The season of Back-to-school causes stress, and stress affects sleep, among other things. Lately the sleeping arrangements in our household reads like one of those logic problems on the LSAT test.
In a house lives a family. There are 2 mothers, 2 daughters, and 2 pets. There are three bedrooms containing four beds, each a different size:
toddler
twin
double
queen
Any given morning, nobody wakes up in the bed they began in the previous night. Except for the dog. Viva la crate training!
Have I mentioned that Carrie is infatuated with horses lately? Her favorite request--and she wakes me up saying this in the middle of the night--is: "Baba, let's talk about horses!"
[Warning: Headline contains spoilers!] Pearl cried when Marcia left her in the kindergarten classroom this morning, and although I didn't ask, it seems somewhat possible that Marcia shed a tear herself. But when she picked Pearl up this afternoon, she was a happy student. She reported four (yes, four!) things that had happened in class and said her teacher "has some cool ideas." This is high praise, coming from Pearl.
Unfortunately Marcia had sad news for Pearl when they got home. One of her African Dwarf Frogs, Fred, had died. Because of who she is--and no doubt amplified by the anxiety du jour--Pearl was heartbroken and sobbed for over an hour. Eventually, though, Pearl helped clean the aquarium for Tad, who has always been the more exuberant of the two frogs. By the time I got home, a pizza party had started. Carrie had had a great day at her new preschool. They were ready to celebrate.
Marcia's word for today was "bittersweet," and it's fitting. One of the books we read tonight was Cynthia Rylant's Dog Heaven. Afterward Pearl imagined Frog Heaven, the new home of Fred the frog. One day, we'll all be there together, swimming.
The kids have put this little dog to the test, and he's passed. Flying colors! Happy Birthday, Cody!
Pearl's latest pet-endeavor involves the lizards in our garden. She catches one every morning, keeps it as her pet all day long. It stays in a plastic "habitat" she got from Target. She names the pet and then renames it. Often her cousins Sarah and Max are the honorees in these monikers. She lets the lizard watch Dino Squad with her. And then at night, she lets it go free.
Today you can see the Houston finals at Discovery Green.
This weekend the kids were sick, but we did let them out of the house for a few minutes Saturday afternoon. Cody had his first (and I suspect, last) race. It's an event that takes place each year on the same day as the Kentucky Derby.
Participants place their bets in dog biscuits, and the pups run (theoretically) in a straight line about 50 yards to their beloved owners. Cody did not seem to understand the point of the race, and he lost his first heat. Carrie felt so bad she only stayed for the first 5 races (the dogs ran 2 at a time). The good news, though, is that Carrie picked the winner of all 5 of the races that she watched. I'm scheming, I'm dreaming.
The whole gang had the day off. After lunch outdoors at Cedar Creek,
Pearl decided to catch tadpoles in a plastic cup. Patience led to
success. She caught two and Carrie, one. Marcia agreed they could come
home with us, thinking we'd release them--as frogs--into the garden.
Matter of days, right? It was too late when we realized that they are not tadpoles but small fish, bringing
the pet count in Grrrlville from two to five. My head is spinning.
We have a new pup named Cody. He was a sweet little Jekyll of a boy until exactly 3 weeks after his arrival. On day 22 he transformed himself into 100% pure Hyde-bound hell-on-paws animal chaos. Grrrlville was pretty chaotic before we adopted this fellow. What were we thinking?
Cody has a lot of Marley in him. He aspires to bipedalism. He loves fun and food, and his definition of both of this items is extremely broad. He's scared of Moriah and water. Pearl and Carrie adore him. When visitors arrive as our door, Carrie warns, in the loudest voice she can muster: HE'S NOT TRAINED. She's right about that.
Cody loves the chill winter days. He runs awkwardly, in an unpredictable lope, gulping down gallons of wind and chasing the brittle leaves. He is my boy.
88888
Note: This post is part of a blog carnival celebrating Freedom to Marry Week 2009. Feel free to write your own post on your blog or facebook page. Then leave the link to your "something new" post, and I will share it with the group. Check out the other posts on this topic:
About.com Lesbian Life by Kathy Belge
Susan Naomi Bernstein on Facebook
The Birmingham-Luther Family Blog
The Longest Road - Yet Untraveled
SoCal Mom by Donna Schwartz Mills
Our cat Moriah is 20 years old. That's 96 for you or me. Or am I presuming too much? Perhaps there are a few cats who read this blog? You never know. My teacher, the poet Adam Zagajewski, knew my cat when she was a newborn kitten. He and Moriah were neighbors. He begged me, Robin, teach this cat to read before it's too late!
I dare say it is now officially too late. At 20 Moriah is not taught; she teaches. And she is one stern taskmaster. Cody the pup is terrified of her. The rest of us play it cool, but we inevitably do exactly what she says.
I never really wanted a cat. As a kid I was frightened of cats myself. But something happens when the cat in question is yours. In other words, one might fear or dislike CATS but still like one cat in particular. Does that make sense?
