The World According to the Peevish Kitty
Sep
30
It’s fall. I love fall. Although after the summer we had — or did NOT have, depending on where you live — it’s a bit of a non-event. But still, I am glad to see the change in seasons.
One of the things I love about fall is all the cooking: canning or putting things in the freezer for use over the winter, and making hearty, cool weather dishes again. And usually, I am making all kinds of good things with the harvest from my garden.
But not this year, not really. Two factors have made this a bum year for our kitchen garden. First, my garden was terribly neglected because of the attention required to a certain little someone. My catnapping kid didn’t afford me many opportunities to go out and tend to the garden as I normally would, and her lack of mobility meant we spent our time outdoors in places where she was sheltered from the sun and up out of the grass. So that meant, no time out in the garden, and weeds ran rampant. Next year will be much easier, because she will be able to run and play while I am out there.
The second factor that made for a less-than-bumper crop was the horrible weather. It has to have been the worst summer in a long, long time in terms of weather. It was cold and rainy, so my poor vegetables struggled to grow, and the plants that did manage to grow were either pretty blighted or had a really small yield. My tomato plants, which normally grow like crazy in their dry, sunny spot, grew to about half their normal size, yielded small sad little tomatoes, and then suffered the blight that seems to have affected tomato plants everywhere. The poor dying things tried hard, but it was not a great year for tomatoes. Basil, which also likes the sun and the heat and the dry weather, ended up all leggy and spotty. My green pepper plants barely grew, and then got overwhelmed by weeds. My onions are still out there, as I hope the extra time will help them fatten up. The only thing that did well were my green onions, which have made for a great batch of jerk.
So, I have harvested what I could. I brought in my sad little tomatoes, and left many of them to the local raccoons and skunks, so at least somebody is getting fed, right? The ones I did bring in are tiny little roma tomatoes. There’s not enough for a big batch of tomato sauce — it’s hardly worth the effort peeling, seeding and mashing such small fruit. But you know what the little romas are great for?
Bruschetta. LOTS AND LOTS of bruschetta.
So I have been making bruschetta for us to snack on, or to accompany meals, and it has been lovely. A bit of sad basil, some sweet onion, olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper, and some of our little tomatoes cut up small. It’s been delicious and really fresh. Because they’re so small, seeding them and chopping them up has been easy peasy. And despite their small stature, they still taste good. And as far as something to snack on goes, it’s pretty healthy. I buy some artisan bread from the day-old rack at the supermarket, which means we get some excellent breads at a fraction of their normal price, and toasting it in the oven means that being day-old really doesn’t matter. So we get something tasty, healthy AND at a bargain.
It’s not quite the same as life giving you lemons and making lemonade, but it’s close.
Sep
28
Okay, so, you guys know I love my daughter, right? I love her more than anything in this world. And I blog about my love for her enough that you would think that this blog, and by extension my life, is a love-filled love-fest coated in love.
However… some days real life just leaps up and smacks you in the face. “Snap out of it!!” says Life.
I hate Life for that some days. Bastard Life. Raining on my blissed-out Woodstock of Mommy Love.
Stinkerbelle is growing and developing at an amazing rate. And it is not all GOOD. Recently she has developed some disturbing new behaviours that are adding some wrinkles to our everyday blissful existence. You know, things like WALKING and INDEPENDENT THOUGHT and stuff.
It’s enough to make you cry in your beer, I tell you.
Don’t get me wrong. I LOVELOVELOVE being a mom and she is like the most perfect child I ever could have imagined… most of the time. And I thank my lucky stars to have been blessed with this most wonderful of children. Other times, she does crazy normal nutty baby things. And those are the days where I just throw up my hands and go, “Child, what the HELL are you doing? What PLANET are you FROM? Now be a good girl and pass me my bourbon. Mommy’s going to need a LOT of medication today.”
Sep
22
Well, it is official… creditors and families have voted overwhelmingly to revive Imagine Adoption. And with that, the hopes and dreams of so many adoptive families, waiting so patiently and working so hard to adopt from Ethiopia and Ghana and other countries, have a chance to come true.
I am so happy for them.
I am also so happy for the children whose futures now include a family who will love them and raise them to help their dreams come true, too. So many bright futures for so many wonderful children!
The news also means that if ever we decided to adopt a sibling for Stinkerbelle, we now potentially have the option to do so. And that’s kind of cool.
