Over the years I have vacuumed and discarded two or three (maybe more) cats. Now that Mr. Cat has departed, removing the cat hair has a permanence to it--thus is more rewarding.
I now have a table cloth without a chance of cat hair. My ironing board (he just had to help!) will be cat-hair free. The Dyson Pet (I still love this thing) found lots of kitty fur about on the carpet of the first floor yesterday. Today I washed the quilt--more cat hair down the drain, and removed via the dryer lint screen.
I know it will take years---just like their memories, cat linger on. When we moved once, I found a cat hair in the back of the freezer---and the cat had been dead 6 years. I know I had cleaned that freezer in that time, but there it was, easily identifiable as belonging to our dearly departed! Have no idea how it got there---the cat was NEVER in the freezer either!
So our post-Mr. Cat life is different--no one to blame but ourselves, for a mess. Fewer spoons in the dishwasher. Won't be using as many sandwich bags (he only ate 1/2can of food at a sitting). Don't have to empty a litter box on Wednesday and Sunday. Can do laundry without any chance that something will accidentally fall into the litter box (usually this only happened to clean laundry due to the room arrangement...) Don't have to worry about locking him out on the porch. Have no one waking me up before I wish to get up. Yesterday, I did some sewing--and did not have to worry about things flying off my work table, or "someone" sitting on my embroidery arm!!!
Even the chipmunk that lives between the rocks under the kitchen window seems less edgy--no feline watching his every move from behind the screen....
You forget how much work pets are---when you have a ball of fur to warm up your lap as you knit......
Random musings of a middle aged knitter.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
An unintended bonus
Almost 18 years ago, we set off as a family (mom, 4 kids) to the humane society. The goal was to get a dog. The youngest had begged for a dog for a long time--and Dad had put it off for a long time, saying we did not have a fenced yard, so we would have to wait. When we bought the "new" house, neither of the adults saw it---the fenced in area for the former owners dog---but were now trapped in the parental promise!!! So, having read the books, we were in search of a family-friendly dog.
We found her (but that is another story line). While there, "Mr. Cat" found us. He was a few ounces of fur, unceremoniously dropped off by a person that did not want him or his litter mates---the result of some random pairing of perhaps not even their own cat, but a mama who choose their garage, or whatever. He was unwanted.
I don't remember which one suggested that we also look at the adorable kitties (but I suspect it was the oldest--having great attachments with two former "family" cats). We had been Cat people--and somehow this little ball of fluff made himself so adorable, that I caved, and we came home with a cat and a dog! The kids said later that he chose me...which may have been true.
The first week was rocky--he got kennel cough and almost died. He lost weight (they had been dropped off before they were weaned). He had fleas, and the treatment to rid both pets of them almost rid us of him too. But, he was a trooper, and grew to be an enormous tiger cat--akin to the folk drawings of wide-bodied felines. His given name was "Turbo", selected by child 3 based on the way he raced around as a kitten. An just like all other males in my household, he was never called by his first name. He became Herr Katza--Mr. Cat, which fit him perfectly. As in, "Mr. to you" cat. He as our "cat-man!"
He was a "lover", but on his own terms. He thought he was over 6 feet tall, being toted around on the shoulders of two tall teens for many years. He had an affinity for ear lobes, being removed from his mother too soon. He had a love/hate relationships with the dog, which entertained us regularly with something akin to the world wrestling federation! When she died, he never got over it, which sent him in to a deep depression.
He had "adjusted" as each child left, turning his attention more and more to the two grownups left. He weathered the move to a new house, and found new challenges to living in a house in the country, where watchfulness might reward you with a rodent, or at least a good chase. He was instantly and strangely attracted to wicker porch furniture purchased shortly after the dog died, and made it his favorite place for all the months it was warm enough to survey his world from the screen porch. He made the most of the Happy Cat Pet Bed, the Special Kitty pet Bed, and the "Love Bucket" for cats, in rotation--during the day! At night, most nights, he persistently found a way to sap body heat from one of the two owners.
