Chihuahua: Family Pet or hors d'oeuvre?

Not too long ago, and when I say not too long ago I mean at some point in the last 5 to 7 years, I remember reading an online piece about a family who had a pet python. The mother in the family was particularly devoted to her 20+ foot reptile, extolling its virtues as a loving and caring and important member of the family. And there, on the associated video of the story, the mother laughed joyously as her infant child stuck the snake’s tail in its mouth.

There are many words for my reaction to this piece, but I think the one that sums it up most eloquently is EEW. Who does that? Is that woman some special kind of stupid? Clearly I’m no herpetological GENIUS or anything, but I can pretty much guess that allowing my baby to suck on a reptile’s tail cannot be good for the baby. I can’t even begin to guess what the snake thinks about it.

That said, another household python story graces our news again today. In this one, a 5 and 7 year old boy and girl watched as a “scrub python devoured their silky terrier-Chihuahua crossbreed Monday at their home near Kuranda in Queensland state.”

"It actively stalked the dog for a number of days," said Stuart Douglass, the owner of Kuranda’s Australian Venom Zoo. "The family that owned the dog had actually seen it in the dog's bed, which was a sign it was out to get it."

*blink* Stalker snake?

Okay, from what I understand, this python was not a family pet. He wasn’t even a family friend. I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but what level of ridiculous must be attained after “snake in house, in dog’s bed” before one decides it is reasonable to call an animal control expert? Cuz me, I think it would be long before “children watch snake devour family dog.”

And there’s another thing. It’s not like the snake fled from the house like Marion Jones. I’m going to say it took minutes—and in my mind, that’s at least 120 seconds—for the thing to get up, stretch, make it’s excuses, share pleasantries and depart. Could they not have followed it? Could they maybe have called animal control while it was taking it's siesta aka laying in wait for the pup?

But again, I’m no herpetological genius.

Just one time makes a tradition

The kids asked to have breakfast for dinner last night. Harry was particularly excited about this idea-- that kid is a breakfast eating machine. In the midst of his enthusiasm I reminded him, "Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Are you sure?"

"YES!" he shouts, sans hesitation.

His answer insures that he and his siblings are about to eat pancakes for two meals straight.

But the Valentine's Day breakfast pancakes are not just any pancakes. These are special, heart-shaped-frosted-with-sprinkles pancakes. It was a tradition started so long ago I don't even remember, only that at sometime in my poverty-stricken, family-on-another-coast-all-alone-out-here-with-two-kids past, I decided we needed something like that. Some kind of special something that, even on a middle-of-the-road weekday, we could get happy about breakfast.

I think it began on St. Patrick's Day, with the green pancakes. It grew to birthdays with candles and frosting and Valentine's Day with hearts, and Halloween with candy corns. It appears that the one food I can make and never screw up is the holiday pancake.

My kids love it. They go nuts for it. In fact, last year Gabby was sick on Valentine's Day, as was Harry, and both were at my house. It was Gab's first time enjoying Valentine's pancakes. She still asks about them and was bummed that she wouldn't be at our house this year to enjoy them.

Maybe I'll have a repeat on Sunday?

Four year-old humor

She hides beside me beneath an oversized blanket, blowing raspberries, declaring "You don't see me!" On cue, I reach over and tickle her middle, or something resembling her middle so far as I can tell (she is beneath a blanket after all). Peals of laughter turn quickly into appeals for more. The game continues for a few minutes-- calls, tickles, laughter-- until the blanket lies silent. I type. I get lost in my typing.

But the blanket is not appeased.

"Steeeeben! Steeeeben you can't seeeee me!!" The person-shaped lump beside me snickers. She is chumming. PIC wanders in from the bathroom, easily caught.

"Oh gee," says the fish, dryly reciting his lines, "I think I must. Sit down. Here. On the. Bed." Hysterical laughter explodes from the blanket as it's contents are partially squished. "What the?!?! Why, what is THAT??"

Moments later the blanket is thrown back, the sunshiney little girl floats on air, so pleased with the game she's created, the attention she has captured. Humor has become her drug.

"DO IT AGAIN!!!" This partial request/partial demand is met with more tickles from me, breaking from the typing.

Each time the joke is repeated, it is just as funny. Each time it ends, sunshine begs for more.

I wonder if this is somehow a metaphor for our political system. Let's just say that it is.

My valuable time

As bleary-eyed me stumbled from bed LATE this morning (my bad), tripping over piles of unfolded, clean laundry (my bad), and sought to hound bleary-eyed children from the safety of their beds (bumping directly into sunshiney Gabby on the way-- sorry Gab, my bad), a whisper of a thought danced in the recesses of my mind, a whisper whose message rose, gaining power and force, taking voice and becoming a whirlwind, twirling and building until it ripped through my being like a tornado, tearing down the shreds of sleep, it's message leaving me quivering and exultant: it's friday, It's Friday, IT'S FRRRRRIIIIIIDDAAAAAAYYY!!!!!

Suddenly I was moving with purpose.

My petulant voice became commanding.

My body moved with the confidence of a three-star general. UP! OUT! ONWARD!

This day, this foggy, groggy, slow-moving day was the beginning of something huge in my life. Something fantastic and special and I'd be damned if I was going to let the sloth-like demeanor of six (well, five-- Gabby was already up) kids impede my purpose. Not Today. Today is amazing and special and should be treated like a national holiday and is so personal and near and dear to me that Today shall be capitalized henceforth.

Because Today is also the FIRST day of a 3 day-- BRACE YOURSELF-- kid-free weekend.

