Something To Say

It is sadly obvious that I’m neglecting my blog lately. I have been trying to think of a suitable excuse (hurricane season? scabies? a touch of ebola virus?) but I haven’t come up with anything convincing. I will say that this blog is not the only thing I’ve been neglecting, if that makes it any more forgivable.

But I have been nudged into posting today by an e-mail I just got from my friend Jenny, in which she wonders if she is losing her mind. Her reason for doubting her sanity is that she has just spoken the following words to her toddler daughter:

"That is exactly why we have a rule in our house against putting cottage cheese in your grape juice!!!!!"

Her worried confession made me think about a list I wrote several years ago, and which I dug up in the hope that I can assure Jenny that when you have children, saying things like that is actually a sign of normalcy. There's a whole new phrasebook that's part of the job. So, here's my list of . . .

Five things I never thought I’d say (but then I had children)

1. "Yes Mommy’s funny, isn’t she? Silly, silly, mommy! Now open the door, sweetie, that’s right, let Mommy back in the car . . . "
2. "Stop that. Your sister is not a trampoline."
3. "Oh, ho! That’s a good one! To get to the other side! Ha Ha Ha!"
4. "Hold still, I’m trying to get it out. How in the world did you get it in there, anyway?"
5. "Oh, I hope that brown stuff smeared on the wall is chocolate."

And another list, the converse of the preceding one:

Five things I used to say (but then I had children)

1. "Would you like a cookie? I made some yesterday and I still have plenty left."
2. "Sure, that sounds like fun. I can be ready to go in ten minutes."
3. "Well, I’m finished. The whole house is clean."
4. "Do you have these pants in a size 6?"
5. "Honestly! I’d never let my kids act like that!"

So, Jenny, I hope this has convinced you that you are sane. In fact, you are more than sane. Your utterance has proven that you are either: 1) a woman who has the uncanny foresight to make a rule against mixing curdled dairy products with potentially dangerous purple fluids, or 2) a mother gutsy enough to insist that she has in fact made such a rule, and confident enough to expect that her family will believe her. Either way . . . brilliant.

Cats Out of the Cradle

Motherhood didn't seem to agree with my cat.

She’s quite a young cat, and I’m sure she was rather surprised – probably even more surprised than we were – when four squirming, mewing blobs turned up next to her one night. I have been feeling a bit strange lately, she may have thought. I suppose these things might have something to do with it.

It was interesting for us as observers to see the remarkable way maternal instinct took over. Despite her inexperience, absence of training and complete lack of access to “What to Expect . . .” books, she turned out to be a caring, conscientious parent, diligently keeping her little ones clean and well-fed.

The kittens reached their toddlerhood and began to explore the house. Their mother followed them dutifully, presumably to ensure their safety.They nursed frequently and rarely napped.

I was in the kitchen one day when I heard a piteous cry. I followed the sound to find the cat, lying in the hallway, feeding her babies  She looked at me and, entirely with her eyes, said the following: “Please, please, help me. I need a break. These kids are driving me crazy. I haven’t had a minute's peace since they came. I hardly remember what my life was like before. I miss those carefree days. Please, oh, please!”

I looked down at the cat, with kittens crawling all over her, pawing her mercilessly, and I could only smile, because I knew something she didn't. “Ah, cat,” I said, “you don’t know this, but these kittens won’t be here long. In just a few weeks, they will leave and go off to live with new families, and have their own carefree lives, and you will be free again. Right now, you think this is your life forever, but a couple of weeks is not very long.”

Now the kittens are gone, and their mother is free. She showed no real sign of melancholy when they left, one at a time, in the arms of new owners. But now she is a different cat. She wanders around the house, looking bored, getting cranky.

I believe there is a lesson for me in this story: I can, and should, learn to appreciate my life full of young children while they are with me. I don't want to become a bored, cranky, old woman who realizes, too late, that the freedom she gave up to be a mother wasn't so much, after all.