Always Say I Love You

Casey, age 3, and Fur Fur String, 1976

I used to believe that, when it came time for a beloved pet to cross the Rainbow Bridge, I would want them to do so peacefully, in their sleep. I would want to wake one morning and find that they’d left overnight.

Thorin, around 1973

I’ve lost quite a few pets. The first one I really remember was when I was about four, and we went camping. When we returned, Fur Fur String (yes, a cat) had run away (I was in my thirties when my Mom confessed that the neighbors had found him, hit by a car.) Then, when I was nine years old, the family cat, Thorin, was also hit by a car. My parents rightfully did not allow me to see him.

Many years went by, and I was twenty when my cat Tick Tock got very ill and had to be put to sleep. She was sixteen. A little over a year later, my Samoyed, Rainbow Snow, followed at age 13. Again, my parents handled both; took them to the vet for that final visit.

Tick Tock, 1980s

My parents’ cat, Sir Gator Underfoot, crossed in early 2005, not long after my Grandma passed.

Rainbow Snow, around 1991

And then, in 2011, my seventeen-year-old “Ancient Kitty”, snuggle kitten, Cerridwen Rhiannon developed a kidney issue seemingly overnight. On April 6, she went for her final visit. My husband and I stayed with her. It was heart-rending, but it needed to happen.

Not even a month ago on July 7, we escorted “fat-cat” Taliesin Merlin, sixteen, to the vet. We allowed our toddler to say goodbye in the exam room; then we left. I couldn’t stay.

Today, I realized that I am a type-A control freak personality. I like knowing when things will happen. I no longer believe that I can handle any loved one just not waking up.

Sir Gator Underfoot, around 2002

This morning, around 3:00 AM, I woke to use the bathroom. Our dog, Buster, was lying in front of the door. I tried to convince him to go upstairs, but he just gave me a look like I was crazy, thumped his tail a few times, and laid back down. At 6:00 AM, my alarm went off. I got up, turned on the light, and said good morning to him. No response (he was getting old and deaf), so I went over to pat him awake. “Buster, wake…” I stopped. He was still, and cold. There were other signs, too.

Cerridwen Rhiannon, around 2001

I didn’t know what to do. Call my parents? Call my husband? My sister-in-law, who works as a groomer? What about my teenage son, who grew up with Buster? I wondered fleetingly if I was unfeeling, because it didn’t hurt, not like the others. I showered, then checked again, hoping he was just sleeping really deeply. But no. He was thirteen.

Taliesin Merlin, 2006

I called my husband, out of town for a couple of weeks starting yesterday. The second he answered his phone it hit me. I could barely talk through the sobs. I couldn’t call off work today – important things going on. He and I discussed and decided I should call my parents. They agreed to come up and take care of things while I was at work. (They also called my sister-in-law for information.) I then went upstairs, got coffee and milk for the baby, started the Crock Pot, and woke my son. I had to tell him in person. I couldn’t do a phone call for him.

He handled it a lot better than I did. Of course, he’s seen a lot of death: his biological mother’s grandfather, his baby sister on that side, and then his mother. And of course pets along the way. I didn’t tell the toddler. It’s not necessary; she won’t understand yet.

Buster Bubbles, 2007

I have always been a cat person; I’ve never much liked dogs. Yet Rainbow and Buster were the exceptions. Rainbow has been gone for twenty years, now.

Buster was lovable, gentle, super-friendly, and silly. He did an awesome job of cleaning plates and little hands and faces, a mean job of catch the tennis ball (but he didn’t bring them back), and he loved to lay down right with you. He was afraid of the cats, but would defend the kids from anything. We could put our arms right in his mouth; he never bit; he rarely jumped (except over a fence). He could hold his bladder for hours on end.

He was a one of a kind pup, and I miss him. A lot.