He once triumphantly presented an eviscerated chipmunk, which he had "taken down" when it invaded his space. (See prior post) That, we suspect, was the beginning of his end--a chipmunk that had probably ingested some poison. He rapidly lost weight. Within a year, the vet diagnosed a "liver mass". We declined exploratory surgery. We tried medicines for awhile, but he rejected them. Finally, we decided to give in, and just let him chart the course. The hospice began.
There was food finickiness. He was adamant about his porch time. He started sleeping as close as you would allow him to your head. He walked slower, stopped being an aerialist, and finally stopped trying to help with the knitting, enjoying instead a snuggle in the products of the needles. We almost forgot that this was not normal--until a visitor would comment on our "skinny cat". We adapted as we went along--and finally, his food (previously delivered on the kitchen island long after any need for keeping his food away from the dog existed) moved to the floor, as he could no longer negotiate the tall leap.
He continued to enjoy porch time in his favorite chair and serious lap/TV time with the grown ups. He never complained. The sweet and loving disposition was there until the end. In the end, it was the body that give out. His little sparkly eyes were there, even though the legs could not longer move the body that was really just his bones, covered with fur.
Although we are sad, remember the 17.5 years of unconditional love he supplied to the family he made his own. He was a special friend to each of us and dimension of our shared experience as a family. His remains will be fittingly placed with his best friend, his dog, whom he never stopped missing.
Our house is quiet now, without his "comments", the thunks of his jumps, the "tink" of his tag, the sound of the cycling of the auto litter box--each gone. We can read the newspaper without moving a limp, protesting cat around on the print. One can eat their cereal without having to protect the bowl from his desire to share the milk. When one finishes with yogurt, there is no need to scrape out the last bits for the hovering demanding cat. Ice cream is your own! Potato chips are not knocked from your hand on the way to your mouth. Making a ham sandwich does not require that you hold the ham high in the air! We can now walk through a darkened house with confidence that we will not be tripped, and can sit anywhere we please without looking first. It is a different lifestyle with no cat litter tracks to sweep up.
He was am amazingly old cat who had a great life, and despite his failing body, enjoyed what he could until the end! He loved each of "his people" and those they added to our family, even tolerating the annoying "grand dog" that would occasionally show up to spend the weekend.
The old cat chart does not go high enough to capture his age--but around 108 is probably close. 17.5 years is a long time---He will be missed, not forgotten, but also not replaced. It takes too many years to teach them how to knit!
We found her (but that is another story line). While there, "Mr. Cat" found us. He was a few ounces of fur, unceremoniously dropped off by a person that did not want him or his litter mates---the result of some random pairing of perhaps not even their own cat, but a mama who choose their garage, or whatever. He was unwanted.
I don't remember which one suggested that we also look at the adorable kitties (but I suspect it was the oldest--having great attachments with two former "family" cats). We had been Cat people--and somehow this little ball of fluff made himself so adorable, that I caved, and we came home with a cat and a dog! The kids said later that he chose me...which may have been true.
The first week was rocky--he got kennel cough and almost died. He lost weight (they had been dropped off before they were weaned). He had fleas, and the treatment to rid both pets of them almost rid us of him too. But, he was a trooper, and grew to be an enormous tiger cat--akin to the folk drawings of wide-bodied felines. His given name was "Turbo", selected by child 3 based on the way he raced around as a kitten. An just like all other males in my household, he was never called by his first name. He became Herr Katza--Mr. Cat, which fit him perfectly. As in, "Mr. to you" cat. He as our "cat-man!"
He was a "lover", but on his own terms. He thought he was over 6 feet tall, being toted around on the shoulders of two tall teens for many years. He had an affinity for ear lobes, being removed from his mother too soon. He had a love/hate relationships with the dog, which entertained us regularly with something akin to the world wrestling federation! When she died, he never got over it, which sent him in to a deep depression.
He had "adjusted" as each child left, turning his attention more and more to the two grownups left. He weathered the move to a new house, and found new challenges to living in a house in the country, where watchfulness might reward you with a rodent, or at least a good chase. He was instantly and strangely attracted to wicker porch furniture purchased shortly after the dog died, and made it his favorite place for all the months it was warm enough to survey his world from the screen porch. He made the most of the Happy Cat Pet Bed, the Special Kitty pet Bed, and the "Love Bucket" for cats, in rotation--during the day! At night, most nights, he persistently found a way to sap body heat from one of the two owners.
