cat named pig

Since I’m on vacation, I can’t be bothered to do too much writing of my own here. This was sent to me by a friend who shares my lack of comfort around dogs. In fact, his discomfort might even exceed my own. His name has been changed to protect him from the scorn of dog-lovers everywhere:

Here’s today’s installment of “Jason’s” Ironic World:

It is stress reduction week here at the law school. I know, already that sounds ironic enough with finals a week and a half away. But wait, it gets better. Today, as part of stress reduction week, is some kind of exposure to animals day. So when I left my class just now, I had to negotiate a gauntlet of several dogs in the hallway. Again, in case you missed it, this is all part of stress reduction week.

I’m thinking of starting a national organization to advocate for the rights of people who don’t like dogs. All I need is some kind of witty slogan.

I’m in LA for the weekend, visiting my brother who goes to school out here. My mom and I arrived yesterday afternoon, checked in to our fancy hotel, and went to a tapas bar with my brother for some delicious food and wine.  Then he took us on a tour of his school and treated us to a performance of some of the piano pieces he’s working on as part of his musicology thesis.

After sleeping all night (eight hours of uninterrupted sleep! — no little person coming in to whisper “I went potty, so I can come in your bed now” before climbing over me to drill her feet into my back like a human corkscrew!) in the most comfortable bed I’ve ever encountered, we’ve spent the morning so far sipping coffee and eating croissants while reading the paper. Tonight we will move to an even fancier hotel, get all dressed up, and go to dinner and the opera.

All of this is wonderful, amazing, and I feel so lucky to be here enjoying all this fanciness. But what makes it seem really, spectacularly, great is the contrast between vacation and home: the whole time I’ve been here, no one has tried to wipe their nose on my shirt. 

We just got home from the pediatrician, where it was one fiasco after another. I thought things were starting out pretty well when we arrived five whole minutes early. (This is a personal best when it comes to these appointments; for some reason I always estimate the time needed to get there in Single Adult Time and never in Mom With Two Kids Time. The car seats alone add at least five minutes to the trip.) Our early arrival turned out to be a good necessary thing, since it took 15 minutes to figure out our insurance situation. 

[Here comes a short rant - feel free to roll your eyes and skip this part, which is exactly how I predict Matt will handle it]

When I left my job six weeks ago (actually when I resigned, which happened ten weeks ago) I made I list of things we needed to take care of as part of the transition. Health insurance was at the top of that list, since the kids and I were all covered by my plan and it was the beginning of cold and flu season. So I mentioned to Matt that he would need to add us to his plan ASAP, and then I continued to mention that on a daily basis for the first couple weeks after I was done with work (”mention” of course being code for nag, hassle, harass, and generally FREAK OUT about, if you ask my husband, who was “taking care of it.”) 

He reminded me several times that we had until the end of November to submit the paperwork, and I countered each time with a reminder that our kids were guaranteed to get sick before the end of November, so it would probably make everything a whole lot easier if we just got it updated right away. Let me just say now that I take absolutely no pleasure in being right about this. 

I would give up rightness in a heartbeat, if it meant I could have back that $350 I had to put on a credit card today because, OF COURSE, the kids had not been added to the new insurance policy yet, which meant that we weren’t in the database (even though she tried to find us for a full ten minutes) and we had to pay for the whole visit and will now go through a reimbursement process that everyone at the clinic assures me is “really annoying” and “takes forever.” 

[The ranting as it pertains to our insurance situation is now over, for the most part] 

So we go in to see the doctor and I explain how they have both had a cough, Siena for almost two weeks and Elliot for about one week (I’m feeling pretty good about having the timeframes at the ready like that) and I just want to get Elliot’s ears checked because he’s been rubbing them for about a day now.

Turns out he does have a slight infection in one ear, but then she listens to them both cough and mentions that walking pneumonia is going around and did I want to have Siena checked at all too? I feel like a horrible mother, rushing the new baby in at the slightest sign of ear-rubbing while the older child is walking around with pneumonia for two weeks. But seriously - it’s November. In Minnesota. Everyone has a cough right now, and probably will until spring. Right? Right? 

Then the doctor (not our usual one) asks about Siena’s history with ear infections, and I explain that she actually holds a world record for having had more ear infections in three short years than anyone. Ever. We have a trophy at home and everything. 

The doctor’s next logical question is whether Siena’s ears have been hurting since this cold started. I say no, which is what Siena has told me, but a quick look in the ears reveals not only that they are both infected, but rather dramatically so.

“That looks like it must hurt,” says the doctor.