Dog and Cats and Baby Girl

The dog is about 13 years old now. He was a puppy when my hubby and older kids found him roaming the streets, collarless. I’m not a dog person, but I adore this one. He got his name from always getting busted doing things he wasn’t supposed to – like sleeping on the sofa. It took forever for us to train him to stay off of our bed. But he’s so super gentle. Very protective of his pack, but he knows he’s not the alpha.

The older cat is 16. He was presented to me as a kitten… And he was the runt of the litter. Scrawny, black, weepy eyes, and a bad bladder infection. We all thought he was female till I took him to be spayed and the vet called – and said it would be less expensive than we thought as he would be neutered. Later, after a name change, he was put on strong antibiotics; the vet said if he still peed on things (not spraying), he might need kitty Prozac. He was my “fraidy cat”. No more. Now he is too old to care, and has severe skin issues. Also not the alpha, though he isn’t shy about warning you if you touch the wrong spot.

The younger cat is about 9 now, and she adopted Meggie when I was pregnant with her. She doesn’t like people she doesn’t know – especially big people. But she is so very patient with having her fur pulled and being forcibly cuddled. Still not the alpha, but very much belongs to everyone.

But all of them are family animals. They love their “Daddy”, “Mommy” and “siblings”. When our oldest cat had to be put to sleep 3 years ago, the others wandered around looking for her. The cats have channeled some of her behavior, too. Like sleeping on my pillow and waking me with a cold nose to the lips.

Meggie has names for them. She tries to call the younger cat Isis, but it comes out “EYEth”. Older cat, Talie, is “Kee”. And the dog? Is “Buh-tah”. As in, “Buh-tah bock!” when he wants to come in and barks at the back door. And Buster knows when his little girl is calling. (Though it doesn’t hurt that she feeds him from the table, either.)

My Parents Raised Me Right

When I was a kid, I liked Strawberry Shortcake, Hollie Hobbie, Tigger, and Sesame Street. I wore tank tops and shorts in the summer, and because it was the 1970s, the shorts were pretty short. They never approached Daisy Duke, though I did watch the Dukes of Hazzard on TV. I rode my bike, made “witch’s brew” from flowers and grass and leaves and sand in bowls and my Dad’s wheelbarrow. I dug holes in the yard, and played hard on my swing set – including putting the end of my slide in my little plastic swimming pool and putting the hose at the top of the slide, and rearranging where the swings and bar and seesaw were located. I filled the pockets of a jumper with pretty plants at school and found out the hard way that they were cactus. I lined up my dolls and gave them all highly improbable names. I shunned dresses because it was hard to play in them. I fell off the jungle jim, got sick on the merry-go-round, and swam underwater with my eyes open. I wore half shirts because I had nothing to show off, and they were in style.

I got a little older, and more sophisticated (you know how teenagers can be). I started liking to dress up – but just a little. Makeup and hairspray. I bought a tank top at the mall that was black polyester with gold lamé in the pattern of snakeskin and snuck it out under my regular button-up shirts because I knew my parents would never approve. But still, I wore jeans and t-shirts most days, even if the color of my socks did coordinate with my shirt. I rode my bike around town even as a teen, till I got my license and a car. And a job. A month after I turned sixteen, I got a job. Okay, the job was well before the car. I did my share of completely asinine things. But, mostly, I was a typical teenage girl.

And then… I watched the fashions change. And not for the better. In my mid-twenties, I worked for Target, and I was appalled by the clothes considered okay for little girls to wear. The short-shorts, short skirts, tanks… Made that snakeskin-patterned tank look positively modest. See-through shirts. High heels in kids’ size 2!

A few years later, I was shopping for appropriate underwear for my eldest daughter. When tweens’ bras are emblazoned with things like “tart” and the butt of the matching undies says “sweet”… And we’re in the kids’ section… I wrote a letter to JC Penney corporate. Never heard anything back. Oh, and all the training bras were underwire and padded. Not long after that, we had a hard time finding jeans that weren’t super-duper-alley-ooper low-rise butt-cleavage-baring. And t-shirts cut down to there. Another letter, another lack of response.