He once triumphantly presented an eviscerated chipmunk, which he had "taken down" when it invaded his space. (See prior post) That, we suspect, was the beginning of his end--a chipmunk that had probably ingested some poison. He rapidly lost weight. Within a year, the vet diagnosed a "liver mass". We declined exploratory surgery. We tried medicines for awhile, but he rejected them. Finally, we decided to give in, and just let him chart the course. The hospice began.
There was food finickiness. He was adamant about his porch time. He started sleeping as close as you would allow him to your head. He walked slower, stopped being an aerialist, and finally stopped trying to help with the knitting, enjoying instead a snuggle in the products of the needles. We almost forgot that this was not normal--until a visitor would comment on our "skinny cat". We adapted as we went along--and finally, his food (previously delivered on the kitchen island long after any need for keeping his food away from the dog existed) moved to the floor, as he could no longer negotiate the tall leap.
He continued to enjoy porch time in his favorite chair and serious lap/TV time with the grown ups. He never complained. The sweet and loving disposition was there until the end. In the end, it was the body that give out. His little sparkly eyes were there, even though the legs could not longer move the body that was really just his bones, covered with fur.
Although we are sad, remember the 17.5 years of unconditional love he supplied to the family he made his own. He was a special friend to each of us and dimension of our shared experience as a family. His remains will be fittingly placed with his best friend, his dog, whom he never stopped missing.
Our house is quiet now, without his "comments", the thunks of his jumps, the "tink" of his tag, the sound of the cycling of the auto litter box--each gone. We can read the newspaper without moving a limp, protesting cat around on the print. One can eat their cereal without having to protect the bowl from his desire to share the milk. When one finishes with yogurt, there is no need to scrape out the last bits for the hovering demanding cat. Ice cream is your own! Potato chips are not knocked from your hand on the way to your mouth. Making a ham sandwich does not require that you hold the ham high in the air! We can now walk through a darkened house with confidence that we will not be tripped, and can sit anywhere we please without looking first. It is a different lifestyle with no cat litter tracks to sweep up.
He was am amazingly old cat who had a great life, and despite his failing body, enjoyed what he could until the end! He loved each of "his people" and those they added to our family, even tolerating the annoying "grand dog" that would occasionally show up to spend the weekend.
The old cat chart does not go high enough to capture his age--but around 108 is probably close. 17.5 years is a long time---He will be missed, not forgotten, but also not replaced. It takes too many years to teach them how to knit!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Is there an invisible travelers aide sign?
We live on three acres in a area of sparse population--just off the road to nowhere. Yet is amazes me how many people end up driving up my private driveway to ask for directions!
If you get off the freeway, and head north, hoping to find something, you will travel several miles, and realize that you have made a wrong turn somewhere---except that you haven't---this is all that is here!! The road winds and turns, goes up hill and down, so I suppose it is a little disorientating to those who have no sense of direction! They end up going east, when they think they are going north---because there is a tendency to stay on the paved road.
Which I suppose is why, when they finally see a paved side road that looks like it is inhabited, they slow down and turn---then choose the first driveway---Or there is some sort of invisible (to me) "travelers aide" sign pointing right to our house!!
We have had people show up with flat tires. We have had people show up looking for a park. We have had people who were just hopelessly lost.... all of them "older" women, in upscale cars. They ring my doorbell, and assume I am not an ax murder, sex offender, or other ominous type. They want directions, or for me to call a tow truck.
I am not originally a "country" girl. I grew up in an area where you did not go to "strange" people houses, for any reason---let alone a house in the middle of nowhere. What are these people thinking?
They could go back the way they came--and start over. They could get a GPS (last one had a Cadillac for goodness sake!). They could try map quest or google maps. They could get directions before they leave home. They could keep going and hope to find civilization. They could use their cell phones to call someone for directions, or get a cell phone like mine, where I can pinpoint my exact location on google maps on the phone!!.....But instead, when they get lost, they end up in my driveway!
Maybe when I retire, I will get some exterior plywood, and make a little roadside stand to put out down near the road---and be like Lucy Van Pelt, "Directions, 25 cents"!