“I swear, I pay attention to both kids equally - I asked her if her ears were hurting, I really did!” I don’t actually say this; instead I mumble something about good thing I brought her in too and I just didn’t know . . . she seemed like she was getting better, etc. The doctor all but rolls her eyes, and then asks if I want to forego the pneumonia test since we are paying for this visit out of pocket.

I am grateful for this suggestion, but also wary. Is this some sort of test? Will it be noted in my bad mother file that I opted not to test my child for pneumonia, the same child whose ear infections I neglected and the only reason they were discovered at all was because she happened to come along on her brother’s check-up? I assure the doctor that we will pay for whatever she recommends because I care about both my kids, a lot. 

We end up getting dual prescriptions for Zithromax and a prize for Siena after having her finger poked (when I had promised her that if anyone got a poke today it would be Elliot, not her. “Bad Mama. You are not my friend and I am not going to the doctor with you anymore.”)

I feel horrible about everything so I suggest ice cream. The doctor turns me down, and goes to update my bad mother file with another note, this one about attempted bribery. (Kidding.) (I hope.) At least Siena is pleased with my suggestion about stopping at Dairy Queen on the way home.

On the way out, we pick up our medicine, which they have right there in the office, Lord be praised. The receptionist says something about hoping we get our insurance figured out, and I manage to sound like a total jerk when I reply that we “know what needs to be done; we just didn’t submit the forms as soon as we should have.” My irritation is not actually directed at her; it just sounds that way, but she doesn’t know this. She gives me a frosty smile and goes to put her own note in my file: “Is jerk. Do not give preferred appointment times. Also has no insurance but will stand there for 10 minutes and let you try to look it up anyway.”

If they gave letter grades for office visits? F minus.  

Siena has an imaginary friend, named Anderson. Things I know about Anderson so far include the following:

• She is a girl
• She is three years old
• She has a baby in her tummy that is going to come out in six weeks
• The baby is tiny, and 
• The baby is going to be three on her next birthday

Also, Anderson is going to have a chocolate cupcake and Siena is going to have a white one. (When are they having these cupcakes? There is no specific time or event attached to this statement. Just in general, Anderson will have chocolate and Siena will have white.)

All of this might be a little confusing to you - the pregnant imaginary friend, the imaginary friend’s baby having her third birthday before she is born, the inexplicable preference for vanilla cupcakes over chocolate ones, in a child born of my body - but if you lived here in our house, you would be less confused. If you lived here, you would understand that every conversation must contain at least three of these four key elements:

1. Babies (in utero or already born) and their ages
2. Birthdays and the ages being celebrated 
3. Cupcakes, including a list of flavor options, and 
4. Dolphins

Really, the only thing that made me raise an eyebrow about the whole Anderson story was the fact that she was not pregnant with a baby dolphin. 

We have a DVD with short Christmas-themed cartoons, and every time Siena asks me to play the one about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, she says it slightly differently.  Variations I’ve heard this morning include “Red-Off the Nose Reindeer,” “Rudolph the Red Deer” and my favorite so far: “Red-Nose Off the Reindeer.”

I keep asking her what this movie is called to hear what she’ll say next, but I think she’s becoming suspicious (or fed up with my poor memory) because now all she’ll say is “Rudolph.”

This wasn’t actually supposed to be a post - I was just trying to upload a picture of Pig and Elliot. And then I hit “Save” (you know, to save the picture) and someone inside my computer interpreted that as “Publish” and all of a sudden I had a new post. Whatever. As long as I know that there was absolutely no error on my part. Which I do know, with total certainty. I just read back over those last few sentences, and I am pretty sure that is exactly what Siena’s three-year-old inner monologue sounds like. 

More of Siena’s Inner Monologue:

I’m just going to do this puzzle. I like puzzles. I’m really good at puzzles. This one is really hard, and I like really hard ones because Mama said something tonight about the hard ones being the best to work on, or something. I think she was trying to teach me about how good it feels to tackle a challenge and succeed, or how proud of myself I am when I work hard at something. Probably trying to help me develop good self esteem and a strong work ethic, preparing me for a lifetime of striving to be the best I can be. Or something. I wasn’t really listening to her; I can’t listen too closely or I might actually hear when she says it’s time for bed. And she always over-thinks all that parenting stuff anyway. Like I care right now about developing the tools to succeed later in life - I just want to do some puzzles. And never go to sleep. Ever. Maybe I can get some candy. I like candy. Maybe I should ask for some candy, and not sleep tonight. I just won’t go to sleep. I’ll just tell them, the Parents, that I’m not going to bed and I hate my bed and I want lots of milk. And candy. They’ll probably give me some, if I tell them I like it. They should give me what I like, because it makes me happy. And that’s why they’re here. To do things that make me happy. I like candy. I’ll just tell them I want some now, and they’ll get it for me.    

