Dailyish Musings: June 2008 Archives

One of our kitties is in heat. For the second time in three weeks, so naturally we are in hell. She is a yowling, cavorting, rubbing bundle of fur that coquettishly follows around anything male that walks through our door.  She was shameless with our house guest Adam, but despite her numerous kitty charms, he remained unsmitten. Thankfully it is only one of them, the alpha kitty Pico, because if it were both I'd have to move out until after their date with the Veterinarian on the tenth of July. It was originally scheduled for the nineteenth, then her SECOND estrus started and I called the vet in tears and begged for an earlier date. The receptionist could hear Pico in the background, howling away with howls so loud I can hear them THROUGH earplugs, and took pity on us.

Needless to say I haven't been getting much sleep. And since a 'heat' can last anywhere from four to TEN days I don't think I'll be getting much in the near future either. If.. uh... anyone wants to trade houses for a while I'm totally game. I mean it. Our fridge is stocked with loads of what Chris and I call Frat Beer from our recent twenty year old house guests, and we have some really exciting grass growing... Anyone?  Anyone?

Well, we made some headway in the DMZ. Earlier this month when I was away in Boston, Chris proved that he is indeed a Superhero disguised as a mild mannered computer geek and fixed the broken sprinkler system in the back yard. It came that way with the house and has done nothing but dribble slovenly for over two years now. Fixing the system required splinching into the working system we had installed in the front yard (not us per se, but people we hired), running forty feet of pvc pipe down the side of the house and connecting it up to the dribble heads in the back yard. The resulting pressure and extra zone actually rendered the dribble heads fully operational, springing up to spray enthusiastically and we began to dream of a lawn.

Two days of excruciatingly hard physical labor later, we've removed the four inch layer of burrs, dug up the mass of weeds that were inhabiting our backyard and lugged one hundred and sixty bags of compost and topsoil through the house to the back yard and spread them around. This evening we seeded and watered and now we wait. I promise to give you hourly updates on the growth of our grass. I'm that excited.

So far:

A good friend  of mine called to ask if her daughter, Whitney, could come and stay for a few days. I said 'of course'. Whitney, last I checked, was a very sweet twelve year old who would choose to do homework over going sledding in a very responsible, but not avoiding snow or anything weird, kind of way. I wondered briefly why a twelve year old would be traveling so far alone, but then it had been a few years so maybe she was, like, fifteen now.

When Whitney and her Aussie beau, Adam, walked through the door I aged almost a decade in a millisecond. It had not been only a few years. It has been seven. She is now tall, gorgeous, nineteen and headed to the beach.

Kyna is in love.

I finally got to share the beginning of my short story at my read and critique group. (It was canceled last time.) When I was getting ready to go, I told Kyna about my group and that I was going to read a bit of a story I'd been working on. She desperately wanted me to tall her what the story was about. Since it is a mad scientist story about a woman who reconstructs a Frankenpet  out of other previously dead pets I was a little loathe to disclose any details. But, with her being on summer vacation and us seeing so much of each other lately, I thought maybe I was being a wimp. The fresh air and sunshine was having fantastic effects on her confidence and maturity levels even in two short weeks. Perhaps she could handle it. She is in swimming lessons, running around with older kids, maybe she's already heard way worse! In the spirit of open communication I decided to risk it.

"Well." I said, "it is about a person who takes different parts of old dead pets and sews them together to make a new pet, that they then bring to life."

There was a slight pause while Kyna digested this information. Then:

"That is disgusting! Don't publish that! No one, anywhere, will want to read it!"

Thank you, dear daughter, for  reminding me yet again that your maturity far surpasses mine, and that us adults are hopelessly screwed up.

About two months ago my mom and I were walking through the nursery section at Lowe's and came across some very cute rainbow swiss chard plants. Swiss chard is one of the only vegetables that Kyna eats with enthusiasm so we both picked up a couple plants and headed back to our respective homes. Today, and not for the first time, my mother brought over her 'extra' chard. Behold the lush green goodness:


And to give you a sense of the size (uh yeah, they are on my floor, but I swear I washed them before we ate them):

Last spring, I made a most unpleasant discovery on my brugmansia. Small grotesque blobs of brown goo were decimating the leaves by the dozens. I recall storming inside and ranting to Chris that there were horrid creatures that looked like miniature piles of crap terrorizing my gorgeous angel's trumpet, and it's even a poisonous plant!