Apparently although I can identify the specific cars parked in my driveway on a satellite map, there is still the need for someone who can point down the road, and say--go that way until you get to the end of the road, and turn right!
If you get off the freeway, and head north, hoping to find something, you will travel several miles, and realize that you have made a wrong turn somewhere---except that you haven't---this is all that is here!! The road winds and turns, goes up hill and down, so I suppose it is a little disorientating to those who have no sense of direction! They end up going east, when they think they are going north---because there is a tendency to stay on the paved road.
Which I suppose is why, when they finally see a paved side road that looks like it is inhabited, they slow down and turn---then choose the first driveway---Or there is some sort of invisible (to me) "travelers aide" sign pointing right to our house!!
We have had people show up with flat tires. We have had people show up looking for a park. We have had people who were just hopelessly lost.... all of them "older" women, in upscale cars. They ring my doorbell, and assume I am not an ax murder, sex offender, or other ominous type. They want directions, or for me to call a tow truck.
I am not originally a "country" girl. I grew up in an area where you did not go to "strange" people houses, for any reason---let alone a house in the middle of nowhere. What are these people thinking?
They could go back the way they came--and start over. They could get a GPS (last one had a Cadillac for goodness sake!). They could try map quest or google maps. They could get directions before they leave home. They could keep going and hope to find civilization. They could use their cell phones to call someone for directions, or get a cell phone like mine, where I can pinpoint my exact location on google maps on the phone!!.....But instead, when they get lost, they end up in my driveway!
Maybe when I retire, I will get some exterior plywood, and make a little roadside stand to put out down near the road---and be like Lucy Van Pelt, "Directions, 25 cents"!
Apparently although I can identify the specific cars parked in my driveway on a satellite map, there is still the need for someone who can point down the road, and say--go that way until you get to the end of the road, and turn right!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
3 to 4 lbs!!!
Recently my DIL boasted that she lost 3.8 lbs! Today, I found it....or rather, my exterminator did.
Before today I did not have an exterminator--I had an extensive collection of rodent traps and a can of raid, supplemented by ant traps. That was my arsenal against keeping the "wilds" out of my house. When you live in "the country", things are constantly trying to move in with you!
For the last few weeks, I have been observing and occasionally doing battle with some yellow jackets that seemed to have developed an affinity for the corner of my house. By today, it was more than an affinity--and based on the Internet info (I don't know how we lived without the Internet!!) I was hopelessly beyond a can of Raid, as their nest was obviously somewhere--but not visible on the outside of the house! Out came the yellow pages, and quickly I had arranged for "Tony" from a pest control company to come out and look at my yellow jacket problem. I was working at home today--making this adventure possible!
When he arrived, he looked at my "bee-central station" and said he needed to start in the basement! That had not really occurred to me--that they had actually moved beyond the sill plate and into the ceiling of our finished basement. A tentative lift of the ceiling tiles--and we were off to exterminate, as he instantly identified the nest--entangled in cable coax, plumbing, insulation, wiring, and duct work in a corner of the house.....
He suited up, asked for a grocery bag, and warned me to stay upstairs. I went back to telecommuting (very convenient way to help facilitate a visit from your exterminator, it turns out). I head a little clunking and bunking, but went on with my work. A while later, Tony emerged, in full bee suit, and went around to the back of the house. He said he had dying yellow jackets in the basement, and now it was time to puff the killer powder into their entrance. I watched from the screen porch, as he puffed away, into the invisible hole, surrounded by confused and hostile bees! I began to appreciate the value of the exterminator!! (I do not have, nor do I want, a bee suit, but he needed it just then!)
He returned to the basement, and I watched the swirling bees outside as they were drawn to the hole, but sensed something was amiss. A few "white powdery" bees emerged, and nose dived to the ground. There was quite a swarm for quite awhile. The cat, dozing on the porch, was unimpressed. I was fascinated.
