Momma, what’s goin’ on here?

There are times when I feel like my life is blazing past me. Let me go ahead and utter the age-old parent’s lament, “my kids are growing up way too fast.”

My little ZoZo is loosing her first tooth. She filled the house with joyous shreaks and whoops when she first realized her tooth was loose. The entire house was required to wiggle her tooth multiple times to confirm the fact.

There has been A LOT of tooth wiggling in the ensuing days. So much so that she now has created some discomfort for herself. This morning she came to me, pointed to her loose tooth, and asked with about as sober a countenance as she is able to muster, “Momma, what’s goin’ on here.”

What’s going on is the gum around the tooth is now swollen and sore because she can’t keep her fingers out of her mouth. In addition to the irritated gum, I’m sure there are more insidious forces at work in her little mouth. I shudder to think about the germs her grubby little fingers are transferring into her mouth about 10,000 times a day. If she doesn’t succumb to some horrible illness before the tooth falls out, I feel pretty confident that she will have inoculated herself against most communicable diseases.

Lest you think I’m bemoaning my current state of worry, let me assure you, I’m treasuring every moment. When my body is old and my brain is racked by dementia, I really hope I’m able to remember the “Momma what’s goin’ on here” moments.

At Least She’s Honest

When I picked up the kids this afternoon. ARK, my 11-year-old, was in a bit of mood. I suppose in an effort to discourage me from engaging him in conversation, he announces, “I’m going to read during the ride home.” ZoZo, the 5-year-old, quickly chimed in, “I’m going to make a lot of noise.”

Bad Mood Rising

Today was a total crap day from hell. I’m really trying to be better about not allowing myself to stay in a bad mood when things don’t go my way. However, when I am in the midst of a fit and I think to myself, “snap out of it Lutey, let it roll off your back,” I mind myself answering, “shut the f*** up!”

Let me just say, I HATE upper administration. I vomit in my mouth when I think of the slime balls in positions of power where I work. Perhaps its this way everywhere. I’d really rather not personally know about those rat bastards and the sleazy and self-serving decisions made at their levels. I really don’t know how some people get away with some of the things they do.

Afer work, I was looking forward to picking up my little gems and focusing on what is really important in the world. Not to be disappointed, my little angels fought the entire way home. I actually wound up turning on the iPod, putting the earphones in and cranking the volume up to max. My ear drums may have been bleeding, but at least I didn’t have to listen to the constant bickering and bitching coming from the back seat.

When we got home, I locked myself in the bedroom. I think it was best for everyone. I could not shake the ugly vibe, so I put myself in time out.

Timely and Amusing

Neither timely nor amusing, but we all have to have our schtick. Right? I guess three months is a sufficient amount of time to sulk in depression and stress.

Update:

Doing the Atkins thing again, I think this is the third or fourth time I have decided to subject myself to this torture. 8 pounds, that’s all. If I can loose 8 pounds and keep it off, I’ll be okay with my weight.

Echo the cat is morbidly obese. I’m making him diet. He’s gaining weight instead of losing. I think he is weighing in at 21 pounds right now. I need to post a photo of him so you can be as disgusted as I am at his size. Any day I’m expecting to come home and find him dead.

Longhorns defeating the Trojans. I think that win brought me more joy than the Tigers beating the Hurricanes.

The luteyland includes for the links and archived posts are not pulling into site pages. I don’t see any obvious reason for the break. Tarnation!

Overload

The past five days have been an absolute nightmare. Everyone I know has been affected by Katrina in some way.

We’ve had refugees at our house. Not as many as some people I know. It’s so sad having people in your home that may not have anything left by the time they are able to get back to home. We were without power for a couple of days…an inconvenience. People I care about are without everything, probably will have to start from scratch.

The husband and I had some rough moments, but things are better now. He really is my rock; I can’t function when things aren’t good between the two of us. It was especially hard earlier this week.

Every time I try to drive away from work or sleep, I get a call because something needs to happen on the web site. I’m not sure how long I can go without a complete nights sleep.

