This afternoon as we were on our way up to church, five minutes late as usual, we turned our radio station to "The Sounds of Sunday" in an attempt to keep with the whole day of worship thing. As I tuned into the lovely sounds of Sunday the song that was currently playing on the radio came to a slow and dramatic end.
Next up was a long set of commercials, one among them was a very touching story of how one man's father lived through prostate cancer because of early detection through a prostate exam. The commercial then went on to encourage everyone to get a prostate screening every year beginning at age 40.
"Mom," says Kira in a frantic voice, "You're over 40, you need to get a prostate exam, 'cause we don't want you to die of prostate cancer!"
Oh Kira, you have no idea just how wrong that sentence was...
Now I don't typically do posts on the various animal life that exists around my house, but I just couldn't pass this one up.
See this cat:
I know what you're thinking, what a lazy, spoiled little thing sitting there sunning herself in the nice warm heat of the afternoon sunshine. But, me, I'm thinking what an evil monster!
Let me explain, and maybe you'll see my side of things.
It all happened yesterday, my husband had come home from work exhausted and in desperate need of a nap. I took pity on him and rounded up the kids and took them up to my parent's house for a visit.
The kids dispersed once we got there to various activities, Izzy began jumping from couch to couch, then turned on Disney Chanel and was glued for the duration of our stay. Emma who had been accosted by my nephew Zachary, who is eleven months old, was walking him to where ever his little heart desired. So I was left to chat with my mom.
After a while my dad came home from work, the minute he was in the door he was asking the girls if they wanted to go somewhere with him. Of course, Emma being the goer and doer of the family loves when grandpa comes home and says this. Up she shot from the floor like a reverse bolt of lightening with her hand raised up in the air to a perfect point, "I do, I do!" she screamed (see she is learning something in kindergarten, you raise your hand before speaking, well OK maybe you raise and talk at the same time works too).
My dad started helping me round up shoes and jackets, which to my dismay I realised that I had let her escape from our house with no coat or jacket. Since the activity that she would be doing (collecting flags at our local Peace Gardens that had been placed there for Veterans Day) she was in need of some serious winter wear.
With the revelation of the missing articles of clothing I scooted her out the door and into the car to drive her home to fetch the needed items. My dad was going to follow us down so that they could get there a little faster.
Up we drive to the house, all seemed natural and normal. The ducks are waddling up to the car, the cat is creeping up the drive behind them, see typical, isn't this what greets you every time you come home?
I hopped out of the car nearly before I had it in park and ran to the front door thinking that I could get in get the stuff and be quick and quiet enough not to wake Kevin. I left the door open for Emma who was a little slower than I was and went straight to the coat closet to start the search through our enormous collection of mismatched mittens, gloves and hats to find something that would work for the chilly weather.
Emma breezed in through the door, but of course, forgot to shut it behind her. As normal when the door is left open, our cat, Snickers, thinks it's her personal invitation to come in. Normally she comes in to eat so this really isn't a big deal. But this time she brought us a little present.
That's right, she was being a loyal, slightly submissive member of our family hierarchy by bringing me a bird. Gross right! Well it gets better...
I walked up to my cat still trying to be as quiet as possible and trying to get her to take the flea infested, germ ridden thing back outside, but no, of course she can't do what I expect. She drops the stupid bird right on my entry rug and backs up, proud as a peacock. But then to my shock and horror the bird jumps up and starts flying across my living room!
Snickers was up and off like a rocket snagging the bird as it neared the ground on the opposite side of the room. I went running after her screaming at her to "Get that filthy bird out of my house!" Which of course she did nothing of the sort.
After downing the bird again and seeing my approach she let go and backed off. Stupid animal! Why couldn't she get the hint that I wanted the bird in her mouth so that I could throw both of them out on their back sides?!
Off shot the bird again, under the couch, which Snickers launched herself under, then up into flight again once it worked its way out, flying higher and higher until it was nearly to the ceiling of my hallway where Snickers snatched it out of mid air mere inches from the ceiling, Emma and I were hot on tails screaming and whooping and flailing our arms. Fat lot of good that did us.
In the heat of the battle that ensued on the hallway floor the little bird suddenly broke free of the death grip that the cat had her in, up it flew again in a desperate attempt to save its existence from being extinguished. It headed into the girls bedroom where again my cat downed in, on a pillow...
Thoroughly grossed out but thinking a bit clearer I grabbed a paper bag and ran to the scene of the attempted murder. When my cat backed off this time I swooped in with the bag and covered the poor frightened creature. I closed off the bag and ran out the door, only to find my dad walking up the steps of my front porch.
I really wonder what was going through his head as he watched me march with determination out my front door, down the steps in silence only then to open up a brown paper bag and watch as a bird flew out and away. Yeah, that's not something you see every day.
Well in the end Kevin woke up and Emma did get to go with grandpa and had a ton of fun rounding up flags, and me, well I got to clean up feathers and blood. Just what I wanted to do.
While volunteering at school on Wednesday I overheard a conversation between two boys. One was a first grader and the other was a sixth grader that had been sent to "think time" (basically a time out where kids are sent to another teacher's classroom when they've done something wrong). The conversation went something like this:
1st grader: "So, what'd you do to get in trouble?"
6th grader: "Got in a fight."
1st grader: "Whoa, who'd you get in a fight with?"
Every young girl feels that pull very early on that they need to take a stand and be independent of their mother. Although this is a natural wonderful thing to have happen, sometimes as a mother I struggle with the loss of control. Izzy has recently decided that her beautician skills have surpassed that of my own; she is insisting that, at the age of 7, she is old enough to do her own hair.
Ah, who needs cute hair with a smile like that anyway. :)
A few days ago I was in the bathroom getting ready to go to church and as I was applying one last coat of mascara to my eyelashes I heard footsteps approaching and I glanced down. There was Emma struting her way into the bathroom in an outfit that she had picked herself. It was a lovely rainbow colored skirt paired with a beautifully patterned plum colored Princess Tiana shirt. To top it all off she had "done" her own hair and make up. She had soaking wet hair pushed back away from her face with a pale yellow headband and the brightest peacock blue eyeshadow smeared across one eye that I've ever seen. This of course was not to be out done by the silver streak that ran across her opposite eyelid.
As I stared at my proud, posing 4 year old I did the only thing I really could do, I smiled.
"Mom," she said as she did a half turn to show off her back side. "Do you like my makeup? Doesn't it look beautiful?"
"Oh, yes Emma it is 'beautiful'," I said with what I felt was only a hint of the sarcasim that was really bubbling through my head.
I went back to doing my makeup with a silly smile plastered on my face (and only letting slip a giggle or two), and Emma just stared at me.
"You know mom, it really hurts my feelings when people tell me my make up looks pretty and then they turn around and laugh at me."