Medium is the first of my girls to master this particular skill.
I am so proud.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Huh.
Last night was emotionally rough.
Next week is both my friend Mille's birthday and also the anniversary of when we lost Keiki. The same day, in fact. And I came across this article about 8 reasons why your cat licks you, which reminded me of Ke, who sometimes couldn't hold her licker...usually when she couldn't wake Hubby for him to give her love. She had the raspiest little tongue. And, of all things, she'd usually lick my eyebrows. Crazy cat.
Innyhoo...
So I popped over to this article, which didn't tell me much more than I already knew, but it was cute. And I saw cute links to other articles. They were cute.
And my heart ached from missing Po. It's not that I don't miss Keiki, because I do. I miss hearing her talk to herself at night. I miss hearing her stomp on any floor that's not carpeted. I miss hearing her little kitten-feet runrunrunrunrunrunrunrun around the house. I miss her crazy love of ice cream.
But Ke was Hubby's kitty. Po was mine. And she was my first cat. She was the Queen, the gentle giantess, the one who first grimly tolerated and then eventually loved my children. She let them dress her up, swaddle her in blankets, cover her in beads, shove tiaras on her head, endured effusive hugs from small people, and even let Medium SIT on her without a complaint. Ever, with the exception of some mild growling.
She wasn't an overly affectionate booger like The Weasel. When she wanted attention, she would come demand it. When she was done, she got up and left. She picked up a certain dignity like a cloak around the time she turned a year old, and kept it until the day she died...even when her dignity was covered in blankets and beads and towels and duckies and tiaras. Sweetness in other people was a sign of weakness, and so she didn't put up with that nonsense. She could dish it out as good as she could take it, and if you were nice to her for no apparent reason, she was instantly suspicious and would walk all over you (figuratively and literally).
She was one of a kind.
And even though it's been over a year since we lost her, the Popoki-sized hole in my heart and my home remains. By the time I was done and told myself to close the browser window before I scared the kids, my grief had surged like a tidal wave.
I went upstairs to use the master bath so I could close doors and have a good cry. I ended up crashing on my bed, more tears coming when I thought I didn't have any more.
Mika came and curled up next to me, purring quietly. He snuggled into the curve of my arm. And he stayed for a good twenty minutes.
It was another ten minutes beyond that, beyond Small Fry coming up and saying Daddy was wondering where I went, before I felt like I could come downstairs.
When I finally succumbed to the exhaustion of my day and my grief purge, I went up to bed.
Large Fry woke up while I was still in the bathroom and stumbled down the hall.
"Mommy? I want my cast," she mumbled.
"Your what?" Nobody wants a cast. I'd just gotten mine off that morning. Those things are tools of de Debbil. (I had a love/hate relationship with mine.)
"My cat. My Popoki cat. That you got for me off the computer."
Ahhhhh. "I think it's down in the living room. I'll help you look."
By the time I was able to go help her, she'd already found her kitty and was going back to bed. I smiled at her as she closed her bedroom door. And I thought how interesting it was that she had been thinking about Po and wanted her stuffed kitty that she'd named after our real one.
Twenty minutes later, I'm back in the bathroom and Large's door opens.
"Mommy?"
"What's the matter, honey? Why are you still up?"
"Can you tuck me in?"
I followed her into her room. She already had her radio on, and there wasn't much else I saw that I could do. "What do you need?"
"A hug and a kiss."
That's something I can always do.
 |
| Ke thinks snowpants are snuggly. |
Innyhoo...
So I popped over to this article, which didn't tell me much more than I already knew, but it was cute. And I saw cute links to other articles. They were cute.
And my heart ached from missing Po. It's not that I don't miss Keiki, because I do. I miss hearing her talk to herself at night. I miss hearing her stomp on any floor that's not carpeted. I miss hearing her little kitten-feet runrunrunrunrunrunrunrun around the house. I miss her crazy love of ice cream.
But Ke was Hubby's kitty. Po was mine. And she was my first cat. She was the Queen, the gentle giantess, the one who first grimly tolerated and then eventually loved my children. She let them dress her up, swaddle her in blankets, cover her in beads, shove tiaras on her head, endured effusive hugs from small people, and even let Medium SIT on her without a complaint. Ever, with the exception of some mild growling.
She wasn't an overly affectionate booger like The Weasel. When she wanted attention, she would come demand it. When she was done, she got up and left. She picked up a certain dignity like a cloak around the time she turned a year old, and kept it until the day she died...even when her dignity was covered in blankets and beads and towels and duckies and tiaras. Sweetness in other people was a sign of weakness, and so she didn't put up with that nonsense. She could dish it out as good as she could take it, and if you were nice to her for no apparent reason, she was instantly suspicious and would walk all over you (figuratively and literally).
 |
| Yep, Po took up a whole chair. |
She was one of a kind.
And even though it's been over a year since we lost her, the Popoki-sized hole in my heart and my home remains. By the time I was done and told myself to close the browser window before I scared the kids, my grief had surged like a tidal wave.