About a half hour later, Tony emerged again, removed his Bee helmet, and asked for some paper toweling---he was completely wet from being inside the suit on an 80 degree humid day, doing battle with my yellow-jackets. He asked for another grocery bag, and some water. I gave him a double bag--no problem. He went back to "nest removal"...muttering something about a "city" down there. I went back to work. The bees were still buzzing around outside, acting a little crazy. The cat was still snoozing in the sun.
Finally, a triumphant Tony emerged from the basement...stuffed grocery bag in hand--leaving a slight trail of dead yellow jackets on the steps...saying "LOOK--it is about 3-4 pounds! Biggest nest I ever saw. It went in all directions. They have stopped buzzing now--and I have most of it in the bag-----I'll just put this in my truck.!" (I think he wanted it as a trophy!!--fine with me!). He came back to retrieve his "stuff" and went to fill out the paper work. I snuck down to survey the "war zone"---in the corner the ceiling was lifted--yellow jackets, confined by the glass doors flew lazily around--in big loops (death spirals, according to Tony). There were nest "crumbs" on the floor, and dead yellow-jackets in small piles. According to Tony, I needed to wait 24 hours before using the shop vac to clean this up--so they would all be really dead--and so my shop vac would not melt from the posion ---no problem!
The bill presented and paid, Tony kept telling me how he had never seen a nest this big--going in all directions! He seemed quite proud of the eradication, and said that I have a 60 day guarantee--but he did not expect me to call. I thought he was wonderful--and am delighted with the promise of being yellow-jacket free!
He says I have some mess left to clean out--as he went as far as he could, then applied some more Killer---and in a few days, I could pull out the rest (--or just leave it there!). Fix the hole they entered through...vacuum up the floor. He did not think he would need to come back----but did say (again and again) it was the biggest nest he had ever seen!!!
So, Stately Wayne Manor now has an exterminator. It is so much easier than dealing with it yourself! He has a bee suit! He has killer powders! He wraps the nest up in a grocery bag, and takes it away in his truck....all for just some cash!! Within two hours, not a yellow jacket in sight outside the house. Cat still snoozing, and I wrapped up my work day!
Now listen young people---if you are looking for a stable career, consider extermination--it cannot be outsourced overseas, and there are no shortage of pests for people to want not in their homes. Sounds like a good career choice in this weird economy! Besides, all your clients will LOVE you!
And really, I never even heard them buzzing......
Before today I did not have an exterminator--I had an extensive collection of rodent traps and a can of raid, supplemented by ant traps. That was my arsenal against keeping the "wilds" out of my house. When you live in "the country", things are constantly trying to move in with you!
For the last few weeks, I have been observing and occasionally doing battle with some yellow jackets that seemed to have developed an affinity for the corner of my house. By today, it was more than an affinity--and based on the Internet info (I don't know how we lived without the Internet!!) I was hopelessly beyond a can of Raid, as their nest was obviously somewhere--but not visible on the outside of the house! Out came the yellow pages, and quickly I had arranged for "Tony" from a pest control company to come out and look at my yellow jacket problem. I was working at home today--making this adventure possible!
When he arrived, he looked at my "bee-central station" and said he needed to start in the basement! That had not really occurred to me--that they had actually moved beyond the sill plate and into the ceiling of our finished basement. A tentative lift of the ceiling tiles--and we were off to exterminate, as he instantly identified the nest--entangled in cable coax, plumbing, insulation, wiring, and duct work in a corner of the house.....
He suited up, asked for a grocery bag, and warned me to stay upstairs. I went back to telecommuting (very convenient way to help facilitate a visit from your exterminator, it turns out). I head a little clunking and bunking, but went on with my work. A while later, Tony emerged, in full bee suit, and went around to the back of the house. He said he had dying yellow jackets in the basement, and now it was time to puff the killer powder into their entrance. I watched from the screen porch, as he puffed away, into the invisible hole, surrounded by confused and hostile bees! I began to appreciate the value of the exterminator!! (I do not have, nor do I want, a bee suit, but he needed it just then!)
He returned to the basement, and I watched the swirling bees outside as they were drawn to the hole, but sensed something was amiss. A few "white powdery" bees emerged, and nose dived to the ground. There was quite a swarm for quite awhile. The cat, dozing on the porch, was unimpressed. I was fascinated.
