"The Deed is Done. Let's Start Day 1. You're Stuck With Me!"

I guess the day officially started at 5:12 AM when the phone rang and Julie couldn't figure out how to answer the damn thing until the 4th or 5th ring. In reality it had started at some point between 1:17 AM  ( when Mickey woke up and needed backrubs to fall back to sleep) and 5:12 when the extremely perky prerecorded voice of Julie's Superintendent informed her that there would be a 2 hour delay- because it was between those hours that it started snowing. Though, in the end, the snow is really just the icing on the cake.

Today we brought home Princess.

We were prepared for this-- sort of. We have blankets. Cat food. Water. Litter. What we didn't have on hand or have ready I was going to prepare during the 3 hours that Mickey was at nursery school. I would pick her up, give her a bunch of easy-to-eat lunch items for her car seat, drive down to Mount Vernon (an hour away), get the cat and head home. Challenging. Overwhelming. But do-able.

Two hour delay, huh? Ok. What we didn't have on hand I was going to prepare in the 1 hour while Mickey was at nursery school. Fixing her lunch was out, so we'd pick up something on the way and then drive down to Mount Vernon, get the cat and head home. More challenging. More overwhelming. But still do-able.

Step 1- Get home and prepare. Check.

Step 2- Get Mickey from nursery school. Check.

Step 3- Pick up food. This is where thing started to get interesting. First, I forgot that between Step 1 and Step 2 there was supposed to be Step 1.5- Get Gas. So I squeeze that in before Step 3. So, back to Step 3. Pizza is out, because I'm not carrying my giant shears, and she will only eat pizza cut into tiny squares. Chinese food is out because she won't eat it. There are no good bagel places near where we live, or in the direction we're going, so we can't do that. She doesn't eat sandwiches and I'm afraid she'll choke to death on an apple or hot-dog while strapped backwards into her car seat, so that's out too. This leaves me with only one logical solution. Greek Food. The kid won't eat a chicken nugget or grilled cheese, but she's nuts for pita's and Taziki sauce. We arrive at the awesome Greek place (that I just happen to love too) and I discover that at some point between Step 2.5 and Step 3 she has taken her shoes AND socks off and flung them to far corners of the car. With my ass hanging out into busy main-street traffic I find the shoes and socks and get them back on her, telling her that I'm angry. She bursts into tears and doesn't stop sobbing until a waitress brings her the pita. Then she wipes her tears and tucks in.

Step 4- Drive to Mount Vernon. Check. Turns out I still know my way around the old 'hood.

Step 5- Pick up cat. So we arrive at the least inviting animal shelter I think I've been to and go in to get Princess. When the lady at the desk sees me walk in carrying a cat carrier I think she nearly has a heart attack- they are under order from the city not to accept any more cats, to get rid of or euthanize the ones they already have (Princess was on the chopping bloc, hence our insane decision to adopt her). I explain that I've come to take a kitty and she recovers and sends a volunteer back to get Princess. He returns with her, nudges her into the carrier and closes the door. No introduction. No petting her or saying hello. Nothing.

At this point, Mickey realizes that there is a real, live crying cat in the carrier and it is COMING HOME WITH US!!! At this point they also ask me to sit down and fill out a whole pile of paperwork. Not surprisingly, this doesn't go so well. Mickey spends the next 5 minutes trying to shove disgusting, dirty cat toys through the vents in the carrier and I totally blank of the name of ANYONE in my life who I could use as a reference to the fact that I am not a cat-sacrificing nut-job because I'm too busy trying to keep Mickey from catching fleas. At one point she tries to shove a tennis ball through the front of the carrier just as I start muttering to myself and crossing off reference names and I SWEAR the two women running the shelter were about to tell me that the cat was better off being euthanized than sent home with me. (I put down the pen, picked up the toddler, gave her a lollipop and threatened her with eternal time out if she moved again and then assured the women that they were not sending this sweet elderly cat home to the house of a crazy toddler who was just going to torture it. They both laughed a little too quickly.) Another 10 minutes go by and we are ready to go, paperwork filled out, cat hesitantly packed into my car.