I began to gather the necessary intelligence in order to counter their strategic destruction and possibly launch an offensive of my own. It took hours of Googling 'gross bugs', 'brugmansia pests' and finally 'horrid shit bugs' to begin to deduce what was laying siege to my plant. Eventually I found an image that matched exactly what I had seen that morning, a small pile of brown goo. To my disgust and pride (for my keen scientific observations) it is the larvae of the asiatic lily beetle, and that is indeed its excrement on its back. In order to deter predators it piles its feces all over itself then happily munches away on more plant. There was only one problem. These little buggers were only supposed to eat asiatic lilies. Which I love, but do not have in the garden right now. Try as I might I could not find any information linking them to brugmansias, but there was absolutely no doubt that there they were, eating it. All of it.

I was livid.

For two weeks straight, wearing a Hazmat suit, I plucked off infested leaves, squished the patches of little orange eggs hidden on the undersides and kept my eyes peeled for the dapper little red beetle parents in order to murder them. Which is trickier said than done. According to the website, these sodding little blighters drop from the plant at the slightest disturbance and land on their shiny, red, easy to spot backs, displaying only their dirt brown undersides, becoming invisible against the ground and avoiding impending extermination. Finally, in the second week I spotted a little orange and black striped beetle the same shape as the red asiatic beetle I was hunting for. Sure enough as I got closer for a second look she dropped to the ground and blended in so well I eventually had to give up my search. The next day I came prepared. When I found the beetle again I quickly whipped out a tupperware container and caught her in the act of plummeting to the ground. She lay there hopefully, on her back and not moving a  muscle, stark brown against the white plastic. It was the last thing she ever did.

I am ordinarily very bug friendly. I don't use pesticides and as long as they stay outside of my house I can happily coexist with ants, wasps, and all manner of garden bugs. However, in that last week I murdered eight lily beetles in cold blood and still don't have any regrets. Wonderfully, this led to a summer free of crap larvae, my brugmansia flourished and I felt the ends justified the means. I even went so far as to consider lily beetles vanquished from my lands, never to wreak their pooey havoc again.

Such is the ignorance of the novice gardener.

Yesterday, my brugmansia was breached again. Small piles of poo are eating their way through her newly sprouted leaves leaving unacceptable withered leaf skeletons in their place.

The war is on.

When I got up this morning Kyna had already made herself breakfast. Two buns cut in half. The tops were covered in peanut butter and the  bottoms were spread with jam. Four pieces in total. Here is what I saw in the kitchen:



I think that the sharp knife was used to cut the buns in half, and then she must have done first one bun, top and bottom, and then moved onto the other, getting fresh knives for each side as she alternated between the peanut butter and the jam. Putting each used implement by the sink when she was finished with it in a tidy row. I'm still not really sure what insight into her character I'm supposed to  glean here, or whether it's good or bad, but I'm positive it is telling me something.

Friend One: Did you guys hear about that Rachel Ray flap?

Friend Two: You mean the Al Qaeda sympathizer doing Dunkin' Donuts commercials?

Friend One: Yeah, how ridiculous was that?

Friend Three: Well, I don't know, maybe we're missing a real niche market here. Maybe fake Al Qaeda gear is really hot right now. There could be thousands of fashion victims eagerly waiting for cheap hounds tooth scarves to show off their countercultureness.

Friend Four: We could sell fake Al Qaeda  scarves on the web!

Friend One: Oooh,  how about FauxQaeda.com!  Our  slogan could be  'Al Qaeda, All the time'.

Friend Two: Incentive marketing! Buy two scarves and get a free pair of knockoff Chanel sunglasses!

*This conversation is approximate and the names of participants have been withheld in accordance with their First Amendment rights.

This summer is going to be a world of firsts for Kyna. So far she has learned to roll her tongue, whistle -  and not just the hooting like an owl type, the real kind. And currently she is learning how to swing.

