Sobering Truth
One of the interesting things about being a mom is you can relate to other moms. You will have personal conversations with women who are total strangers and these conversations range from funny and cool, to totally uncomfortable, and they can happen anywhere at any time. Mine was this afternoon, in line at the deli waiting to order sandwiches. Azul was with me, of course, and the older woman behind us started the conversation with, “He is adorable.” I gave the polite nod and a “Thank you.” She continued, “I remember when my sons were that age, they’re adults now, but when they are that age, they just love you and think you’re great and there is no better connection than a boy with his mom. Then they become teenagers and they don’t want to have anything to do with you and don’t even like you, like they did when they were little. Oh, the teenage years are rough, then they become adults and love you again and tell you, you were right and you weren’t so hard on them when they were teenagers and they really appreciate what you’ve done for them.” She continued talking without taking a breath or a break for me to join in the conversation. So, I waited, listening, smiling and nodding. Then I said, “Well, I plan to spend his teenage years much like I spent my own…drunk.” Not sure if it was a laugh or an awkward snicker I got in return.
Pussy Control
Initially when I looked like this…
I wanted to start this entry with, “I hate my cat,” but many things have changed in the past few weeks.
We have had a cat for more than a year and Azul loves her, he picked her and even picked her name, Eddie. I have had a very different relationship with her. First, I am severely allergic to her, which is why I look like the picture posted. Eddie is a beautiful long haired orange tabby, who sheds A LOT! I have had her groomed many times to get the excess hair off of her, I have rubbed a solution I got from the Vet on her to ease my allergy and I have resorted to having her shaved. Which was by far the cruelest thing, at that point, I had done to her. She looked awful without hair; well, she did have hair on her legs from her knees down, so she looked like she was naked and wearing Ugg Boots. Second, she has a piercing meow and she prefers to exercise her voice early in the morning, while we are trying to sleep. Although it is irritating, it is a little easier to deal with than the other things. Finally, she of course scratches. My furniture! She has the scratching post, floor mat and even sprays that I used to try to train her not to scratch my furniture. She has ruined two chairs and started in on the couch — this is where I drew the line. I took her to get caps on her little fabric ripping tools. She rebelled and ripped them off, so the fight was on, and I would replace them. This pattern went on for months and I was desperate, so I resorted to torture. I made an appointment with the Vet, left her there for a couple of days and she returned a changed cat. I didn’t want to do it and I feel a little bad about it, but having her claws removed is the best thing I could have done. I’m still allergic, but no more scratching, and the pre-sunrise calls have ended. Last night she finally sat on my lap and decided to be my friend again. I won the war and our little Eddie Girl is the sweetest thing around.
No Ifs Ands Or Butts.
Today I turn 41. I don’t feel any excitement or disappointment in 41, it is what it is. But, I remember the first time I did feel old, it was not the last, but of course your first is always the most memorable. It was the summer of 2007; I was only thirty-four, just months before I turned thirty five. It was an extremely hot day and I was outside with my best friend Ann Dee and her family. It was the day of her dad’s funeral and burial. It was an old family plot, mostly dust and sand, and the family was responsible for digging the grave. I’m not sure when the miscalculations took place, but when it was time to lower the coffin into the ground, it didn’t fit. So, as you could imagine, it was uncomfortably funny and the coffin had to be pulled out and more dirt dug out of the tight space. Again, it was an extremely hot day and while we waited for what seemed like an eternity for a proper goodbye, I was standing by Ann Dee supporting her in her time of need. That’s when it happened — I felt a bead of sweat slowly rolling down the back of my leg. It was a funeral, so I was wearing a skirt; it was summer time so I was not wearing tights, and obviously the skin on skin contact from my butt cheeks to my thigh was too much. That was the moment I knew I was getting old.
Carmelina Hart 