Fighting your kid on the type of clothes they wear is a battle no matter what. But when the child is conditioned to believe that she must wear push-up, padded, skin-tight, revealing clothes… To school… It’s somewhat futile. And retailers just keep putting this stuff out, making modest-but-fashionable clothing outright impossible to find. If parents didn’t buy it, they wouldn’t sell it – but if there’s nothing else to buy…

And now. Now I have a toddler. I saw a baby swimsuit last summer with a padded bra and string bikini bottoms – size 6 months. That’s not cute, that’s sick. And there’s so much pink! Two outfits I remember clearly from my childhood were blue and green, and red and white. I never had a lot of pink that I recall. So I go out of my way to find other colors for my little girl. And, frankly, toddler boys’ sweatpants fit her better than the girls’ – they’re longer, they have elastic at the ankles, and they have skinny butts. Like my tall, buttless girl. I’m not sure why toddler girls’ clothing has bigger rear ends – kids that age don’t have hips per se…

My girl loves to play, too. With her brother’s GI Joe, her Peek-A-Blocks dump truck, a plastic spoon and a baby doll bottle; empty boxes; MegaBloks, and no, they’re not pink. She has girly stuff, too. I painted her bedroom pale ocean and mulberry; instead of being teal-and-purple it came out looking like an Easter egg, pink and blue. Oh well. She really doesn’t care. Her nursery was originally sage, lavender and chocolate. She loves swingsets, bathtubs, snow, digging in the grass, standing on the dog, and chasing the cats. She loves our cell phones and tablets, too – but we try to limit that.

I hope I can make sure her childhood is as fun as mine was. I hope we can skip all the girly frou-frou crap and gender expectations, so she can reach her full potential.

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Evolution

Last night, as I was watching my daughter poke her little fingers at the barnyard animals on my tablet screen, and giggling as they mooed and baaed and clucked, and the sun did somersaults and the clouds made it rain… I started thinking about children’s toys.

Back when I was a small child, there were things called See & Say. Big round hard plastic case with feet and a handle, a pointer that you adjusted to the item you wanted to hear, and a pull string with a ring attached to it. “The cow says, MOOOOOO!”

It turns out that there was a low-fidelity phonograph record inside these things! No battery needed, pulling the string wound the mechanism. Which, in retrospect, was probably why I was able to get it to MOO and BAA at the same time as I pulled the string then whacked the case on the ground.

When I was a bit older, in my twenties, I had friends with kids. Their kids had See & Say toys, too – but they didn’t have the pull string. Instead, they had a lever with a friendly round knob at the end. No sharp edges here! I don’t know what the noisemaker inside was, but I’m betting it wasn’t a vinyl record.

There are also push-button versions with microchips and tiny speakers, and ones with pages that can be flipped. These require batteries, now. And they’re easy to operate. Too easy.

And now, I have the Barnyard Games for Kids on my tablet and phone. But she’s only interested for a little while, then it’s back to the dog or cats (I had some of these too) or their brushes and toys, or the box (Dole Romaine Lettuce), the kitchen utensils (coffee scoops and spoon rests, a large silicon spatula head, a small Tupperware bowl and lid, and random other items), or her books. Put her on a swingset and she begins to giggle before you push. And oh, goodness, let her see her Daddy or Brother or Mommy after a few hours away from them (or asleep)… Proof positive that technology is a good thing, in moderation. Maybe I should learn from her.

A Day in the Life…

0635: Wake up. It’s black outside, so after a trip to the bathroom I check my cell phone. Can’t look at the clock, because the power strip got turned off last weekend by an enterprising young lady and I haven’t reset it. I might get to that, but… I hear fussing through the baby monitor. Express shock that she slept nearly 12 hours.

