The World According to the Peevish Kitty
Sep
28
Stinkerbelle’s school is about a kilometre and a half from our house. It’s walking distance, so if the weather is fine, I will walk Stinkerbelle to school in the morning. It’s kinda far for short little legs — she can do it, but I don’t want her tired out for class — so I’ll usually plonk her in the jogging stroller and she rides there. Then I leave the stroller in the hallway, walk home, and go back after class to get kid and stroller, and we all walk home.
So, as we’ve been walking to school in the mornings, I have noticed something: many, MANY slugs and snails crossing the sidewalk. It’s like the first day of fall all the slugs and snails went OMG I MUST DO MY ANNUAL INVERTEBRATE EXODUS ACROSS THE GREAT CONCRETE DIVIDE TO THE BOULEVARD OF CLOVER.
(Which, if you ask me, is particularly dumb because they’re LEAVING the lush green wonderland that is the conservation area and crossing over to a weed-filled roadside strip of limited grassy potential. Anyway. Ours is not to question the philosophy behind the Great Invertebrate Exodus.)
So I am walking along, and every few feet a slug or snail is making the long trek across the sidewalk. And I am compelled to stop and say DUDES, SRSLY. It’s a long way and most of you are going to dry out or get eaten by birds or get mashed by feet before you get there. TURN BACK! SAVE YOURSELVES!
But I don’t. Mostly because a) snails don’t have ears, and 2) I have enough issues looking foolish to the general public without doing so PURPOSELY.
So I walk along, and the quasi-Buddhist tendencies in me compel me to do what I can to avoid stepping on the little fellows or crushing them under the stroller wheels. Because I don’t want to KILL them. Well, if they’re eating my flowers and plants, then ALL BETS ARE OFF YOU MUNCHY LITTLE BASTARDS. But when they’re just going about their slimy business, I tend to just let them be.
EXCEPT.
You can’t avoid ALL of them. There’s TOO MANY. I’m bobbing and weaving and herking and jerking the stroller and myself all over the frigging place. It’s nuts.
So I get into this little existential argument in my head as I plod along, while Stinkerbelle sings WHERE IS THUMBKIN tunelessly, and at the top of her lungs, like a tiny drunk being pushed in a shopping cart.
At first, I get kind of pissed, actually. WHAT THE HELL GET OFF THE SIDEWALK YOU STUPID SLIMY THINGS THIS IS DISGUSTING. But then, after watching a few of the little fellows working so hard to go so NOT FAR, only to get squashed by various and sundry pedestrians, I think OMG YOU POOR STUPID BASTARDS WHAT ARE YOU DOING? OH NO ITS STUCK TO THE WHEEL THAT IS SO GROSS. I mourn for their tiny slow-moving pastoral existences, snuffed out by my Stroller Wheels of Doom. And I like snails, mostly, so for them? I’m almost compelled to stop and pick them up and move them across the sidewalk to safety.
But I don’t, because, well, who has that kind of time? Plus they’re snails. Birds will get them, dead or alive. Circle-of-life, Planet-Earth-Attenborough nonsense and all that.
But I feel bad.
THEN.
Then I think WAIT. What if this is THEIR DESTINY? What if this is their ROLE IN LIFE, to be in this place at this time, to be in Their Appointed Spot on the Food Chain? What if they are on some sort of Slug Kamikaze Mission? Who am I to fuck with THEIR DESTINY? And what if I am simply fulfilling MINE? Aiding them in their quest to be the BEST (and to birds and other bug-eaters, tastiest and most available) LITTLE INVERTEBRATES THEY CAN BE by, you know, making them ex-invertebrates?
So I am torn. To paraphrase The Beatles (the band, not the bugs, although I appreciate the pun like you can’t believe), should I Help? Or should I just Let It Be?
I’m either a mass murderer, or I’m an invertibrate Dr. Kevorkian. You tell me.
(Either way? Too much time on my hands.)