Every time I think about how little sleep I’m getting, I feel guilty for having it even pop in my head. People are sleeping on the concrete, don’t have fresh food or water, and many are in constant fear for their lives. And here I am worrying about how much sleep I’m getting. Pretty selfish.

The Storm

Hurricane Katrina is moving through the state right now. We are supposed to be feeling it so bad here in BR. It’s frightening to think how bad the storm must be to the east of us because there are moments when the winds are pretty ferocious here.

The house catty-corner to us has had its power line ripped out and the live wire is being tossed around in the wind. Occassionally it makes contact with a metal swing set in the yard. Every time the two connect, we can hear loud popping sounds and see blue flashes of light in our house. The kids always run to the window to marvel at the spectacle. I hope the line goes dead before it starts a fire.

Death to Chocolate Bunnies

Brave Little Puddin’ Britches

So we went to my parent’s house this weekend to celebrate three family birthdays.

My Dad and most of the men folk were hanging out on the back porch, grilling, drinking beer, telling manly-men tales.

I was farther out in the backyard with the three-year-old, Puddin’. She wanted to swing. Then, she wanted to climb in the tree house. While she was climbing up the ladder to the tree house, I noticed a bumble bee floating around the door of the house. I pointed this out to her. She decided she did not want to play in the tree house, she’d rather swing.

While the climbing and not climbing were taking place, my five-year-old neice, LoMay, wandered out to the playset and firmly planted herself in the “big girl swing.” The only other swing is one of those molded-plastic, infant swings. Puddin’ is still small enough that I think we could probably squeeze her into it if she really wants to swing. She says “yes.” So, I wedge her in and start pushing.

I notice a large, flying insect out of the corner of my eye. My initial thought is, “that damn bumble-bee followed us over here.” Then, I notice two, three, four buzzing things. And I take a closer look. WASPS!!!!!

Don’t panic, don’t panic.

Puddin’, Mommy has to stop the swing. Don’t move, stay very still, DON’T MOVE! I manage to stop the swing without anyone getting stung. But it seems more wasps are circling, so I take a couple steps back. I say as calmly and as firmly as I can, “Don’t move.”

LoMay asks, “Can I move?” I answer, “No, I think you need to stay still, too.”

The wasps finally disappear. In my panic, I don’t think to look to see where they fly away to. I tell Puddin’ that I’m going to take her out of the swing. I explain to both girls that we need to move away from the swing set until someone figures out where the wasps are coming from. As I’m trying to dislodge Puddin’ from the swing, the wasps start swarming again.

Fear strikes the heart of me. I know where the wasps are coming from…the plastic rim of the swing.

I let go of Puddin’ again and take a few steps back. She’s still trying to wiggle out. I tell her she has to sit very, very still.

My sister, MayLay, has walked onto the back porch. She’s looking in our direction. I can tell by the tilt of her head that her mommy-radar as gone off. She knows something odd is happening over at the playset. I wave her over.

Once she’s close enough I tell her my wasp nest theory. We decide that she will hold the swing as still as possible while I lift Puddin out.

We encounter problems. Puddin is wedged in and the slightest movement sets the wasps in motion.

MayLay and I both step away, again screaming the mantra, “stay still, stay still.”

I try to control my fear. How the hell am I going to get my child out of this situation without getting her stung? I look little Puddin Britches in the eye. I’m amazed she isn’t crying at this point. I’m even more shocked by the expression I find on her face. There is no fear, no look of doom. Just an expectant, almost curious expression. She simply has no clue. I’m scared shitless. Remarkably, I’m managing to NOT frighten my little one.

So, as the wasps settle down again, MayLay and I decide we need another person to help hold the swing still. MayLay uses her banshee-wail-of-death to summon her husband to us.

We decide MayLay will hold the swing still, my brother-in-law will lift Puddin out, and I will guide her legs through the plastic holes.

Success! RUN!