0640: Make coffee, and while it brews, feed the furry bodies who are twining themselves around my ankles and meowing loudly. Pour a cup of coffee and realize the sneak-a-cup feature is not working, so there is now coffee all over the counter. Stagger down the hall into the baby’s room.

0650: Change a wet diaper and snuggle with a drowsy baby. Drink more coffee. One feline wants in, insistently, so I let her in and let the baby down to play. The baby immediately starts talking to the cat. Check email on phone as baby pulls out blocks and puts a plastic basket on her head.

0710: Baby brings two books, so I read them to her. I try to get away with only one, but she’s smarter than that. Cat climbs up and insists on being petted at the same time. Baby gets down, climbs on her rocker and then to the table that the rocker was blocking access to. After a quick rescue operation, she toddles to the door and starts banging.

0730: Breakfast. She starts off with a slice of watermelon while I start mixing the ingredients for zucchini blueberry muffins. I forget to thaw the shredded zucchini, and give her some blueberries after she throws the watermelon rind at the dog.

0830: Munching on muffins while baby toddles laps around the coffee table with cat toys in her hand. She wants the box on the table, so I empty it and give it to her. She takes it in the kitchen and traps the cat. I free the cat, and baby starts whining and clinging so I give her a couple of alphabet crackers (think animal crackers, but alphabet shaped. They’re pretty tasty, actually).

0930: Baby is down for a nap. Not asleep, but rubbing eyes like crazy. I take fresh muffins and coffee downstairs to my husband, who is asleep… Until I get there and insist he enjoy “breakfast in bed”. We watch an episode of Top Gear.

1045: Teenager wakes baby and brings her downstairs. Baby watches me brush my hair, and I find her brush. She brushes my hair. Then she brushes Daddy’s face. Daddy takes away brush when she begins hitting him in the head with it. I shower while he watches her.

1130: Lunch time. I am at a loss as to what we should eat, because she won’t eat baby food anymore, and I neglected to think ahead. Hand over baby Goldfish crackers while I decide. Fry up some hot dogs to share. (So sue me, they’re bad for both of us, but they taste good!)

1300: Strap baby into car seat and go out. First stop: Big Lots. Score most of her birthday party decorations for super cheap. Go to Goodwill Outlet and score most of her birthday presents super cheap. Go to Valley Thrift Store and score a bunch of fall and winter clothes super cheap. Find a $30 safety gate for $5 – perfect for blocking baby’s access to cat and dog food and water bowl. Will have to figure out how to make sure dog has access, however.

1530: Arrive home with sleeping baby. Leave her sleeping in car seat in living room while I unload loot. Take toys and gate to front yard to be washed – and do so. Get water inside bubble of pull toy and decide to put it in the closet – her birthday’s nearly a month away. Plenty of time for it to evaporate.

1615: Spend time watching baby play in living room, and talking to husband.

1730: Heat leftovers for dinner. Hubby gets chicken and green peas, I get chicken and black eyed peas, and teenager gets chicken (he doesn’t like peas at all). Baby gets chicken and a few peas of both kinds, which she throws to dog and one cat.

1815: Baby into the tub. I watch her drown her cheap little plastic seaplane (she picked it out at Target). She then wants me to hold it under while she plays with the spigot. I make a mental note to get a faucet cover, because she keeps standing up in the tub and I don’t have enough arms to hold her down and wash her at the same time.

1900: Baby is in jammies and I call Daddy in to read her a story before bedtime. He does, then turns her over to me for nursing and snuggling. He and the teenager leave for the haunted trail.

1930: I snuggle in with baby and watch a bit of TV. Baby does not want to settle and sit still because there is a “KEEEYYYY!” on my pillow (AKA Basement Kitteh), but I convince her that Dreamworks Dragons: Defenders of Berk is more interesting.

2030: Baby is finally snoozing peacefully, so I put her in the crib and work on some pictures and video encoding. Time to clean out Dropbox again…

2200: Cats and I turn out the lights. Dog pushes door open and comes in to sleep, so I get up and close the door again.