One thing I always try to do as a parent is listen to and understand what my now seven year-old is saying. This can be difficult, because sometimes I just don’t care, but then there are times when I am more than enthusiastic to ask for additional details. And sometimes it’s just uncomfortably funny!
“I call him a pussy zombie. Not like pussy, pussy, but just pussy.” Azul began to explain a conversation he was obviously already having in his head. Huh? I didn’t know what was going on, it’s kind of like arriving late to a party where everyone is already drunk.
Trying to get my bearings while also trying not to sound alarmed, I asked, “What does pussy, pussy mean?”
With the roll of his eyes he said, “You know …”
“Like a cat?” Please be a cat, please be a cat.
“Yeah, a cat,” he replied before cracking up laughing.
He watches a lot of British Minecraft tutorial videos on YouTube, and Europeans seem to be much more free with saying that word than Americans are, because of course it means a cat.
“Well, I’m fine with you using that word, but you may not want to repeat it at school because you know what else pussy means?”
“No,” was his answer, following an audible sigh.
Unconsciously I mimicked his deep breath and being as serious as possible I said, “It could be used as slang for a woman’s vagina.”
He was embarrassed; eyes open, hand to mouth, bent over at the waist, run out of the room as quickly as you can, embarrassed!
Leave it to the sober guy to ruin the party.
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.