It is a sad testament to my parenting that she has hit six and can't yet generate her own momentum. Truthfully I haven't taken her to parks as often as I should and I plan to totally overcompensate  for that this summer.

We are, in fact, at the park right now (Kyna is sitting very still watching rabbits and not, as I'd hoped, actually on the swing) and I plan to visit the park daily until she can swing, swim, and ride a bike. I recognize that better parents than I have been brought to their knees by the extremely individual six year old developmental process, and that there is a certain degree of hubris in my lofty goals. These are obviously my goals for Kyna, not my goals for myself, which will undoubtedly lead to heartache. However, I plan to help this summer of firsts unfold as naturally as possible by being patience incarnate and providing  extensive opportunities (bike, swim lessons, park with swings) and the appropriate environment (outside) for these life skills to fully flourish unhindered.

Hopefully along the way I can work on a few goals of my own. Specifically to be more relaxed, patient, and fun. Without resorting to my hip-flask.

Well we made it. Or, more specifically, I made it. Kyna's overlapping kindergarten graduation events and her mandatory dance rehearsals and recital have passed. For three days I was in a complete tailspin as we ran from one event to another, birthday party, graduation, rehearsal, graduation party, dress rehearsal, another birthday, actual recital... whew!  Chris was in Pittsburgh for the week and I would have been jealous of his blissful child-free appointments except that on his way to an early flight home he had a rather gory accident involving flip-flops, his big toe and an escalator. I stopped feeling envious when he reached the part where he described using up all the paper towels in the bathroom to mop up the blood geyser gushing out of his toe. Somewhere on an escalator in the Pittsburgh airport there is a large flap of skin caught on one of the steps. If it had been any larger this would be a request to put it on ice and medivac it out to us so he could reattach it.

So maybe watching adorable two year olds in yellow tutus hopping about the stage like scrumptious little pieces of popcorn wasn't really all that bad. And maybe if I hadn't been stressing about where I had to be immediately after I could have savored the extreme cuteness a bit more. As it is now I am breathing huge gulps of free summer air, planning yard projects and barbecues, checking the mint patch readiness for mint juleps and generally relaxing into the slow summer slide into fall, when the insanity will begin anew. By then we'll be freckled and bronzed, salty and sparkly from the beach and frolic, ready to embrace the slight one degree dip in temperature that signals fall here in Southern California, donning our sweaters and ready to engage our brains again. But that is ever so far away now, as far away as the hazy, thin blue horizon on a long, sultry, warm summer day.  

I've had these photos for a couple months now, since Kyna's multicultural night. These were in the 'China' room, fourth grade I believe. And they are Utterly Fabulous. I was so smitten, I took about fifty pictures. If I were the teacher who came up with this idea and then saw these results I would be petitioning for a raise.

When you see these little clay warriors you may think that I'm kidding, or that this is a joke, but truly its not. Well, I may laugh a little, but only because the character that was created was so fantastic and comical. The fourth grader behind it has my complete respect as an artist.

A group shot:





I would totally line these up on my fireplace mantel. Children's art is so excellent.

For those that wish to, you can view Brenda's wedding photos here.

I think this post begins last week. Kyna was picked up from school by Jemma, super babysitter extrodinaire, and Chris came directly to the airport after work to pick me up after my flight from Boston. When we arrived home, things were in full swing, Kyna was working on Jemma in earnest, trying to convince Jemma to get her a frog. As in a real live pet frog. To be fair, I had sanctioned Jemma's gift of a fish for Kyna's birthday. I was slightly taken aback when she showed up with THREE fish, but I'm flexible. I can cope. Even if this now meant that we were a two kitten, four mouse, and five fish household. Breathe... Breathe... Breathe...

Luckily when Jemma left, she didn't mention anything about Kyna's petition for a frog. Which I took to be a good sign. I'm sure she'd run it by me before buying any more pets. And when Kyna pranced around all afternoon yesterday telling me all about how Jemma was going to get her a frog, I brutally poured cold water on her parade. "Don't get your hopes up", I said, "Jemma will not get you anything without confirming it with me first, and she hasn't spoken to me about it yet."  Which made her quite upset, to say the least. As we worked through it, I uncovered the staggering truth. Kyna wants to put the San Diego Zoo and Sea World out of business by having so many animals living here, that our house becomes the tourist destination of California. And that's a quote, I swear.