Sep
27
I am getting a little tired of Other People’s Kids. Specifically, other people’s kids who have not been taught to behave like civilized human beings. Or even vaguely nice ones.
During the past two weeks, I have watched as my daughter has had a number of run-ins with badly behaved, aggressive, and generally just mean children, and I am starting to get tired of it. I’m getting tired of her standing there while other kids are allowed to be mean to her, or manhandle her. I am getting tired of having to police my kid’s social interactions because apparently, by taking her out into the world of school and classes and such, I’m throwing her to the wolves.
I’m talking about the bratty Ryla who, on That Girl’s first day of school, when they both went to play in the kitchen area, grabbed my daughter and told her in a bratty, mean fashion that she could not play there, and pulled and manhandled her out of the play area.
I’m talking about the satanic child Emma or Emily or whatever in dance class who, when she laid eyes on Stinkerbelle within moments of walking into her very first dance class, said out loud for all to hear, “I don’t want to sit beside THAT girl.” Or the other little brat who took great pains to avoid even having to TOUCH my daughter in class that day.
I’m talking about the little monster (Aidan or Liam or one of those ubiquitous boy names) that we passed on our walk today, who, after we exchanged hellos and pleasantries with his family, felt compelled to run after That Girl and try to push her down. His horrified mother was right on it, chastising him, which is at least a step in the right direction. But when she said to me “Oh no, and he got mud on her too… This is so unlike him, usually…” I confess I didn’t believe a word of it. And then, after this encounter, her older child proceeded to pursue us at a too-close-for-comfort distance for awhile as we walked. I wasn’t taking any more chances with Stinkerbelle, and so we ducked into the woods to escape the lunatic family.
I’m tired. I’m tired of teaching my child manners, to behave herself in social situations, to be a good girl. I’m tired of stepping in to protect her from the misbehaving, uncontrolled monsters she is interacting with on a daily basis. I’m tired of seeing her badly treated, because although she is too young to understand it now, soon she will not be. And she will be hurt, and not just physically, by some of these kids.
I feel that rather than teaching her to be polite and well behaved, I should be teaching her to defend herself, and fight back.
When did things change? When did it become okay to let your kids run wild, and not intervene when they misbehave, and not teach them right and wrong?
I am not asking for perfection, here. Kids are going to be kids. But why is it my language-delayed child can understand the basics of polite interaction with other people, and many of the brats we encounter can’t? Or is it just that they have been allowed to disregard the rules for so long they just don’t?
I don’t have the answers. But I am getting tired of holding back, holding my tongue, and “letting them work it out”. I’m going to speak up soon, and I don’t care what parent’s sensibilities are offended because they can’t teach their special snowflake child to behave in a less feral manner around my kid.
I don’t know how to fix it. I only know I’m tired of my open, loving, happy kid running to meet new kids, with nothing more on her mind than to have fun and make new friends, and being mistreated time after time. She doesn’t deserve this.
Sep
22
I’m a knitter. And this is basically all you need to know to go off and start knitting, too.
Remember: Tape is like knitting for everybody.
Sep
19
.
Well now. THIS was interesting. I took our suggestions for the September movie and let BDH choose one out of a hat. And so, this month’s movie will be:
So, it’s a classic Hitchcock comedy-mystery… not a bad way to lead us into October, I think! And if you check out the IMDB page, it’s got an interesting cast. Edmund Gwenn from “Miracle on 34th Street”. Shirley MacLaine’s first film. John Forsythe. Jerry Mathers from “Leave It To Beaver”.
This could be a fun one. I see a movie night in the future for BDH and myself, with a BIG bowl of popcorn. And my knitting, of course.
It’s available on Netflix, and probably for rental/purchase elsewhere. Hell, it’s from the 50s, so you might even be able to get it at the library.
So, thanks to Jade for the suggestion! I’ll post the discussion in October, say the Wednesday after Thanksgiving.
Enjoy!
