The World According to the Peevish Kitty
Dec
31
Welcome! It’s another holiday Friday confession extravaganza here at the House of Peevish!
Okay, not really. It’s kinda boring, actually.
I confess:
Dec
28
Although we are not in our regularly scheduled environs for a Tuesday, it is no less random. In fact, given the continuous holiday-food-induced stupor I’ve been in for the past week, this Tuesday may quite possibly be reaching new heights, or possibly depths (depending on perspective) of randomness. Coaxing a coherent string of thoughts has been dicey — and it can’t ALL be the fault of Bailey’s. Can it?
Now THERE’s something to ponder. Let me have a drink and get back to you. In the meantime…
Dec
24
It’s Christmas Eve. And so, I am indulging myself with my favourite Christmas song ever. Merry Christmas, friends.
Dec
24
Well, That Baby is currently watching Curious George and playing with this noisy toy full of balls and air and insanity-inducing carnival tunes, and BDH is off running some last-minute errands to prepare for dinner and two days of my newfound cold symptoms (Yes. Again.), so I have a few minutes to sneak in a few confessions.
So, I confess…
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you, my friends. I wish you peace and happiness.
Dec
23
Well we made it, safe and sound, to rainy warm Nova Scotia yesterday, with a minimum of travel snafus and a maximum of tiredness.
Travelling relatively cheaply at this time of year meant travelling with Air Canada. I loathe Air Canada. Always have. And, true to form, they did not disappoint, as their online check in system went knockers up for us on the day before we travelled, and we were unable to do our virtual check in and book our seats. That meant we had to do it at Pearson before our flight, where we met an attendant at the check in counter who was virtually charm-free and who spent a good 15 minutes trying to check us in before telling us that she could not give us 3 seats together on the first leg to Montreal, and that Stinkerbelle would be sitting alone. In an exit row.
Fabulous.
She also sent us to the wrong gate, which meant sherpa-ing our gear and child through the airport only to turn around and come back again to a gate we passed on the way. Okay, fine, whatever.
At the gate, we finally got our seats somewhat squared away, sitting 2 and 1. Fine. Better than the alternative.
We did not, however, count on the kindness of the people we were travelling with, who were pleasant and kind and switched seats so we could all be sitting together. Or, playing peek-a-boo with Stinkerbelle over the seat back to keep her amused while she was confined to her seat. It was unusual, having other travellers who were pleasant and accomodating and kind to people travelling with children. We had a whole planeload full of them.
Once in Montreal, it was a quick changeup, and we were on our flight to Halifax. Stinkerbelle was a trooper, given that we’d all gotten up early to get on the road by 7 that morning, but sitting in de-icing at Montreal she started to get impatient and fidgety. It had been a long, exciting day so far for her, and she was as pleasant as could be until then, but it was catching up with her. But we took off, and by the time we had levelled off, she was asleep in her seat. BONUS. So we flew, quietly and comfortably, while she napped.
And then we began our descent.
Stinkerbelle woke up, not happy and still tired. The changing altitude was bugging her — either her sinuses or her ears were hurting. She began to cry, real big tears, and wail. I cuddled her, her face pressed hard against mine, which seemed to be the only way to comfort her, until a flight attendant came by and said I absolutely had to put her in her seat (she was very kind and waited until the very last minute, so for that I am grateful). I put That Baby in her seat, and she wailed and cried for the last 10 minutes or so.
But once down, she began to feel better, and we were off through the airport to meet Grammy and Grandad. And then home, to family and a change of clothes and OMG SEAFOOD CHOWDER.
And, having slept only 3 or 4 hours the night before, we were in bed by 8:30 or so and slept hard the whole night through.
So, home for the holidays — we are it. We have shopping (well, BDH does) and wrapping and visiting and much, much eating to come. I myself plan on drinking as much coffee and Baileys as is humanly possible.
But first, it’s time to go get That Baby up and ready to face the day. She’s delighted to be home with Grammy and Grandad, so there lies a day of bossing and shouting and singing and dancing and pointing and playing ahead of us. It’s a full day.
Dec
21
OH. MY. DOG.
It’s coming, isn’t it. CHRISTMAS. Is COMING. Gaaaaaaah.
I’m not ready.
My random thoughts for today are therefore coated in breathless rushing about and lightly frosted with panic.
Dec
17
OHMYDOG It’s Friday again. And NEXT FRIDAY is, like, CHRISTMAS. Or something.
WHERE has my week GONE? I do not know. And WHERE, pray tell me, has my YEAR gone? Do you mean I have to be ready for Christmas ALREADY? AGAIN?
Sheesh. Best get to the confessing, then. We’re running out of time.
I confess…
Dec
15
So, last night, I was getting dinner started. My daughter, who was bored out of her tree, did what any preschooler who is bored like a bored thing that is bored will do — she decided to make her own fun. Most times, this involves a lot of running in circles, hopping, or spinning. So she did all that. A lot.