I really didn't know what to say to that. I'm pro animal, to an extent, and it just so happens that we are at that extent. Yes, I have reached my capacity for gracious acceptance of fauna into my home. We are done. No vacancy. Try a hotel. To keep the peace, Kyna and I had to agree to disagree and it was is still a slightly sore point between us.

So to wrap this up, we've just returned from Kyna's kindergarten graduation. Twenty four squiggling, fidgeting, and giggling six year olds in blue gowns. The best part was the video the teachers made of events that took place over the past year, including each child saying a brief piece about what they'll miss most about kindergarten, and of course, what they want to be when they grow up.  A small creeping fear spread over me as I listened to the 'firefighters', the 'astronauts', the 'teachers', and the 'ballerina's'. Finally Kyna's defiant face filled the screen and in a loud clear voice she said: "When I grow up I'm going to be a MOM with LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS of PETS!"

Point taken, Kyna, point taken. Did I mention that she was defiant?

Kyna: 57,348      Mom: 1 (but watch me on the rebound, rawwwrr)

I found this absolutely brilliant take on cats reposted from YouTube on this blog: Dork-o-Rama, through this blog: There's Never A Line For The Men's Room. I ordinarily would avoid something that someone else found, but I figured full disclosure might help ameliorate the sin. That, and the fact that I have been using Corporal Cuddling for years, provided enough justification to placate my conscious.

My trip to Boston was actually a closely guarded, secret covert operation, which, on the surface was a birthday party barbeque, but underneath was anything but. Last fall Brenda proposed to her partner of two years, Justin, and he accepted. Not ones to be shackled by convention at any point throughout their marital journey, they had a guerilla surprise wedding over the weekend. Friends and family arrived, strong-armed by Brenda into taking early summer vacations under the guise of celebrating their joint birthdays (his is at the beginning of June and hers is at the end) and we all headed down to the river to do these birthdays right. Little did anyone suspect.

Well. People were surprised. We were all drinking and eating merrily down at the MIT Sailing Pavilion when the Mayor of Cambridge, Denise  Simmons, strolled in nonchalantly and publicly offered Brenda and Justin the key to the city (apparently you don't need to slay dragons or defend the city from marauding hordes anymore, being good looking is enough). People were a little mystified until she added that to commemorate such an event a few words were necessary, starting with: "We are gathered here together..." Which was when I started to cry. Which was tricky because I was also taking the pictures.  

It was quick and terribly sweet. They both bravely spoke heartfelt vows, probably putting words to their truest feelings for each other out loud, in front of all their friends and relatives, for the first time. When they finished their kiss, the crowd went wild. Cheers, hugs and tears washed over the newlyweds. It was moving and memorable, as romantic and gut wrenchingly poignant as only a wedding can be. Distilled down to that moment of public declaration, they spoke through the butterflies, through the fear that their words might not do justice to their feelings, through the adrenaline and ninety-degree heat and matching humidity, and laid down the first footing for the foundation of their married life.

 

Then, like the antidote to a chick flick, the party barge pulled up. Just in the nick of time. The congregation (as we could now be called) boarded, drank, and reveled in the river breeze, the Boston skyline soaking up the sunset as it slipped lazily past.

After the party barge docked, the house party began. Like a booster shot (I was getting  a little carried away by that sunset), and everyone got down to the serious business of drinking copious amounts of alcohol, exaggerating their merits, or even improvising complete persona fabrications. Two young gents tried their darndest to convince the mother of the bride and I that they were an avant garde performance troop, sort of a raunchy version of Cirque de Soleil, a ruse that was kyboshed when the girlfriend of one showed up and asked them pointedly what the hell they were on about. As it turns out at least one of them was way more interesting than he was letting on. You can view his website and work here, here and here. Eventually, as all really memorable parties end, the cops showed up. It was 3:30 am. All in all, a really fantastic wedding.

Congratulations Brenda and Justin.