About a half hour later, Tony emerged again, removed his Bee helmet, and asked for some paper toweling---he was completely wet from being inside the suit on an 80 degree humid day, doing battle with my yellow-jackets. He asked for another grocery bag, and some water. I gave him a double bag--no problem. He went back to "nest removal"...muttering something about a "city" down there. I went back to work. The bees were still buzzing around outside, acting a little crazy. The cat was still snoozing in the sun.
Finally, a triumphant Tony emerged from the basement...stuffed grocery bag in hand--leaving a slight trail of dead yellow jackets on the steps...saying "LOOK--it is about 3-4 pounds! Biggest nest I ever saw. It went in all directions. They have stopped buzzing now--and I have most of it in the bag-----I'll just put this in my truck.!" (I think he wanted it as a trophy!!--fine with me!). He came back to retrieve his "stuff" and went to fill out the paper work. I snuck down to survey the "war zone"---in the corner the ceiling was lifted--yellow jackets, confined by the glass doors flew lazily around--in big loops (death spirals, according to Tony). There were nest "crumbs" on the floor, and dead yellow-jackets in small piles. According to Tony, I needed to wait 24 hours before using the shop vac to clean this up--so they would all be really dead--and so my shop vac would not melt from the posion ---no problem!
The bill presented and paid, Tony kept telling me how he had never seen a nest this big--going in all directions! He seemed quite proud of the eradication, and said that I have a 60 day guarantee--but he did not expect me to call. I thought he was wonderful--and am delighted with the promise of being yellow-jacket free!
He says I have some mess left to clean out--as he went as far as he could, then applied some more Killer---and in a few days, I could pull out the rest (--or just leave it there!). Fix the hole they entered through...vacuum up the floor. He did not think he would need to come back----but did say (again and again) it was the biggest nest he had ever seen!!!
So, Stately Wayne Manor now has an exterminator. It is so much easier than dealing with it yourself! He has a bee suit! He has killer powders! He wraps the nest up in a grocery bag, and takes it away in his truck....all for just some cash!! Within two hours, not a yellow jacket in sight outside the house. Cat still snoozing, and I wrapped up my work day!
Now listen young people---if you are looking for a stable career, consider extermination--it cannot be outsourced overseas, and there are no shortage of pests for people to want not in their homes. Sounds like a good career choice in this weird economy! Besides, all your clients will LOVE you!
And really, I never even heard them buzzing......
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Like riding a bicycle....
Yesterday new GS was 11 days old. I can't believe that almost two weeks have past since he entered our lives (and I am sure that his parents have thoughts about this too--although I doubt it has flown by for them!) I had the fortune to be visiting at the hospital, when the post-partum nurse emphasized that it was important for mom to (turning to me!!) have grandma watch the baby so that Mom could get away--even if just to walk to the corner.....and launched into her post-partum depression avoidance "speech".
This grandma works full time--so last weekend offered the "service" so Mom could walk to the corner--offer declined. Offered again this weekend, and it was gleefully accepted.
When I arrived, GS was freshly fed, and I was informed, in "burp" mode. Mom and dad headed off--not to the corner, but to Target. Grandpa Crabby Pants (GCP), recovering from the plague, kept his distance--which I think was fine with him, as he is much more anxious to explain the difference between English and Metric sockets to GS (at a later date) than to participate in "burping". (Although GCP could probably give the kid a few pointers on this topic) GCP took pictures, and attempted to learn how to send them with his blackberry...which was funny, considering his professed techno-savyiness, and limited success--but that is a story for another day.
GS, of course, wonderful. And amazingly, I did not need a hazzmat suit to handle this little one (unlike my memories of my own children!) He does not spit up, projectile vomit, and did not leak while I was his caregiver. This kid is a piece of cake!!!
GS and I cuddled, danced, swayed, got dressed, swaddled, talked, posed for pictures, snuggled, looked out the window, re-swaddled, walked and rocked. (On the advice of my children, we did not sing...)Finally, we burped (although I think it was more accidental than deliberate.) Of course, the one thing he wanted more than anything was away at the Target--and I empathized while he grumbled a little.