Sep
16
Alright, so what’s our movie for September going to be? We need some suggestions. If there is no specific movie you want to see, then suggest a genre. Or, if you want a surprise, I can pull a name out of a hat. It’s all good.
(Personally, I’m in the mood for something with a bit of drama, maybe. Something to get really involved in.)
I’ll take suggestions until Sunday, and will post the movie title on Monday.
Sep
14
.
Okay, people. Summer’s over, school’s back in… and to help ease the transition, we had a fun family movie for our Comfy Couch night: How to Train Your Dragon!
(And, we also had an extra week since August was a little crazy. So.)
Let’s open up the discussion, then! What did you all think? Like it? Hate it? What about the kids in your life? What did they think? Tell us. Inquiring minds want to know.
(Note: Comments will be open on this post for a few days, but then I will have to shut it down to foil the spambots. HAHA I SEE YOU, FUCKERS.)
I’ll post my thoughts later. For now, let me know what your loved or hated or were feeling meh about.
And, as always, start thinking of our movie (or genre. if you want me to pull a name out of a hat) for this month’s movie night. I have a lot of knitting to do, so pick a good one!
Sep
7
Thirty is a number. A real number. With real value.
When someone says there is “a thirty percent chance” of something, think carefully. If there’s “a thirty percent chance” of winning the lottery, you’d be tempted to play, wouldn’t you? I know I would.
On the other hand, we tend to discount thirty percent sometimes. Like on the weather report, if there’s “a thirty percent chance” of rain or snow, most people go “Meh. Not going to happen.” And usually, they’re right.
Well, I am here to tell you, thirty? Is not to be taken lightly.
When someone tells you there’s going to be a thirty percent chance of rain? That’s almost a FIFTY percent chance of rain. It MIGHT rain. And thirty percent chance of rain? Is no indication of HOW MUCH it will rain, or how hard.
As I learned this morning, having set out for the grocery store, Stinkerbelle in stroller, only to have it begin to rain.
It started to rain when we were — and I think this is key — about thirty percent done our trip. So we walked in thirty percent chance of rain for seventy percent of our trip.
And I’m one hundred percent wet.
Sep
6
It’s September!
I like September, as far as months go. I’d say it’s probably my favourite month of all. Or at least, right up there in, say, the top three.
September is good. By the end of August, I’ve about had all I can take of the humidity of summer, and I am ready for a break. I generally welcome the warm early autumn days, as the temperatures begin to dip down at night, and the humidity blows away for another year. I like feeling a little cooler as I walk with That Girl, and am happy with the frost that puts an end to my hayfever.
I still will stand and shake my fist at and cuss out trees that I find that dare begin to turn their leaves, however. Keep that nonsense until October. Or, if need be, the end of September. Similarly, I’ll roll my eyes and cuss under my breath at those people who start to deck their houses out for Halloween. IT’S SEPTEMBER PEOPLE KEEP THAT HALLOWEENY SHIT IN A BOX UNTIL OCTOBER.
But errant leaves and decorating fools aside, I like September.
We have lots of reasons to celebrate September, lots of wonderful beginnings to remember. Our wedding anniversary is in September — today, in fact — and our wedding was one of those glorious sunny autumn days, the perfect day for a wedding. Our Family Day (NOT “gotcha day”, oh how I LOATHE that term) is in September. Enkutatash, the Ethiopian New Year, is on the same day. My mom, and Stinkerbelle’s Auntie Tena, and Stinkerbelle’s much-loved cousin Autumn are all September babes.
September has such positive energy in my mind, that when the time came two years ago for my beloved Opus to leave us, I picked a September day for her goodbye — my Mom’s birthday, in fact. Two souls loved and lost to me, but perhaps united by that common date. Maybe some good karma would result.
This month also has so much going on. Harvests begin to come in, and the world feels cleaner and brighter. The world is buzzing once again with activity as school begins anew and extracurricular classes start up. Stinkerbelle begins preschool, and dance classes, and swimming classes. BDH starts a new season of soccer.