Step 5- Text references and let them know that an animal shelter might be calling them.

Step 6- Call vet. We were not initially planning on taking her to our own vet, but once I had her in my car I couldn't help it. I called them up and asked if there was any chance they had an appointment for... say... now? I explained the situation and they said they had an opening at 3:30. I checked the clock- 1:45. That should be fine, I told them. We might be a bit early? No problem, she said.

Step 7- Drive to vet, cat screaming, toddler threatening to escape from car seat and come up front to pet the cat.

Step 8- Arrive at vet. It's barely 2:40. Drag toddler and cat inside, apologize for being so early, fill out health information sheet by answering "I don't know, we just met" for every question-- Kinda like on House when Thirteen is hooking up with that chick and she has some kinda seizure and Thirteen drives her to the emergency room where House works?

Step 9- Visit with vet. Right away he says that there is no way she's 12. Maybe 10. Probably 8. Oddly, I feel like I've been duped. Eyes are clean, nose is good, ears are a mess and she probably has mites, teeth are a disaster and she needs dental care. The rest of her is fine, her nails are like talons and they cut those for me. She just keeps trying to rub up against me and purr. Mickey is starting to fade and gets up set when they hold her down so she can check their ears, so I have to hold her down while she screams at the doctor, "LET HER GO!!" I give her a packet of yogurt in a squeezy pouch, put the cat back into the carrier and go out to wait for my bill. While I'm digging for my credit card Mickey runs away and climbs onto the "Large Dog" scale in one of the exams rooms. Turns out she weighs 31.1 pounds with sneakers and jacket.

Step 10- Back in car, head for home. We finally arrive, more than 4 hours after I left. Wrangle Mickey and Princess out of the car and onto the front steps. Despite the snow on the ground and the plummeting temperatures, I strip Mickey down to her socks and underwear before putting her into the house because I'm afraid she has picked up rabid monkey disease or something similar at the shelter (she was crawling around on the filthy floor). Dress half naked kid in pink leopard print pants, turn on DragonTales, release screaming traumatized cat into the bathroom that will be serving as Administrative Segregation for at least the next 3 days and we are home free.

Seriously? Piece of cake...

Burn Baby, Burn!!!

I kinda hate Max and Ruby (the Nick Jr show, not the books). It is loud, repetitive and extremely annoying-- especially before 7 AM.

For those who aren't familiar, the show is based on the books by Rosemary Wells and follows two little bunnies (Max, the 3 year old brother and his 7 year old sister Ruby) who have no parental supervision (in fact, parents are never seen, though there is a grandmother who pops in from time to time). Ruby is a prissy self-important princess and Max is the stereotypically annoying little brother who is either a genius or a manipulative sociopath. Not surprisingly, each episode is about the ways in which they clash as Ruby tries to do something that she thinks is important while Max constantly interferes. Throughout the episode she talks a blue streak and Max interjects with mostly repetitious single-word utterances- for example, in one episode, the only word he says might be "candy." In each case, this one word generally starts out as something Max wants (or is interested in) and, in the end, is the lynchpin to solving some sort of problem that Ruby is having (so in the candy example, Ruby is helping the owner of a candy store take inventory so that she can earn a "Bunny Scout" badge, and Max keeps pointing to things and asking for "Candy!" Ruby keeps telling him no and giving him fruit, while stuffing herself silly with candy, claiming that she has to try everything. In the end, she is sick and the owner of the candy store asks her what's wrong. "I think I had too much," Ruby begins and Max interjects, "CANDY!".) Similar scenarios play out in every episode. Once in awhile the word changes, but it's rare. As teachers we started out suspecting that Max might be somewhere on the autism/aspergers spectrum, but the only thing that really supported that was his repetitive speech and his seemingly ingenious way of knowing so early on in the episode what the seceret will be to solving the overarching problem. After watching a ridiculous number of these, I'm now firmly in the psychopath camp. I mean, look at those eyes...