And then she wandered into the kitchen and decided it was as good a time as any to play in the curtains.
We have issues with curtains here at the House of Peevish. First off, they’re covered in cat fuzz from cats who are spending their days looking out the windows (Duncan), or sitting in the sun (Lucy), or using them as hiding spots (Cinnamon). But secondly, and more importantly, they are one of the first “decorating” projects that BDH and I ever undertook together in our new house. Or anywhere, for that matter. So although there are curtains hanging, they are just barely hanging. Screw anchors in the wall to firmly hold the curtain rod brackets in place are neither firmly in the wall, nor firmly holding anything in place. So our curtains are subject to Major Curtain Fail at any moment. All it would take is a good firm tug, really, and curtain, rod, and brackets will come plummeting to earth.
So we try to keep Stinkerbelle out of the curtains as much as possible, until we redecorate at least.
This is, generally speaking, an impossibility. But we DO try.
Anyway, last evening, she seemed to be futzing less with the curtains than she normally does, so I let her sit in the curtains and look out the patio door. An, after a few minutes, she started pointing and shouting, “Airplane! Airplane! Airplane!”
It was dark, so I didn’t think she’d be able to see an airplane, but I went over to check anyway. She was pointing up into the sky, which was clear but for the moon and one bright star.
I assumed she was pointing at the star, so I took the opportunity to teach her, “No, baby, that’s a STAR. See? There’s the moon, too. The moon. And a star.”
“Oooh,” she said. “Moon. Star. STAAAAARRR.”
She repeated the words a few times, getting used to saying them, connecting the words to the objects. “Moon,” she would say and point. “Moon,” I would repeat. “And a star,” I would say. “Star,” she said.
“Moon.”
“Yes, moon.”
“Star.”
“Yep. That’s a star.”
“STAAAAAAAR.”
“Yes. Star.”
I left her at the window, repeating “moon” and “star” quietly to herself. I went back to getting supper.
And then, with great excitement, she started shouting. “AIRPLANE! AIRPLANE! PLANE! PLANE!”
On the off chance it WAS a plane, I walked over to check. It wasn’t, of course. It was the same star. The same moon.
“Star,” I corrected her.
“Star,” she repeated. “Star. Star. Staaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrr.”
I went back to cooking.
“AIRPLANE! AIRPLANE! AIRPLANE!”
“Okay, Tattoo,” I said. “It’s a plane. Welcome to Fantasy Island.”
Dec
14
Okay, so I think it is Tuesday. Although these days I cannot be sure because my timekeeper of the week, Stinkerbelle’s many classes, have rapidly been drawing to a close. How will I know what day it is if we are not swimming, I ask you? Or if we don’t have to go ignore a teacher doing crafts? It boggles the mind.
But it’s even worse because the weather has turned decidedly foul, which prompts me to stay indoors even moreso than usual. And when I am out, the crazy abounds, so even if I KNOW what I am doing and what day it is, I am still WAY cranky from all the Stupid People out there with me.
And, as you can see, this all brings the ranting, which is decidedly random. It’s going to be a heck of a week. I can feel it. Well, no I can’t, because my EXTREMITIES ARE CURRENTLY FROZEN OMG WHAT THE EFFING EFF IS WITH THIS WEATHER.
*ahem*
Yeah. So. Tuesday.
Dec
10
It’s snowy, it’s Friday, it’s a snowy Friday… That’s all I got. I got nuthin’, man. I am as boring as a boring thing that is really, really boring today.
But I do have confessions! So, I confess…
Dec
7
Welcome to Tuesday. I have a headache, the weather is crappy, and good people are dying. I’m going to stay home and eat cookies and watch penguins.
Dec
6
Oh, wait. Nope. It’s still a mess here. Just slightly better lit and with some sparkly bits.
We put on Christmas music. We broke out some of the Christmas decorations over the weekend to try and muster up some holiday spirit. And we put up the Christmas tree, which is always an adventure with a small child.
This involved shoving a lot of the other mess out of the way to make way for the new mess, so clearly, we did not have a solid plan going in. But we used some of the mess to corral That Baby during the bits with the lights and the stepladder, and in the end the tree is up and looking quite nice.
We have some issues, though. First, the tree is somewhat bent from a certain big dumb cat who insists on climbing it, year after year. And the tree skirt is always all over the room from a certain other slightly-less-big dumb cat who uses it as her own personal sleeping bag.
But we decorated it well, so the gaps and wonky branches are hidden — for now. It’s a matter of time before there’s a cat swinging from the bending, twisting branches and ornaments come crashing to the floor. But if the cats don’t trash it, the preschooler will.
This is the first year she’s actually been, you know, CONSCIOUS at Christmas time, as opposed to a cooing, babylike mound of somewhat mobile humanity known as a toddler. So she was all about the OMGWTF LET ME HELP OR I WILL DIE participation.
