The Cat in the Window (That is Not a Cat)

My daughter.

She thinks she is a cat.

Why do I think this?

Let’s review the evidence.

Exhibit A:

lying in the sunny spot

And, Exhibit B:girl_cat_in_windowExhibit C:


And finally, Exhibit D:


Do you see what I mean?  She likes to lay anywhere she can find a warm patch of sunshine filtering into the house.  She likes to hang out in the windowsills.  And, she likes to look towards the great outdoors.  She even gets friends in on the act.

Is this normal?

I think this might be a problem, because, God endowed me with a cat allergy.

I have noticed my eyes tearing up a lot lately, around her.

But, I thought it was because, the child! She knows how to test a mama’s patience.  Oh, yes indeedy!

She’s only Almost Five.  She’ll grow out of this, right?

Do any, or have any, of your children ever had a strange love for windows and sunshine? Or anything else?


Death By A Thousand Cuts

We had to put Sweetdog down today.

I thought I was so smart to dispose of the obvious things that would remind me of her before we left for her “appointment” at the Vet’s office: her beds around the house, the pee pads under the couch covers, her huge bag of food in the pantry, her medications.  However, as it turns out, I forgot approximately 994 more.  And with each thing that I find I’ve forgotten today, it feels like another tiny slice on my heart.  My eyes blur from the hot salty tears that slide down my cheeks, unwanted that they are.  And that very action makes me cry even harder, because my Sweetdog loved to lick away tears.  She’d be filled to bursting with all of the tears I’ve shed for her today. Slice.

Thankfully, oh so thankfully, The Gammy and The Grampa came up to watch Sweetgirl and Sweetboy for us for a few hours.  Just when I thought Sweetman and I had cried it all out, we got home from the grocery store and began unpacking groceries.  Mercifully, the grandparents still hadn’t returned with our sweetchildren, because as I unpacked the first bag, I went to stuff it into the “poop bag holder”.  And I promptly burst into hot angry tears, screaming to no one in particular that, “We don’t even need to keep the grocery bags anymore!”.  Slice.

And as I sat down to write, just now, I put my foot on an errant dog toy that we had overlooked this morning.  Slice.  And then Sweetgirl asked when Puppy Pie Pie is coming back from the doctor’s office. Slice.

I know the hurt will subside with time.  I know that full well.  I also know that she was loved well and truly.  And those thoughts, too, are slices of their very own.  For in knowing that the hurt will fade, I worry that I will have forgotten things I want to remember about her.  And in knowing how well she was loved, I remember afresh that she’s no longer here with us to get that love.  Slice, slice…

I’m posting today for me.  It’s cathartic.  I need to write these things down so that I can preserve how very important a part of our family she was.  So important, in fact, that I feel like a little part of me is dying inside today.  By a thousand little tiny cuts.

Riveting Conversations

A few riveting conversation took place today after we got home from Church Camp.  Please try to contain your awe and excitement over the words you are about to read.

Sweetboy: “Mama, guess what? Elmer Fudd uses a lot of ‘W’s’ in his words.”

Me:  “Oh really?  Why do you think that is?”

Sweetboy:  “Because he speaks another language, probably.  Or, he’s missing lots of teeth.”    Oh, indeed!

To which Sweetman declared, “If you don’t blog about that, I will!”     I kindly reminded him that he does not, in fact, even have a blog.

And, not to be outdone in the Riveting Conversation Department, here’s Sweetgirl’s input for today:

Sweetgirl:  “Mama, does Nana know she wears a necklace on her foot?”

Me:  “I do believe she does, Sweetgirl.”     (You do, right Nana?)

And because Sweetdog truly is one of us, she limped in this afternoon saying (and I quote):

Sweetdog: “I need to go to the vet today as my leg hurts quite badly and I haven’t cost you guys the customary couple hundred dollars yet this month.”     If this dog could talk, I PROMISE you, that is exactly what she would say!

Therefore, I am off to the vet. Riveting. I know…