There's an even creepier look he gets when he's angry with Ruby... If I was her, I'd start looking into where our parents had gone.

So, along these lines we're watching an episode right now where it is still too early tell how it's going to end, but Max's word-of-the-episode is "Fire Truck!". Ruby is trying to practice playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on the piano for a recital and Max keeps interrupting by yelling "FIRE TRUCK!" Ruby's getting annoyed. Max is getting frustrated.

I'm kinda hoping that he's gonna just torch the place.

And one more makes 8?

We've sworn that we've got a 1:1 human:cat ratio in this house. That 3 is enough. That there's no mor room on the Queen size bed for another kitty-- even Klakky has moved into Doc's room. That we are paying more than enough for Wellness and litter in this house and that we couldn't possibly support another furry mouth.

Then, on Saturday, Julie read that the Mt. Vernon Animal Shelter will be putting down any remaining sick/aggressive/elderly cats because they have lost permission from the city to keep cats in the shelter because they went over their maximum capacity in the wake of Superstorm Sandy. And on Sunday I was stupid enough to go out to their website and take a quick look around for any elderly female cats who were still looking for a home (after our experience with Mishi we have sworn off kittens). And there I found Princess.

Princess is a 12 year old kitty who was abandoned in her apartment when her family's lease was up or they were foreclosed on or something. She is supposedly, sweet, docile and more of a warm furry lump on a piece of furniture than anything else. Currently she lives in a tiny room with several other kitties where she has grounds privileges for good behavior. Like Mishi  she seems to be a rather tortie leaning calico who is a bit small in stature. The majority of cats have been adopted out to families or sent to other shelters, but no one wants to take her because she is so old. She's got a few days before they have to euthanize her.

One e-mail led to a phone call, which led to another phone call, and another phone call and another phone call, and today Princess went to the shelter's vet to make sure she is up to date on her shots and healthy enough to, potentially, be introduced into a house with 3 healthy cats. We are awaiting word from her "case worker" (a volunteer who has taken a personal interest in her). We have agreed to nothing. But she should be ready to go to a theoretical home on Wednesday.

http://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/21100765

Things wander in our house. Remotes wind up in the freezer. Frogs in the sink. Cat food dishes on the couch. Jeans on top of the piano. Cheerios EVERYWHERE. Entire pop-tarts gone forever. So I find it telling that both my coffee mug and my wine opener were found on the couch-side cat perch this morning.
I don’t really have to question how they got there- I’m responsible for the coffee mug and Stuffie was the last person seen holding the wine opener (she has recently started going into the kitchen drawers and pulling out can openers, wine bottle openers, spatulas, chopsticks and bottlebrushes). I did wonder for a bit about the juxtaposition of these two items, representing my morning and evening beverages of choice. Did Stuffie notice my coffee mug and bring over the wine opener on purpose? Did the coffee mug magically attract the bottle opener by the power of some lonely beverage force field? Was the universe trying to tell me that it’s time to start drinking? If so, I’m game. Noon is totally respectable.
Looking at our house through the eyes of our toddler is, well, eye opening. We never really childproofed, thinking that teaching her what not to touch or play with was better than blocking access to everything in our house. We replaced the glass coffee table with jagged edges with a wooden coffee table (albeit not until LONG after she had learned to walk, suffered one really nice welt and learned to stay away from the corner of the table) and locked the under-the-sink cabinet that contained cleaning supplies and recyclable cat food cans. And… yeah. That was it. So we’ve had some really interesting conversations. “Permanent markers are NOT for arms!” “You never, NEVER use nail scissors on the kitty’s fur!” “You DO NOT climb the big cat post!” “STAY OUT OF THE LIQUOR CABINET!!!!!” I am amazed by her creativity and a wee bit frightened. She’s done normal things, like lodging marbles in her ears, rearranging living room furniture and wearing VHS covers as mittens. But there are stranger things too. Erasers treated like puppies, necklaces repurposed as compasses, measuring spoons spirited away for who knows what purpose, outlet extenders worn as jewelry, Christmas ornaments bitten into like glittery clear apples. Bizarre as each of these things are, none of them would really have been prevented by conventional childproofing. This makes us feel vindicated.