And me? Well, there’s not many activities for me, yet. But I’ll get out and walk more, and that’s nice. I guess I can get the gardens ready for fall (although after the brutal summer we had, they’re so sad and pathetic, it’s hardly worth the effort). I can begin cooking and baking again without sending the air conditioning into overload. And I quite like being able to knit a blanket without melting — as I knit, and the blanket gets bigger, it also keeps me warm.
So, although I am NOT LOOKING FORWARD TO WINTER NO WAY NO HOW, I am kind of happy to see fall right around the corner. Here’s hoping for some early autumn sunshine and warm days to enjoy yet.
September, don’t let me down.
Sep
1
Stinkerbelle is learning a LOT about the word “patience”. Specifically, that sometimes she has to wait for things. And sometimes, waiting sucks.
We have all these things for her to do, classes and lessons and things planned for her for this fall. But the problem, as far as That Girl is concerned, is that fall will not come soon enough.
She’s not as jazzed about school as she is about some of her lessons. I think that’s because she really has no idea what school actually IS. She’s happy with the thought that she will attend school, sometime, and that is that.
But her lessons? “I AM SO EXCITING!” she says, when they are mentioned.
She will be returning to swimming classes this fall, after not having been since April. Even still, she has not forgotten them, and says “Bye, swimming lessons!” whenever we drive past the street we would normally turn down to go to the pool. So, when we talked about going again, she was definitely SO EXCITING.
Problem is, they don’t start until after Thanksgiving. And my girl? She does not understand the passage of time so much, unless something occurs “after nap time” or “after sleep time”.
Today, when I went in to get her up from nap, she looked up at me, all angelic face and big brown eyes and sweet little just-waking-up voice. I suggested the first thing she should do is go to the potty. I asked her, what do you want to do? And she looked up and said, “First, potty. Then… SWIMMING LESSONS!”
Uhhh… sorry baby. Not today.
But she keeps asking. She knows that one time, she will ask to go to swimming, and it will NOT be “later” or “in October” or “not today”. It will be “Sure! Let’s go!”
The same thing is beginning to occur around dancing class. After a year of being on the outside looking in at a dancing class for older kids that happened at the same time as her gym classes, my little dancer is finally FINALLY going to be taking a dance class.
And to add to the SO EXCITING factor, she will be going with her Very Best Friend, Mibby (real, non-Stinkerbelle-ized name: Libby), on Saturday mornings. It has taken a little organizing to get this together, since a) Mibby’s mom is the one who found the class, and 2) we had to check if it was okay for Mibby and Stinkerbelle to be in class together since Mibby is not three yet. But we got the okay last night, and so I will send off the registration tomorrow.
(To be completely honest, it’s a tough call as to who is more excited about the dance class: Stinkerbelle and Mibby, or their Moms and Dads.)
And so, periodically, when I ask what she wants to do, she raises a fist in the air triumphantly and yells “DANCINCLASS! WITH MIBBY!”
At which point, her fist drops and her face forms a look of preschooler dejection, as I tell her once again. “I’m sorry, Lovey. Not today.”
Luckily for everyone concerned, dance class starts in mid-September. Only a few post-sleep let-downs before I can say “Yes! Today! Today we will go dancing with Mibby!”
We are very lucky that Stinkerbelle is not the sort of kid who dwells too much on things, nor gets too upset about these disappointments. Else we would have to do all this planning in secret.
But she is not, so it’s fine. All her classes have a staggered start over the next few weeks. In the meantime, we are playing the waiting game. Hopefully, with 32 degrees and sunny forecast tomorrow, we can stave off the swimming lessons requests with a dip in the backyard pool. And perhaps we can plan for a little in-house play-date dance party with Mibby to let them get their groove on before class begins.
Because, until you grasp the concept of time, and anticipation, and looking forward to something… waiting is hard.
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