I went upstairs to use the master bath so I could close doors and have a good cry. I ended up crashing on my bed, more tears coming when I thought I didn't have any more.
Mika came and curled up next to me, purring quietly. He snuggled into the curve of my arm. And he stayed for a good twenty minutes.
It was another ten minutes beyond that, beyond Small Fry coming up and saying Daddy was wondering where I went, before I felt like I could come downstairs.
When I finally succumbed to the exhaustion of my day and my grief purge, I went up to bed.
Large Fry woke up while I was still in the bathroom and stumbled down the hall.
"Mommy? I want my cast," she mumbled.
"Your what?" Nobody wants a cast. I'd just gotten mine off that morning. Those things are tools of de Debbil. (I had a love/hate relationship with mine.)
"My cat. My Popoki cat. That you got for me off the computer."
Ahhhhh. "I think it's down in the living room. I'll help you look."
By the time I was able to go help her, she'd already found her kitty and was going back to bed. I smiled at her as she closed her bedroom door. And I thought how interesting it was that she had been thinking about Po and wanted her stuffed kitty that she'd named after our real one.
Twenty minutes later, I'm back in the bathroom and Large's door opens.
"Mommy?"
"What's the matter, honey? Why are you still up?"
"Can you tuck me in?"
I followed her into her room. She already had her radio on, and there wasn't much else I saw that I could do. "What do you need?"
"A hug and a kiss."
That's something I can always do.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Baccalaureate
Baccalaureate: n. stuffy religious service to honor graduates, rarely fun, too serious, and has boring homily.
Not here, baby!
After having to solo-run last year's Baccalaureate with the high school seniors, Hubby decided he wasn't going to get tossed under that bus again this year...so he contacted the other three youth pastors in town (the ones who are actually employed as such, rather than volunteers), pitched the idea that they should plan this shindig together, which the guys loved, and they took off running.
The result? A Baccalaureate that the students seemed to really enjoy.
At least four youth groups came to support their seniors and their youth pastors. Local businesses got involved and donated giveaways of stuff. A local Christian rock band (fronted by one of the youth pastors, no less) agreed to play the worship set.
And Hubby and my cousin DP got to be silly.
It's truly a life skill.
How it all started last night:
You should have heard the cheers.
Then:
Oh, I'm not ruining it for you. Watch.
Ladies and gents, Next2Nothing:
Why yes, we can make worship ROCK.
Serious? Us?
Finally, what I think was the key clip of B's hilarious message:
I believe the guys have succeeded.
Not here, baby!
After having to solo-run last year's Baccalaureate with the high school seniors, Hubby decided he wasn't going to get tossed under that bus again this year...so he contacted the other three youth pastors in town (the ones who are actually employed as such, rather than volunteers), pitched the idea that they should plan this shindig together, which the guys loved, and they took off running.
The result? A Baccalaureate that the students seemed to really enjoy.
At least four youth groups came to support their seniors and their youth pastors. Local businesses got involved and donated giveaways of stuff. A local Christian rock band (fronted by one of the youth pastors, no less) agreed to play the worship set.
And Hubby and my cousin DP got to be silly.
It's truly a life skill.
How it all started last night:
You should have heard the cheers.
Then:
Oh, I'm not ruining it for you. Watch.
Ladies and gents, Next2Nothing:
Why yes, we can make worship ROCK.
Serious? Us?
Finally, what I think was the key clip of B's hilarious message:
I believe the guys have succeeded.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Question of the Night
We're in the van, running two quick errands between dropping Hubby off at the high school and going right back for Baccalaureate. We're between Rite Aid and home, where I have to get the camera so I can take pictures and video. And that's when this happens.
Medium Fry: When's God's birthday?
...
Yeah.
Couldn't wait until DADDY was around. The one whose job is all about knowing about God.
Me: Um...God doesn't really have a birthday. He's just always been around.
Best I could do on short notice, really...
Medium Fry: When's God's birthday?
...
Yeah.
Couldn't wait until DADDY was around. The one whose job is all about knowing about God.
Me: Um...God doesn't really have a birthday. He's just always been around.
Best I could do on short notice, really...
Paternal Pride
So. We're sitting in McDonald's tonight...
Let's just stop right there.
We are in McDonald's. Runner-up ruler of the Fast Food World.
Yes, we are terrible parents who feed our kids that stuff. It didn't kill us.
Innyhoo...
Tonight, we let loose the reins a bit and let the kids have soda. Now, before you freak about caffeine and children and Mexican jumping beans and stuff, the Fries had their choice of Sprite, Orange Hi-C, or a Sprite-C cocktail. (Medium tried to get away with Sprite and Barq's root beer, but that didn't fly.)
We're sitting at a trapezoid table, Hubby, Medium and Large on the one side, and Small and I on the other.
We're in something of a hurry.
Tonight is Baccalaureate at the high school, and seeing as Hubby is one of four youth pastors in our little town (we have more churches than bars), and seeing as it was his idea (after being snowballed into planning it alone last year) for all four of them to work together, and seeing as he was helping my cousin DP (youth pastor at the Nazarene church in town) emcee, he kinda had to be at the high school early.