Just as Mom and Dad pulled into the drive, he stopped fighting it, and drifted off to sleep. A deep, contented, I am secure, full, comfy, and all is right with my world, baby sleep. Mom and dad returned triumphantly with a baby swing and a papoose pack--because as the parents, they must get other things done (like sleep and laundry) and they (unlike grandmothers) do not feel that they can hold the little munchkin 24/7. And in their defense, and the defense of parents everywhere, neither did grandmothers when they were the mom..but we can now, and do, and will continue to do so, because we get the chance to, and of course get to go home and sleep!
We took Dad to dinner, and brought back a turkey avocado sandwich for mom at her request---GS was still soundly sleeping---a full two hours! Mom could not believe it,and had just performed the "mirror under the nostrils test"---to make sure he was still breathing!!!
Mom marveled at the "soundly sleeping", and thinks that I should be there at midnight!!! I was thrilled that babies are still "low tech", and that my data bank was intact and still useful after all these years!
And apparently, GS feels dealing with your grandmother is exhausting!!!
This grandma works full time--so last weekend offered the "service" so Mom could walk to the corner--offer declined. Offered again this weekend, and it was gleefully accepted.
When I arrived, GS was freshly fed, and I was informed, in "burp" mode. Mom and dad headed off--not to the corner, but to Target. Grandpa Crabby Pants (GCP), recovering from the plague, kept his distance--which I think was fine with him, as he is much more anxious to explain the difference between English and Metric sockets to GS (at a later date) than to participate in "burping". (Although GCP could probably give the kid a few pointers on this topic) GCP took pictures, and attempted to learn how to send them with his blackberry...which was funny, considering his professed techno-savyiness, and limited success--but that is a story for another day.
GS, of course, wonderful. And amazingly, I did not need a hazzmat suit to handle this little one (unlike my memories of my own children!) He does not spit up, projectile vomit, and did not leak while I was his caregiver. This kid is a piece of cake!!!
GS and I cuddled, danced, swayed, got dressed, swaddled, talked, posed for pictures, snuggled, looked out the window, re-swaddled, walked and rocked. (On the advice of my children, we did not sing...)Finally, we burped (although I think it was more accidental than deliberate.) Of course, the one thing he wanted more than anything was away at the Target--and I empathized while he grumbled a little.
Just as Mom and Dad pulled into the drive, he stopped fighting it, and drifted off to sleep. A deep, contented, I am secure, full, comfy, and all is right with my world, baby sleep. Mom and dad returned triumphantly with a baby swing and a papoose pack--because as the parents, they must get other things done (like sleep and laundry) and they (unlike grandmothers) do not feel that they can hold the little munchkin 24/7. And in their defense, and the defense of parents everywhere, neither did grandmothers when they were the mom..but we can now, and do, and will continue to do so, because we get the chance to, and of course get to go home and sleep!
We took Dad to dinner, and brought back a turkey avocado sandwich for mom at her request---GS was still soundly sleeping---a full two hours! Mom could not believe it,and had just performed the "mirror under the nostrils test"---to make sure he was still breathing!!!
Mom marveled at the "soundly sleeping", and thinks that I should be there at midnight!!! I was thrilled that babies are still "low tech", and that my data bank was intact and still useful after all these years!
And apparently, GS feels dealing with your grandmother is exhausting!!!
Thursday, September 03, 2009
A community of knitters
I have a lot of "kitting friends"--people who speak a sub-language known only to those who enjoy the craft. Some, I have never met face to face. Others are my coffee house acquaintances. Still others, share my love of turning yarn into something warm and wonderful.
They are all ages, these knitting friends. A young mom, the retired, degreed and not, from near and far. We share a love of the fiber, and appreciation for finely balanced needles, and the challenge of figuring out cryptic directions. We knit for others, for charity, for ourselves. We admire the work of others and share tips and techniques.
Knitting---who knew it would lead to "social networking" !!!!
They are all ages, these knitting friends. A young mom, the retired, degreed and not, from near and far. We share a love of the fiber, and appreciation for finely balanced needles, and the challenge of figuring out cryptic directions. We knit for others, for charity, for ourselves. We admire the work of others and share tips and techniques.
Knitting---who knew it would lead to "social networking" !!!!
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