WHOOOO effing HOOOO, baby!!!! I love my runts, but for the first time in months, literal MONTHS I tell you, PIC and I will have (ohmyGAWD if I put it into words, will it jinx it? Will it somehow not happen, dissappear, be consumed by the needs of others like the last 3 dates we had planned???) time. alone. together.

NOT running-to-the-store-grocery-shopping-together alone time.

NOT finally-laying-down-at-10:30pm-OH-THERE-YOU-ARE-I-REMEMBER-YOU-and-I-LIKE-YOU -ZZZZzzzzz alone time.

But actual unfettered, weekend-long ALONE TIME.

Oh yeah, baby. No kids-- just him, me, alone in the house, some wine, a warm, crackling fire, some witty banter and you know what that leads to...

... I finally get to finish that book I've been reading.

Giddy!

There are no words

As every homemaker knows, the key to having a successful home is having a glamorous home. And the key to a glamorous home is FASHION. This is Brenda Dickson. Welcome to her world of big hair, crystal earrings and ostrich feathers. Just remember: she specifically CHOSE the orange lipstick.

I feel so much more informed. And slightly vomitus.

Visual representation of edible boredom

Sydney & Gabby's veggie creation
Originally uploaded by girlmonkey

As I busied about the kitchen on Super Bowl Sunday (side note: Why is it called Super BOWL? I know nothing of this game, but I'm almost positive it is not played in a bowl, nor do they wear bowls, have bowl cuts, nor play with an actual bowl. In fact, I'm pretty certain the game is about feet, and a ball. And really tight pants.) making various edibles for our extended family, the little girls made their level of boredom known by creating art out of crudite.

Several vegetables were harmed in the making of this photo.

My civic duty

I rose earlier than usual today, knowing that I wanted to swing by the polling booths before the vast crowds hit. Yes, today is SUPER Tuesday. Do not confuse it with Meh Monday or Abject Poverty Thursday.

I was going to bring two of my herd with me and have them witness the fulfillment my civic duties. And then drop them off at school. My 14 year-old (who's personal excitability level is on par with Lurch) was actually moderately interested in seeing me exercise my rights. Even more fascinating, my four year-old couldn't WAIT to go and VOTE. In fact, when I invited her to witness the prestigious event, she bounded out of bed. BOUNDED, I tell you. I was stunned. This is the same child that shouts at the sun for rising each morning.

By 7:20 we were on the road, in search of our polling place. According to Yahoo maps, the fire station was about 3.5 miles from the house. This seemed a little far to me, especially since I passed 2 other polling places on my way.

Fast forward to an hour later: I've dropped the 14 year-old off at school, the four year-old is crying because she wants to go "bote," and I am grumbling like Fred Flintstone under my breath (frickafrackbrickabracka) as I drive the same stretch of road searching in vain for the non-existent address.

Eventually I gave up. I took babygirl to school, well against her wishes, and called the county registrars office asking for better directions. Yahoo's maps were wrong. And I ended up voting during my lunch hour.

Thank GAWD I am a committed voter. Yay me. But how many other people face the same doom, spending eons driving in circles and eventually just give up, casting their votes instead to the four winds?

Confusing political process be damned. I know the truth: Yahoo is responsible for voter apathy and low turn out.

Super Tuesday | vote | Yahoo

Your chaos is my normal.

A quick phone call to my mom always puts the perceived chaos of our home life into perspective. And it's not necessarily anything that she says, except.. that it kind of is.

"What do you have going on this weekend?" she cautiously asks. Without a second thought I rattle off the various schedules of each of the inhabitants of our household. With six kids and my ability to go tangential on her, this can take some time.

In the background three kids are playing some form of tag, running up and down the stairs; one is advancing her solo drum career on Rock Band; one is watching Dr. Strangelove on the downstairs TV, surround sound blaring; and one is following me from room to room, attempting to draw my attention to her with her squawky why-are-you-running-away-from-me, borderline-whiny voice. Eventually she is sucked into the play of the older kids, and I slip out the front door for some privacy.

I finish the cataloging of our monkeys' planned weekend activities, which is followed by a pregnant pause.

"Mom? Are you...still there?"

"I'm here. Wow. That's... wow. You have a lot on your plate."

It's at this point in the conversation that I am at a complete loss for words. My mom is not being judgmental nor negative in any way. But her stunned demeanor always throws me.

The truth is, I don't feel like I have a lot on my plate. I don't feel like we live in chaos, or in an atypical situation, mostly because it's US. It IS our situation. It seems entirely normal, regular, life as usual to me. It is THIS thought that makes me pause.

Am I supposed to be overwhelmed?

Am I supposed to feel exhausted? Crazed? Hanging on by a thread?

Is it wrong that I am doing okay?

*breathe* I tell myself.
*be calm*
*There's nothing wrong feeling good about your life.*

And this is where I do the big *forehead slap.*

When one is busy living life, one's life is-- by it's very definition-- ONE'S OWN life. Normalcy is entirely subjective.

In my mother's world, normal was living with and caring for my 90 year-old grandmother, until my mother was recently diagnosed with cancer. And now, normalcy for my mom includes quiet, sweatpants, baldness and chemo.

Nausea and the constant white-cell battle she wages is exhausting and frightening to me. But chemo is the hors' deouvre that fills her plate. Like it or no, it composes her reality, and defines what is and is not normal in her world.

By contrast, normalcy in our home is defined by the many people and pets that live there: everybody has an issue, an agenda, a need or desire and they want it all solved, directed, attended to NOW, just like at work, at school, or at any other home in the world.

I suppose, yes, we do have a lot on our huge plate. But we also have much bigger appetites.

chaos | humor | cancer