I love it when there’s good news to start the day.
Sep
18
Eddie Izzard, one of our favourite people in the entire world, has just finished running 43 MARATHONS IN 51 DAYS to raise funds for Sport Relief (which is a branch of Comic Relief, one of our favourite charities in the entire world).
I’ve been following his journey on Twitter and it has been remarkable. He literally ran AROUND the UK… and rescued a kitten en route! The man now truly OWNS the title “action transvestite”!
Way to go Eddie! Hell of a feat. Not to mention, hell on the feet.
Sep
17
I still have a post to make about some more lovely quilt squares, and I will do that later today. But I just saw in the news that Henry Gibson died this week. And I am a little sad about that, and so I wanted to make mention of him.
Now, you probably don’t know who Henry Gibson is — unless you are a Laugh In fan. (He did many, many more things, but character actors tend not to be as name-recognizable as your pretty Hollywood stars.)
But if you know Laugh In, then when I say “A poem, by Henry Gibson”, you will know exactly who I am talking about.
So in his memory, here’s one of his poems, that I had on a big poster on my wall all through high school and university. It got lost by my father when I moved to Japan. I have always missed it since.
It’s Not the Same Without Pelicans
It’s not the same without pelicans, you know?
I mean, dinosaurs… Well, they’re too big to miss…
And besides, it was their own fault.
But we all grew up with pelicans!
I hope the ducks hold out.
I hope they bury Mr. Gibson holding a big flower.
Sep
11
One year ago today — 525,600 minutes ago, lots of daylights and sunsets and midnights and cups of coffee ago — we met our beautiful, incredible, wonderful daughter for the first time.
And from that moment on, we have measured our life in love.
Sep
8
Okay. So when was it, exactly… when was the exact moment that I lost my mind? Because I don’t recall.
I used to be cool. I used to be thin. I used to be stylish, and edgy, and popular.
Okay, I never was any of those things. At all. Alright, I WAS thin, but I have a face like a death mask when I lose too much weight so, you know, it was not a good thing.
But DUDE. As a mom? It’s like that whole other life never happened. At all. You were just plopped down on this earth — BLADANG! or maybe SHABLAMMO! even — and you are in the midst of Momdom and it is totally weird. And you can’t remember it ever being any other way.
Today, for example. Today I periodically had to stop and quote Talking Heads to myself. “And you might ask yourself, HOW? How did I get here?”
And with a bad back, well let me tell you sister, it is just a BUNDLE of LAUGHS. I’m at that part of the back injury show where it is really painful but not enough to, you know, curl up and die or anything, not even enough really to just lie in bed dosed on some lovely drug, or even enough for your husband to take a day off work to help you take care of things around the house. It hurts, but in a you-have-to-just-suck-it-up-and-do-stuff-or-it-won’t-get-done kind of way. And I am spending my day walking around on ceramic tile. And I am doing this surreal back injury hokey pokey whereupon periodically your back goes Tuh-WWWAAAANNNNNGGGGG and you do this bizarre full body jerky dance move to compensate and make it not hurt anymore. And then you walk around a few more minutes until it’s time to bust a back injury move again. TA-WAAAANNNNNNNGGGG!
Good times.
Meanwhile, my daughter is sitting over on the tile floor, spitting. SPITTING. With the sole purpose, apparently, of ACCUMULATING A GIANT PUDDLE OF SPIT ON THE TILE. And our cat, Duncan, he of the formerly little sweet baby boy voice, has suddenly started channelling Opus and is talking in SENTENCES. “Mrow mrmrmrmr MEOW mrow meow MEE-OOW.” As he is running by, like he is late for a meeting or something.
So it goes something like this:
“Ptui! Ptui! Ptui!”
“Stinkerbelle, NO! Stop that!”
“Ptui!”
“Stinkerbelle NO!”
Trot trot trot…
“No!” Ta-WWAAAAAANNNNGGG! “OW!” *insert cussing*
Trot trot trot. “MEOW! Mrow mrmr MWOW meow!” Trot trot trot.
“DUNCAN! I MEAN IT! Get out from underfoot right…” Tuh-WWWWAAAAAANNNNGGG! “OW! Ow owOW!”
*insert expletives*
“Ptui! Ptui!”
“Stinkerbelle! NO! I am SERIOUS! NO!”
“Meow meow MRRRROW mrmrmr meow.”
