If you know me or my hubby at all, I'm sure it comes as no big surprise to you that we don't really "do" Valentine's Day. But it might come as a surprise to you that for the past 3 years we have "celebrated" this illustrious holiday with our good friends Katie and Dave. Nothing creepy, I promise. Well, as long as you don't think Katie and I referring to each other as "special friends" is creepy...
This year, Katie and I decided to go out without the guys or the kids. Some helpful background: Katie and I met shortly after her daughter was born, so to me, Katie has always been a mom. She knows things like not to give an 8 month old Honey Nut Cheerios and that kids aren't supposed to wear coats in car seats. These are things that I don't know. So to me, Katie is kinda like Dr. Spock...she is totally responsible and on top of everything at all times. Let's just say that she is the only person outside of the family that I have ever left my son with (the old ladies in the church nursery don't count) and that he was probably better off with her than he ever is with me.
Now, back to our date. So I told Katie that I thought we should go to a stage version of Pride and Prejudice that a small theater troupe was performing. She agreed, but I'm not exactly sure she knew what she was getting herself into (this would be a good place to go back and read my post about me not thinking things through or planning ahead). And I think Katie knows me well enough by now to suspect this irresponsible behavior. So this is how our pre-date conversation went:
Katie: what time should we get there?
Me: I dunno, maybe around 7?
Katie: where is it?
Me: I dunno, it's in the Riffe Center
Katie: where is that?
Me: downtown, it's one of those building that you'll know it when you see it.
Katie: is there a place to park?
Me: I assume so.
Katie: what should I be wearing? Is it dressy?
Me: uh, I'm wearing jeans.
Katie: okay, because at the Ohio Theater, you have to dress up.
Me: I'm still wearing jeans.
Despite my lack of planning, I was attempting to be conservative on the arrival time since tickets are purchased at the door. So, we got there way too early, we didn't skimp on the liberal "pay what you want" ticket prices (despite the fact that I have used my student ID for approximately 21 of my 29 years of life, so it is hard for me NOT to whip it out for a discount. I actually took it out of my wallet so I wouldn't be tempted to dishonestly save that dollar...) we were appropriately dressed for people of our age group, and the production was hilarious. All in all, we were a couple of responsible adults out for a night of culture. We talked about our kids, church, art / art museums, Europe, and crazy parenting theories. It was some of the most mature, mom-appropriate fun that I've ever had. And that's not sarcasm.
But I actually think the highlight of the night was when we were waiting to get out of the parking garage and the song Thrift Shop came on the radio. I crank it up and start singing along (omitting the foul language, of course) and Katie turns to me and says surprisingly, "you listen to country AND this???" Then she started to laugh and get into it...and we were laughing and talking so much that I turned into a loading dock by mistake. And I saw a different side of her; a non-mom side. It kinda felt like high school Kelsey and high school Katie were meeting for the first time. And you know, we got along pretty darn well...
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Claire de Lune
Early last year, my brother's cats Otie and Claire came to live with us. That brought the list of "living things in my house that do not have a job" to 3 cats, 2 Vizslas, and a baby. I was not overjoyed at the prospect, but Otie had previously lived with us when my brother was displaced from his condo due to a fire...and Claire only weighed 5 pounds. How much trouble could she be?
Answer: a boatload. Within weeks Claire had eaten something without us knowing it and she began acting very sick. So, I rushed her to MedVet on a Friday night and sat there as they told me it would be thousands of dollars to have emergency surgery. I went out to the parking lot (in the dark, in the rain, on Claire's birthday...could this get sadder?) and called Patrick...and immediately started sobbing "I can't live with myself if we kill this cat!!!" (It wasn't so much the cat as the guilt...I have a conscience the size of South America that won't even let me live down things like not going back out to the car to get the reusable grocery bags I've forgotten). Patrick begrudgingly agreed; mostly I suspect so HE wouldn't have to live with ME thinking that I killed this cat. I sat up in our guest room the rest of the night, waiting for the surgeon to call with an update. And at 4 am, he called and I thought he said that she had eaten a baby bottle nipple. But surely I must have been dreaming or delirious. It WAS 4 am, after all.
And yet, when Patrick went to pick her up, he returned with not only Claire, but also the bottle nipple that had so expensively been surgically extracted from her. And from then on out, we realized that we had the cat equivalent to a crack addict on our hands.
Claire had to be caged whenever a bottle was out. But just when we would think we had everything safely stored, she would outsmart us. We discovered that with time and effort she could get the caps off the bottles. And chew through the hard plastic sippy cup tops. And open the closed upper kitchen cabinets. And sneak in while I was emptying the sterilizer. And jump into the playpen and snatch cups out of our son's hands as I watched.