Siena: I want some candy. A Halloween treat.

Mama: You didn’t eat enough of your dinner for a Halloween treat.

Back to Siena’s Inner Monologue:

WHY do they act like those two things are related? It makes NO SENSE, none at all. I LIKE candy and right now I don’t care about any other food that is not candy. That’s it - time for some serious negotiating tactics. They have no idea what they’re up against here.   

Siena: You are NOT my friend anymore. 

Mama: You have to eat a good dinner to get a treat for dessert.

Siena: If you say that to me, that I can’t have candy, you are NOT my friend and you are not getting ANY CEREAL tomorrow at breakfast time.

OK, fine, Mom. Things For Which We Are Thankful:

• Our house
• Halloween
• Friends
• Family
• Having enough food to eat
• Dolphins at the zoo (this one came with an illustration)
• Siena and Elliot
• Mama
• Hunters to shoot the turkey so we can eat (this from Siena, who eats no meat and refused to even come near a bite of turkey on Thanksgiving)
• Daddy
• Water
• Muscles
• Italy
• Coffee

A couple days ago we each wrote some things we are thankf for which we are thankful on small pieces of paper, and then pulled them out of a bowl and talked about them this morning.  You can probably guess who came up with which items in the list above. I was somewhat surprised too when Siena said “muscles,” but not surprised at all that “dolphins” made the list.  

Screw that stupid Oregon Trail theme and its false promises. . . there was neither free childcare nor any possibility of me figuring out how to insert my own image into the header. There was only heartbreak and disappointment, and an inexplicable chain of covered wagons that would not go away, no matter how many times I hit “Upload” for my own picture. Screw them, I say. Enough time has been wasted. My readers (yes! plural!) need something to read. Maybe even something interesting, although probably not today.

I think I have a food hangover from all the eating yesterday, and then again at brunch this morning.  Because what you really need the morning after a Thanksgiving feast is obviously pancakes. Big, fat, butter-drenched pancakes. My stomach hates me. Except the part of my stomach that intends to remain slightly pregnant-looking forever. That part loves me right now, and is currently giving thanks for my inability to stop eating foods drenched in butter.

So . . . here’s a story:

Yesterday will be remembered forever in the catnamedpig household, not as Elliot’s first Thanksgiving, but as the Thanksgiving of Siena’s DIY Home Haircut. Photos will be added as soon as we can find our camera (so I would not expect them any time that is particularly close to today.) But the story is worth telling now.

Allow me to set the scene: Siena is at the table, finishing her breakfast and declaring repeatedly that she NEEDS to do an art project, that she is just going to do a project, NOW, because she just needs to cut something really quick, for a special, SPECIAL project, right now, or she won’t be my friend anymore today. (This is a common threat, so I am not too worried.) I am getting ready to meet my friend Sara at the gym (yes, she really is a friend, even though she made me work at an ungodly hour of the morning) and Matt is still in bed, despite the steady crescendo of Siena’s demands and my requests to “please get up, hon, I have to get going.”

I need to put my contacts in before I leave, so I ignore 3+ years of parenting experience and ask Siena to just hold on a minute while I go into the bathroom, telling myself that she will either find something else to play with or that Matt will get up and get out her scissors and paper. . . .

OF COURSE, it does not work out this way. OF COURSE I come out of the bathroom to see her holding the scissors to her scalp, huge chunks of hair in her hand.

The pieces she had cut were so short, less than an inch in some places, that there was really nothing we could do to disguise the damage. I ended up trimming about 6 inches from the rest of her hair and trying to layer the parts around her face a little so it looked like an actual hairstyle and not the result of poor distracted parenting. And then I borrowed a line from Sara (the one who makes me go to the gym) and told Siena that this is something every kid gets to do once, so now she has done it and that’s it - never again. We’ll see how well that works out.

I have a feeling Elliot’s fuzzy mullet is in trouble, if she can ever find her scissors again. 

Happy Thanksgiving, both of you! 

My one reader is a demanding one . . . she constantly wants new words to read, like the old ones aren’t good enough. Jeez. So I am typing some words to keep her happy while I work on what this site is going to look like. This green template is ok, but it says I can put my own image and text in the header and so far, it’s not letting me do that. It also said it would provide me with free childcare while I worked on getting my site set up, and that hasn’t happened either. Or maybe I dreamed that last part, since I’m pretty sure I fell asleep thinking about Wordpress Themes last night.