" you and for answering to toddler bellows of, "CHAWLIE!" I wish I could tell you how much you will be missed.

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