Fast food + carbonated soft drinks + eating quickly = Hubby has a "secret" to tell one of the kids.
He motions Medium over. "I've got something to tell you."
Medium kneels on the bench, and Hubby holds up his right hand, like he's hiding what he's about to say...and then he belches right into Medium's face.
"I'm gonna gitchoo back!" she vows.
Not five minutes later, she's on her feet, leaning into Hubby's face, and belching right on cue.
Unwilling to be outdone by her twin, Small jumps up from her seat next to me, runs to Hubby's other side, and lets out an incredibly fake burp...and giggles.
Medium has retreated now, and Hubby has caught the giggles.
He looks over at me and pretends to wipe his eyes.
He looks at Medium, and then back at me.
He sniffs.
He holds one hand dramatically to his chest.
"It's...it's just such a moment of parental pride!"
Let's just stop right there.
We are in McDonald's. Runner-up ruler of the Fast Food World.
Yes, we are terrible parents who feed our kids that stuff. It didn't kill us.
Innyhoo...
Tonight, we let loose the reins a bit and let the kids have soda. Now, before you freak about caffeine and children and Mexican jumping beans and stuff, the Fries had their choice of Sprite, Orange Hi-C, or a Sprite-C cocktail. (Medium tried to get away with Sprite and Barq's root beer, but that didn't fly.)
We're sitting at a trapezoid table, Hubby, Medium and Large on the one side, and Small and I on the other.
We're in something of a hurry.
Tonight is Baccalaureate at the high school, and seeing as Hubby is one of four youth pastors in our little town (we have more churches than bars), and seeing as it was his idea (after being snowballed into planning it alone last year) for all four of them to work together, and seeing as he was helping my cousin DP (youth pastor at the Nazarene church in town) emcee, he kinda had to be at the high school early.
Fast food + carbonated soft drinks + eating quickly = Hubby has a "secret" to tell one of the kids.
He motions Medium over. "I've got something to tell you."
Medium kneels on the bench, and Hubby holds up his right hand, like he's hiding what he's about to say...and then he belches right into Medium's face.
"I'm gonna gitchoo back!" she vows.
Not five minutes later, she's on her feet, leaning into Hubby's face, and belching right on cue.
Unwilling to be outdone by her twin, Small jumps up from her seat next to me, runs to Hubby's other side, and lets out an incredibly fake burp...and giggles.
Medium has retreated now, and Hubby has caught the giggles.
He looks over at me and pretends to wipe his eyes.
He looks at Medium, and then back at me.
He sniffs.
He holds one hand dramatically to his chest.
"It's...it's just such a moment of parental pride!"
Hidden Benefits
**PSA: Squeamish Warning, Level 3; Hernia Mesh Warning, Level 5** (Yes, Dad, I'm looking at you.)
While there are certainly quite a few things I do not like as a result of my hysterectomy back in January—I'll refrain from giving you a list—there have been hidden benefits.
No more money spent on "feminine needs."
No more figuring out how to explain to the Fries why "Mommy has blood" (so charming when that got announced to the person in the hall at church one Sunday; thank you, Small Fry).
No more cramps. No more hunting futilely for ThermaCare's menstrual heat wraps. No more utter exhaustion from long cycles.
Of course, I traded all of those things for the insanity that is surgical menopause. I'm not entirely sure I came out 100% on the winning end there, if one discounts the whole cancer-prevention thing.
However, I do miss the creative ways of telling my children what certain supplies were. Granted, I have girls, so it's not like I wouldn't have to educate them anyway.
But of all the euphemisms for tampons that I've ever seen, I've never heard them called THIS before.
I giggled uncontrollably, and then sent the link to my best friend, who has three boys (lucky her).
And I couldn't help but be reminded of this video, as well!
Don't say I didn't warn you!
While there are certainly quite a few things I do not like as a result of my hysterectomy back in January—I'll refrain from giving you a list—there have been hidden benefits.
No more money spent on "feminine needs."
No more figuring out how to explain to the Fries why "Mommy has blood" (so charming when that got announced to the person in the hall at church one Sunday; thank you, Small Fry).
No more cramps. No more hunting futilely for ThermaCare's menstrual heat wraps. No more utter exhaustion from long cycles.
Of course, I traded all of those things for the insanity that is surgical menopause. I'm not entirely sure I came out 100% on the winning end there, if one discounts the whole cancer-prevention thing.
However, I do miss the creative ways of telling my children what certain supplies were. Granted, I have girls, so it's not like I wouldn't have to educate them anyway.
But of all the euphemisms for tampons that I've ever seen, I've never heard them called THIS before.
I giggled uncontrollably, and then sent the link to my best friend, who has three boys (lucky her).
And I couldn't help but be reminded of this video, as well!
Don't say I didn't warn you!
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Overheard
Medium Fry: Oh, yes, I am the amazing and powerful Messiah!
I'm waiting for lightning to strike...
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