Breakfast Cookies

Sometimes Skits likes oatmeal for breakfast- and making it for her makes me feel like a pretty good mom. When I was breastfeeding I lived on Irish steel cut oats- they were as close as I came to a craving and could be made in giant vats in those few moments when our new little charge was dozing in her blue bouncy chair. Once little Skits was able to eat solid food I started to share my oats with her, gently spiked with brown sugar and cinnamon. In the mornings before daycare I'd pack up her purple gruel- a pureed mix of berries, applesauce (or pearsauce), oats and yogurt- in little containers labeled by day of the week. If there wasn't time for the steel cut oats to simmer for 45 minutes in a milk and buttermilk bath, we'd pinch hit with Trader Joe's Quick-Cut Steel Cut Oats. These take only 8 minutes and can be made and cooled in less time than it takes her to watch an episode of Little Bear. She soon came to prefer this kind and dubbed it "Better Oatmeal." If we didn't have 8 minutes I'd pull out a plain microwavable packet and mix it up with milk, cinnamon and sugar and, after a few failed tries on account of texture, Skits learned to eat those too. Then came the day when we were out of plain oats and we didn't have the 8 minutes (plus cooling time) to make Better Oatmeal, so I grabbed one of Mommy's Maple and Brown Sugar packets, mixed it with milk and served it up to a very happy little customer.

So what about those days when I don't have 1 minute (plus cooling time)? Days when I've been up since 5:30 and I haven't yet eaten breakfast or showered off the sweat from the previous night's 2 hour workout and it's already 9 AM and I'm struggling to get Mr. White Rabbit/Mr. Yetti/Skits/Whatever-the-Heck-She's-Calling-Herself-Today out of her pajamas, into clean clothes, socks and shoes so I can take her to the nursery at the gym and fight crazy people for a bike in the 9:30 spin-- only to realize, as I'm strapping her into her carseat, that Skits needs a second breakfast? Those are the days when I've started to reach for Quaker Oatmeal Soft Cookies.

I mean... it SAYS Quaker Oatmeal right there on the front of the box. That's gotta count for something, right?? At least, that is precisely what I've been telling myself when I hand her a cookie at 8:45 in the morning. So today I decided to figure out where on the Bad Mama scale this was going to fall. Was this more of an "Opps, my kid's socks don't match today," or an, "I affix my kid to the couch with duct tape and turn on CNN so I can go out drinking with friends on a Wednesday night,"?

Here's what I found:

Made with milk (as I usually make her microwavable oatmeal), Quaker Oats Strawberry and Cream has

227 calories
67 calories from fat
16 mg of cholestrol
244 mg of sodium
20 grams of sugar
8 grams of protien
2 grams of fiber

One Cranberry and Yogurt Cookies, right out of the package has

170 calories
60 calories from fat
15 mg of cholestrol
140 mg of sodium
12 grams of sugar
2 grams of protien
4 grams of fiber

Suddenly feeling quite a bit better about that breakfast cookie now...

If I'd Been Able To Stay Awake

Things I might have written about tonight if I hadn't fallen asleep on the couch before 8:30...

- Taking The Little White Rabbit to a women's shelter to drop off donation items and unexpectedly meeting with the executive director and having our photo taken for their newsletter

-The lone chicken still wandering around in the coop at Pace University

-The 40lb box of vegetables sitting in our hallway

- Our trip to Muscoot farm and Gromit the cat

- My heart rate

- Family Handyman magazine

- Alf

-Robbing CVS blind

-Dumpster diving

- Chicken nuggets

Week 1

I'd write more... explain a bit about how I got into this whole couponing thing or give some amusing anecdotes... but I just got my printer working again and I've got  A LOT of coupons to print out!!

Spent: $22. Saved: $175. Go first full week of January!!!