I'm headed to Boston tomorrow to see my friend Brenda, to be her official photographer for a barbecue. And if it sounds like I totally fabricated a reason to travel most of the way across the country for a weekend away, you'd probably be onto something. Next weekend I think I need to get my hair done in London.

In response to the comment Jennifer (Hi Jenn!)  left on the picture I posted of Kyna wearing both the better part of a rice crispy treat and, more astonishingly, jeans:

"oh my goodness, is ms queen cheetah wearing jeans?"

I answer a resounding: yes! Yes! YES! THANK ALL THAT IS GOOD AND GLORIOUS IN THIS WORLD, MY DAUGHTER WILL NOW NOT FREEZE TO DEATH BEFORE SHE TURNS SEVEN!

For almost as long as I can remember, Kyna has refused to wear anything even remotely resembling pants. Boys wear pants. Girls wear dresses. Lovely frilly dresses. That is just the way things are. Which, of course, is an attitude that drives me INSANE.

So I'd have to say this is actually my proudest parenting moment so far. My father was a very hands off parent. Not disengaged, he was always down at the barn, in his workshop, ready to answer questions or give advice if you wanted to walk down and ask. He was one of those, 'let them work it out for themselves and they'll come round, you see if they don't' types. I admit I have not taken this route with everything Kyna does that I find contrary to  common sense, but on this issue I did. After TWO YEARS (at least) of staunchly wearing nothing but skirts and dresses (and me grinding my teeth and saying nothing), Kyna has now declared that she LOVES jeans.

<-- insert victory dance here -->

My cup runneth over. In fact, I'm going out right now to buy Champagne.  And a few more pairs of jeans for Kyna.


Official tally:

Kyna: 57,347,  Mom: 1 (just you wait, I'm in my zone now...)

Chris and I had a quickie date the other night, running out the door to see one of the better movies I've seen in a long time, then running home again so we didn't have to pay too much for the babysitter. Kyna was thrilled to see her babysitter Jemma again and has almost forgiven me for coming home early when my Read and Critique group got canceled. They watched a movie, made cookies, played with the mice, invented exercise routines, bonded over bedtime stories, in short, did all the things Kyna wishes that I would do in a regular evening. Kyna even diplomatically told me the other day that she loves Jemma almost as much as me. I'll take that. Even if it's actually the other way around and she was just trying to spare my feelings.

And speaking of feelings, I highly recommend Son of Rambow, the movie Chris and I saw. You'll probably be able to tell if it's for you after you see the preview. That's when I knew:

On Saturday we attended a rather formal event honoring the passing of my friend Natasha's father. It was held at her mother's house (the widow) and included a number of old family friends, colleagues, and us. We went as a family and midway through the beautifully catered dinner Kyna and her playmate, Natasha's daughter, slid of their chairs and disappeared into the vast recesses of the rather stately home.  

Relieved of our charges Natasha and I happily began to focus on our own dinners, engaging in conversation with the rest of the table members. After about four bites a ruckus broke out behind me. The two girls had returned armed with stuffed animals and were launching a rabid, full frontal attack on the priests who sat at the head table with the devoutly catholic grandmother.

Utter. Mortification.

Which is much like rigor mortis, which is where the word probably comes from, and it held me paralyzed until Chris said, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, "I think you should deal with this one."  

Leaping up, I raced through the tables and grabbed the stuffed animals, possibly screaming, "stop!" But I can't be too sure, because my selective memory has kicked in to preserve my ego.

The girls giggled madly, abandoned their plush weaponry and ran off shrieking. Holding the stuffed animals out like a peace offering I apologized profusely to the priests before stumbling back to my table to collapse in despair. Newly six, Kyna's already attacked men of the cloth. This can't be good.

I look around to apologize and possibly commiserate with Natasha, after all, her daughter participated too, and that was her mother sitting up there with the priests, witnessing the assault first hand. Maybe she had been right behind me, worried about her daughter's soul now that she had participated in gang violence against clergymen.

Apparently not. When she came back to the table she was laughing. She had jumped up, whipped out her camera and was getting shots of the ambush. Sitting back down she winks at me and says, "it was a really great shot before it was ruined by you freaking out."  

I can't think of a better story to illustrate why she will always be my friend.