In Memoriam

Fondest Herb memories:

Snuggles. When Herb was a young lad, he would snuggle around my head at night. The husband always hated this because Herb invariably had his butt aimed at the husband’s head. When Herb finally grew into his full-fledged twenty pound self, the bed snuggling came to an end. The husband just couldn’t handle that much butt.

Lettuce. Herb loved to eat lettuce. Ergo his name, Herb, which is short for Herbivore. When he was a kitten, we discovered this by accident. For some reason the fridge door was ajar or open. Herb somehow zereod in on the lettuce sitting on the bottom shelf and he climbed on in to score some Butter Bread green leaf. He occassionaly went through phases where he’d hang out by the fridge in the hopes of snagging a leaf or two.

Catnip. Herb loved to eat catnip. He didn’t just roll in it. He would eat it while salivating profusely, we’re talking puddles of drool would form. Upon getting himself into a good catnip stupor, he’d frolic. A frolicking 20-pound feline is ludicrous beyond words.

Food. Herb loved to eat…and often. He expected a minimum of three squares a day. He was not shy about asking for seconds.

Hockey nights. Whitey always picked me up for home hockey games. Herb would pull himself out of his most comfortable snuggle spots to run and get love from Whitey. He’d yell at her in his little kitty voice to give him good lovin’. She always did.

Farts. Can you say “silent but deadly”? Herb could clear a room. You never heard them, sometimes you could see them, you always smelled them. As disgusting as it sounds, we always found it hilarious.

Unrealistic body image. Herb never knew he was a 20-pounder. In his little, kitty mind he thought he maxed out at about eight pounds. How do I know this? He liked to “hide” and attack. Yet he never realized he needed to conceal the last two-thirds of his body in order to mount a successful attack. He also liked to sit in empty shoe boxes. He either never noticed or never cared that sitting in them caused them to tear apart at the seams.

Neediness. Herb was rarely content to just crush a lap…I mean sit on a lap. He’d get himself into a good snuggle position. However, if you did not immediately start to pet him, he would begin to slap at your face with claws extended. If you started petting him and then stopped, he’d slap at your face with claws extended.

Addendum
Claiming. Landstander has reminded me that Herb enjoyed claiming property. You may ask, “How can a cat claim anything as it’s own?” Simple. Say you set something down on a table, a book perhaps. Herb would lay down beside the book and then place one paw on top of it, as if to say, “This is mine now. It belongs to me.”

Confusion

So, my three-year old was with me yesterday morning when I found Herb’s body. She was right by my side as I wrapped his body in trash bags and then stored him in the outdoor fridge for later burial. I had to continually explain to her that Herb was dead and what dead meant.
In between finding the body and finally getting her to daycare, I was prone to outbursts of crying. My little princess would offer some sympathetic crying. I don’t think she fully grasped the situation. She knew I was upset. To her this meant she should also be upset. If I started to cry, she’d do what I can only describe as “mock sobbing.”

Anyway, when I dropped her off daycare, the three-year-old caregiver wasn’t in yet, so I had to leave her with the one-year-old caregiver. I was going to write a note to the three-year-old caregiver about finding our cat dead, but I decided all I needed to do was tell the one-year-old caregiver. I should have written a note.

At around 10:30 a.m. I get a call from the daycare assistance director. Here’s how it went:

Me: Hello.
AD: Hi, this is “Sarah” from daycare. Sorry to bother you at work.
Me thinking: Crap, she’s going to tell me I have to pick up little princess.
Me saying: No problem. Is something wrong.
AD: Actually, I feel kind of weird asking this, but is everything okay at home?
Me:Well, actually, we found one of our cats dead this morning. And little princess was with me when I found him.
AD: Oh, thank goodness. Not that your cat is dead. But she has been telling everyone that her Daddy is dead. That he’s in heaven with the angels. I kept telling her teacher that she has to be wrong, you wouldn’t have just dropped her off.

So there you have it. In less than a three-hour period, my “grief-stricken” child turned our cat’s death into her father’s death.