Our first issue was the lights. She was all OOOOOOHHHHH PRETTY which is fine, but we had to deter her from trying to pick them up and carry them around and stuff. The lights are older than dirt. They might get hot. I dunno.
Also? Since we’ve had a few birthdays recently she’s become fond of blowing out candles, so she spent a good half hour trying to blow out the lights while we were getting strings ready to go.
We have also observed that a preschooler’s idea of decorating is somewhat different to an adult’s, just so you know. In Stinkerbelle’s case, it involved running to Daddy, who was unwrapping ornaments, and under the direction, “Now, take this to Mommy”, she would run over to the tree and plonk whatever decoration it was on a branch. Then back to Daddy. Then back to the tree. PLONK, on the same branch. Then back to Daddy. Left to her own devices, one branch would be VERY well decorated on an otherwise empty tree. But we got that sorted.
Living with cats, and now a small child, we have installed an Early Warning System on our tree. All the lowest branches are hung with bells. This way, if anyone is screwing around in any way with anything on, under, or around the tree, a bell will jingle, and we know to look and deal.
WELL now. Bells are apparently AWESOME to an excitable Stinkerbelle, who has intermittently trotted over to the tree since having it put up, and WAILED ON THE BELLS. She’s smacking them, and yanging on them, and smacking them some more, and the tree is waving to and fro like it’s caught in a monsoon.
So that’s been fun.
We also have a Santa hat, which is to be worn on Christmas morning by the “elf” who distributes the presents from under the tree. Except now, it’s “HATTY HATTY HATTY!” as soon as she sees it, and she has to have the hat on. Which she then pulls down as far as she can over her ears and face, and then starts flailing about like Iggy Pop doing a bizarre holiday slam dance, in an effort to see the pom-pom on the top waggling about.
Not to mention, I spend a couple hours picking fuzz out of her puffs afterwards.
But it’s a start, right? I have many presents bought. I even made the first of my Christmas cookies today. Well, the dough, anyway. Let’s not get carried away.
So, let’s just say it’s beginning to look a lot like it might be beginning to look somewhat like something kind of nearing Christmas, and leave it at that.
Dec
3
It’s Friday. Or as BDH would say, “Thank god it’s Friday.” (Well, OBVIOUSLY he didn’t COIN the phrase or anything. But he DOES say it. Sheesh. Nitpicky.)
And that means it is once again confession time. So, I confess:
Dec
2
Well, it’s official. I’m sick, for the 4th time since September. That Baby was coughing and fussing all night as well, so we’re both home sick today. So it will be a day of trying to keep Stinkerbelle quietly amused. That will be a tough task. Thank doG for Sesame Street and Curious George.
One thing about feeling lousy is that it is not just physical. You just feel lousy in general.
It’s hard to be home sick and be a good parent. You have to pretend that you feel cheerful when you don’t. You have to pretend you have energy when you don’t. And you have to try to have patience when you don’t.
By any yardstick, we are lucky to have such a good kid in Stinkerbelle. She generally doesn’t give us a lick of trouble. She’s easygoing and funny and cheerful, and full of love and enthusiasm for everyone and everything. But it takes effort to remind yourself of that when you are feeling under the weather, and and trying to get through your day with her.
So when you lose patience, and speak harshly, and react less than patiently to what she says or does, it makes you feel even lousier.
My kid is a busy, active child. She’s not much into crafty stuff at the best of times. So sitting and trying to do something crafty, like making paper snowflakes or Christmas-y stuff, is going to engage her for maybe 5 minutes on a good day. And not at all when she is sick. Plus we’re still working on her sensory issues, so fingerpaints or playdough or sand or anything textured is often not a good choice for her. Baking together would be a bad choice. If she’s tired and sick, her sensitivities are going to be bigger and intensified.
So, you’d think it would occur to me that trying to keep her still and tracing her hand would be a bad plan on a day when she’s not feeling tops, and when I am feeling tired and crabby.
You would be mistaken.
You’d think I’d also know enough to just let it go and not react when it all goes pear-shaped.
Yeah. Not so much.
So, okay. There are all kinds of games and toys and stuff we can play together, right? We can sit quietly and do things together, right? Well, her patience is low. So is mine. Her attention span is considerably shortened. And she doesn’t want to be pushed to think or engage when she’s not feeling tops.
You’d think I could accomodate that, right?
Well, it seems… not so much.
So what’s left? Well, there are videos and TV shows. She’s quiet, and it doesn’t take much effort, and if you choose well, it can be educational.
But then, what parent doesn’t feel like a crappy parent for parking their kid in front of the boob tube?
So not only do I feel sick, but I am feeling like a pretty lousy mom today too. I’m having Mom Fail on almost every front.
Okay, stepping back with perspective: She’s not out playing in traffic. She’s warm, and fed, and safe, and loved.
But when she’s laying on a pile of pillows, and she’s got a sore throat and is coughing, and she’s crying because Mom has snapped at her… perspective goes out the window. And all you feel is lousy.
Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design