Moriah was a gift, one given, not one received. My partner wanted a cat for her birthday. Twenty years later the partner is long gone but the cat remains. For whatever reason, I do love her.
Once when Moriah was a kitten I wrote this description of her:
The marks on her face look like a mask. Who is she? Sometimes she leaves for days. Her eyes send out beams of light into the night. She is a hunter. And then she returns to me, small ball at my chest, kneading, needing.
Although it's been many years since Moriah has done any of these things, the magic is still in her. If you know her, you know what I mean.
88888
Note: This post is part of a blog carnival celebrating Freedom to Marry Week 2009. Leave the link to your "something old" post and I will share it with the group. Check out some of the other posts on this topic:
About.com Lesbian Life w/ Kathy Belge
Melissa Beattie-Moss on Facebook
Susan Bernstein on Facebook
The Birmingham-Luther Family Blog
I probably think this blog is about me
Life induces thoughts, mostly random
The Longest Road - Yet Untraveled
SoCal Mom by Donna Schwartz Mills
Favorite object = blue blankie
Favorite book = buster by denise fleming
Favorite animal = puppy
Career aspiration = super hero
As many of you know, I’m in a bit of a funk lately. According to Marcia, this means that our
state is in a red zone. This includes,
but is by no means limited to, the following four areas:
1)
the state of my hair
2)
the state of our laundry
3)
the state of the refrigerator
4)
the state of my wallet
It also means that bad luck seems to follow me (and my
hair), even when I leave the state we call home. For example, today at work the rear tire on
my Subaru spontaneously exploded. And
then our mechanic said he wouldn’t be able to work on it for a few days because
he just broke his finger!
Anyway, back to the point.
When I am in a funk, I don’t like to read nonfiction books. I’d rather play Scrabble or eat Ben &
Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream or crack open a Swedish mystery
novel.
So, when we got our puppy Cody, Marcia took it upon herself
to read several doggie books for us.
They ranged from beautiful personal stories by authors we know (Mark
Doty’s Dog Years) to old favorites
that have been updated (The Monks of New
Skete: Divine Canine) to new ones that our trainer recommended (Patricia
McConnell’s The Other End of the Leash).
Although Marcia left these books sprawled about in opportune locations such as my bedside table, my desk, and the bathroom magazine
rack, she eventually realized that I had not touched them.
So, Marcia did what anyone with a Partner-in-Funk would do:
she grabbed her highlighter and went to town.
Yes, she actually marked in pink and yellow for me every important
passage I need to read in The Other End
of the Leash to make life with Cody happy and pleasurable. Then she plopped the book on my lap.
One of the sections that Marcia (and through her, I) found
particularly interesting deals with a human’s need for ventral-to-ventral
contact. McConnell argues that humans
find tremendous pleasure in relating chest-to-chest. Like our primate relatives, we also enjoy
holding hands, kissing, and snuggling. The writer explains that this need for touch in us is powerful—it can actually
lower our heat rate and blood pressure.
She says that young girls are particularly fond of hugging
things to their chests— dolls, dogs, you name it—and so far, we are finding
this to be SO true. Pearl and Carrie
constantly fling their arms around Cody’s neck to hug him—tightly, furiously,
as if he is their younger brother preparing to head off to boarding school or some foreign war.
The problem, according to McConnell, is that dogs really don’t like to be
hugged. Many don’t even like the way we
pet them. She even argues that some dogs don’t obey the “come” command because
they don’t want to be patted on the head!
Since reading (the highlighted passages of) this book and
studying Cody’s responses to us, I’ve become much more aware of his body
language and ours. I’m learning to
temper some of my natural tendencies and think about Cody from a canine’s
perspective.
I’m even learning a little
about myself. Cody reminds me to enjoy each breeze, try new foods, and sleep with abandon. Have your dogs (or other pets) taught you anything important?
Cody seems to have shed the baby teeth and gained some weight. He's considered "brilliant" in his obedience school, but back at the ranch, his grade is generally "needs improvement."
Dear Gatorade, You can have the pic for $1M.
Thanks to Marcia, we finally have a decent picture of Cody. He doesn't look like a black lab in this picture, does he?
We adopted him from a rescue group last Saturday. His foster family found him and the rest of his litter abandoned in a state park. We chose him because he wanted to snuggle and sit in our laps. At one point Carrie fell on his back, and he didn't mind it at all. These all seemed like good signs.
Today he had his checkup which went well. The doctor thinks he's about 4 months old and will weight 40-50 lbs. when full-grown. Tonight, we will start an obedience class.
Cody is a very loving dog. He's very curious about his new pad. This morning he pulled a paintbrush out of a jar and made some handsome red lines on his sides and front legs. War paint, perhaps? I don't think so.
Cody seems to be adjusting to us and v.v. He's a curious little puppy. Pearl is completely smitten with him. He's growing on Carrie, but she is more cautious around him. We all have a lot to learn, but so far everyone is happy.
Yes, friends, you thought it would never happen. I, too, had my doubts. But meet Cody, a black lab puppy. We adopted him from one of the rescue groups yesterday.
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