Trot trot trot thunkSPLOOOSH! (the sound of Duncan knocking over my glass of ice water)
“DUNCAN! BAD BOY!”
Ta-WAAAAAAAANNNNNNNGGGGGG!
“OWGODDAMMIT!”
“PTUI!”
So, yeah. Life is good. It’s so good, it’s a full feature length romantic comedy of good starring, oh I dunno, somebody a hell of a lot more sexy than me and with one of those charming beguiling smiles and really good hair. Who can also cuss like a stevedore. And bust a move a la Elaine from Seinfeld periodically to indicate back injury is happening.
Is it any surprise I catch myself thinking, “Dude. Is this REALLY my life? Really? Really REALLY?” It’s certainly not what I pictured Mom Life to be. It’s definitely messier and a lot more cartoonish than I imagined myself as a mom to be. I mean, there is potential there, when you get past the unshoweredness and the yelping in pain and the spitting potato-bouncing children and domesticated animals running roughshod all over the house.
Well when you put it that way… Yeah. I can see it. Delightful Sandra Bullock Kate Hudson rom-com I AIN’T.
I wonder if the movie is going to need a disclaimer at the end saying “any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental”.
But I am sure it has a happy ending.
*Edited to include a link to Elaine dancing because it makes BDH happy.
Sep
8
And now, back by popular demand (well, Janna asked, anyway. Shut up.) I give you… my PESTO RECIPE! Ta daaaah! *insert fanfare*
Okay. So it’s not actually MY pesto recipe. But it is the one I use, and it works well.
And, because I don’t have as pretty a garden this year — the weather being CRAP and all — I also give you pictures of last year’s bounty. My harvest this week will be more anemic-looking, but it’s still bountiful, so I will get a good batch of pesto. And because I have a ridiculous crop of green onions… more jerk! (We had our first taste of this year’s jerk last night and OH MY DOG. The closest chicken has gotten to heaven in a long time.)
I am glad it will be a cloudy week. I am looking forward to cooking.
Good doG how I love fall!
Sep
7
Whoa. It’s been a time here at the House of Peevish. Bubby has left the building, and as she has moved on to bigger and better things, so do we.
(Actually, what she has moved on to is, I think, haunting the other cats and That Baby. Everyone has been displaying distinctly Bubby-like behaviours since her departure, and in general acting like weenies. So either she is haunting them — AND I WOULD NOT PUT IT PAST HER — or at the very least, she had a quick word with each of them before she left and left them explicit instructions. Being a weenie from beyond the grave — it’s her style.)
But the past week or so has caused us to take stock of things. And we have decided to get some things done. Lots of things. Moving things. Cleaning things. All sorts of things.
And then on Saturday, I threw my back out. And so, as I sit in my chair, it has been mostly BDH who has been doing things.
(Bah. I am sore and peevish. And feeling like an arse because I can’t do much to help BDH in his quest for order.)
There are all sorts of tasks that we’ve been wanting to accomplish, and for whatever reason, Opus’s death has kicked us into gear and we decided to do some of them. Or maybe it’s the onset of fall that’s done it, opening the windows and letting the cool air and sunshine in. But whatever it is, we’ve been cleaning and sorting and organizing like crazy.
Okay. BDH has. Whatever.
We put thousands of photos into albums. We washed and folded lots of laundry. We cleaned and put away Opus-maintenance items like her cage and her blankets and her litter box. We reorganized furniture. We made (or planned to make) food from the produce in our sadly neglected kitchen garden, like jerk and pesto and tomato sauce, which will then go in the freezer to be enjoyed all year.
We’re getting our lives in order, too. We got a calendar, one of those dry-erase deals, and put it up on the kitchen wall, so we can track appointments and Stinkerbelle’s swimming lessons and garbage days and whatever else. We started off a personal fitness challenge. We’re scouring websites and cookbooks for new or healthier or more interesting or more budget-friendly recipes to try. We’re making checklists. We’re imposing order on chaos.
It has been nice. It has been some change. Change is sometimes good.
The only problem? With all this moving and changing, there will come a time, hours or days or weeks from now, when one of us will go, “Have you seen my X?” And neither of us will have sweet fanny all of an idea where the heck we put X in all our flurry of cleaning and futzing and moving.
But it’s okay. Opus moved on, nice weather moved in, and we got moving. It’s all good, in its own way.
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