And so this chess match continued. One mistake, and she would be all over it...and we would be rushing to MedVet for another appointment. And it wasn't just bottle nipples...it was our food, the dogs' food, anything that might have been edible, remotely edible, or ever touched by someone who has eaten food seemed too alluring for Claire to leave alone. She ate our son's bibs. She tore open too many bags of bread / crackers / chips to count. She spilled a gallon of milk all over me and a brand new pair of shoes. She ripped apart a box of Kraft mac & cheese and spread the powdered cheese all over my cabinet. She knocked an empty (borrowed) crockpot off the counter and broke the crock. She stole food off of our forks as they traveled in between the plate and our mouths. She submerged her entire head into a glass of milk. She stole Patrick's sandwiches out of his lunch bag. She took the lid off the trashcan we store the cat food in and ate herself sick. I am not exaggerating about it being parallel to living with a drug addict. You just wish that they would try to help themselves for once.
Claire was seemingly unable to do that, and this week she overdosed. We still don't know what she had recently eaten, or if perhaps it was just the accumulation of random things in her belly over time; but regardless, she became very sick and we made the difficult decision to stop her suffering and put her to sleep. I kinda feel like maybe that's what she wanted all along.
For all her many, many faults, Claire was our crack addict and she was a part of this family. As much as she frustrated the heck out of us, I admired her gumption and Patrick enjoyed seeing her bug me on a daily basis. In some ways life going forward will be easier and in some ways it will seem empty. But any way you look at it, life will definitely not be the same without Claire...
Answer: a boatload. Within weeks Claire had eaten something without us knowing it and she began acting very sick. So, I rushed her to MedVet on a Friday night and sat there as they told me it would be thousands of dollars to have emergency surgery. I went out to the parking lot (in the dark, in the rain, on Claire's birthday...could this get sadder?) and called Patrick...and immediately started sobbing "I can't live with myself if we kill this cat!!!" (It wasn't so much the cat as the guilt...I have a conscience the size of South America that won't even let me live down things like not going back out to the car to get the reusable grocery bags I've forgotten). Patrick begrudgingly agreed; mostly I suspect so HE wouldn't have to live with ME thinking that I killed this cat. I sat up in our guest room the rest of the night, waiting for the surgeon to call with an update. And at 4 am, he called and I thought he said that she had eaten a baby bottle nipple. But surely I must have been dreaming or delirious. It WAS 4 am, after all.
And yet, when Patrick went to pick her up, he returned with not only Claire, but also the bottle nipple that had so expensively been surgically extracted from her. And from then on out, we realized that we had the cat equivalent to a crack addict on our hands.
Claire had to be caged whenever a bottle was out. But just when we would think we had everything safely stored, she would outsmart us. We discovered that with time and effort she could get the caps off the bottles. And chew through the hard plastic sippy cup tops. And open the closed upper kitchen cabinets. And sneak in while I was emptying the sterilizer. And jump into the playpen and snatch cups out of our son's hands as I watched.
And so this chess match continued. One mistake, and she would be all over it...and we would be rushing to MedVet for another appointment. And it wasn't just bottle nipples...it was our food, the dogs' food, anything that might have been edible, remotely edible, or ever touched by someone who has eaten food seemed too alluring for Claire to leave alone. She ate our son's bibs. She tore open too many bags of bread / crackers / chips to count. She spilled a gallon of milk all over me and a brand new pair of shoes. She ripped apart a box of Kraft mac & cheese and spread the powdered cheese all over my cabinet. She knocked an empty (borrowed) crockpot off the counter and broke the crock. She stole food off of our forks as they traveled in between the plate and our mouths. She submerged her entire head into a glass of milk. She stole Patrick's sandwiches out of his lunch bag. She took the lid off the trashcan we store the cat food in and ate herself sick. I am not exaggerating about it being parallel to living with a drug addict. You just wish that they would try to help themselves for once.
Claire was seemingly unable to do that, and this week she overdosed. We still don't know what she had recently eaten, or if perhaps it was just the accumulation of random things in her belly over time; but regardless, she became very sick and we made the difficult decision to stop her suffering and put her to sleep. I kinda feel like maybe that's what she wanted all along.
For all her many, many faults, Claire was our crack addict and she was a part of this family. As much as she frustrated the heck out of us, I admired her gumption and Patrick enjoyed seeing her bug me on a daily basis. In some ways life going forward will be easier and in some ways it will seem empty. But any way you look at it, life will definitely not be the same without Claire...
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