Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Dieting Dilemmas

The last few days have been a bit stressful, but not due to children. Or missing husbands. No...the stress stems from a visit to the veterinarian, with our poor portly kitty who has gotten so big, she has been having issues. The issues aren't with her health, per say, although I'm sure that is effected as well...no, our poor kitty can't reach around her belly to clean properly. This creates issues for all of us. She is one of three cats that we own, so for the sake of simplicity, I shall refer to her here as "Fat Cat," and the others will be "Normal Cats."

They began by weighing her. Now, let me start by saying that Fat Cat used to be very skinny. She was tiny, and sleek, and could leap tall counters in a single bound. We coaxed her onto the scale, and it read just under 20-pounds. She is supposed to weigh around 10-pounds. Needless to say, the recommendation was to put her on a diet. This is all well and good, but when you have two other cats who do NOT need to go on a diet, the situation gets more complicated. My sister, who came along with me, struggled to carry my cat as I paid the bill. The woman at the counter looked at the sheet, and then looked at me.

"Your cat weighs twenty pounds??"


"Oh...wow...I was thinking maybe they made a mistake when they wrote that down..."

We brought Fat Cat home, whose bottom was now looking a bit like a baboon (they did a sani-shave...to help with the cleaning issue.) She was not happy.

I started separating the cats during feeding time. This did not go well. Fat Cat refused to eat the new food the first day. Instead, she desperately tried to get into the old food, which we have in a big plastic bin. She tried knocking it over. She tried prying the top open. She tried chewing a hole in the bin.

Dinnertime came. Connor ate most of his cheeseburger, but I wasn't quick enough to clean up what remained...I looked over and saw a black and white paw come up from under the table and begin to drag the burger over the edge. I caught it...and Fat Cat gave me an evil glare before waddling into the shadows.

Day two did not go much better. She did nibble at the new food a little bit, but mostly tried to find ways to steal other food. I also think she began plotting ways to kill me.

Day three slowly got better. I have gotten good about being on top of the kids to take care of their dishes, and Fat Cat is finally starting to eat some of her food. Normal Cats are just confused. They don't understand why there isn't food in their bowl 24/7, but happily eat whenever I feed them.

I also bought a cat tower (it isn't very big, as it turned out,) on clearance. The cats in the picture on the box all fit nicely on all three levels. So, either my cats are seriously huge, or they used kittens for the pictures. Poor Fat Cat...if she manages to lay on the top level, her sides spill over the edge and the whole thing kind of teeters back and forth. The oldest Normal Cat sits on top of it like a huge gargoyle. The young Normal Cat isn't interested in the slightest.

I especially feel bad when I sit there, while Fat Cat is shut in the other room with diet food, eating chocolate when I know that I could seriously stand to go on a diet myself. And then I think, "Fat Cat...you're LUCKY. I wish I had someone to force me to eat healthy." And then I go grab a beer, because seriously...diets are stressful.

Monday, February 3, 2014

Fire Bad, Beer Good

My husband has been on a business trip...for almost four weeks now. He has been able to come home on the weekends (arriving late Friday night/early Saturday morning and then leaving again on Sunday afternoon.) If you have read any of my past posts, you know that when Bruce leaves for more than a day it is the equivalent to what happens when the mogwai eat after midnight in the movie, "Gremlins"...everything turns ugly and chaos ensues. I also start monologuing about depressing stories from my past like Kate. Like the time I had to drive up north with all five kids without Bruce and...oh wait, I already told you that story. Did I tell you about the time I fed the kids after midnight?

While Bruce was home briefly for the weekend he did something crazy. Now, let me preface this by saying my husband NEVER does anything crazy. He is afraid of anything new or different...or new. He likes routine...and avoids change at all costs. This is why I had no concern with sending the boys with him to get haircuts. I'm not sure why he did what he did...maybe because the stylist was cool, decked out in tattoos and a rockin' beard. Maybe he figured, "what the hell, I'm out of here this afternoon, so I can't get in TOO much trouble." Maybe he just wanted to make sure the boys were happy before he had to leave again. Maybe he was drunk. Whatever the reason...he decided to let Owen get a mohawk. He did tell me that the stylist offered to fix it for free if I was upset. My baby boy, who had long, shaggy hair, came home looking like this:

Owen was so happy, I didn't have the heart to tell him that I don't know what we would do for school...because in Michigan right now we are going through a bit of a deep-freeze where you HAVE to wear a winter hat. So, unless we find some wrap-around ear muffs, the kid is going to have a floppy mohawk. After dropping off the boys (Connor also had a tiny faux hawk, but it could easily be a normal haircut once washed,) Bruce promptly left for Ohio.

Today the kids had no school. This is becoming the norm here, because with this crazy winter they have had eight snow days in the last month. Today was not a snow day, though, just a "Professional Development" day. What it really means is one MORE day that the kids are home and driving Mom crazy because they are bored and miss school. 

The morning began with me waking up to find poop...all over the bathroom. Owen tells me that he "tried" to make it to the bathroom, and didn't quite make it in time. He "finished" in the toilet, but had to clean up afterward. So...there were about fifty poop-smeared wipes in the trash...poop smeared on the seat of the toilet...and for some reason, poop smeared on the floor. This conjures up a mental image of my son doing the butt scoot on the floor to try and wipe off the poop...like a dog. I'm not sure that is an accurate interpretation of what happened...but it seems like the most probable explanation. 

Shortly after the massive bathroom clean-up, we discovered that a cat had vomited in the hallway. Luckily the dog helped clean some of it up, because what could be better than eating cat poop? Eating cat vomit. This is why I do not like it when dogs lick me. So, I cleaned up what Onyx didn't, and made sure my coffee was extra strong. 

Later, I sent the kids up to clean their bedrooms. Irelynn told me she needed a trash bag...so I went to get one from under the kitchen sink and realized they were all wet. The pipe was leaking, and everything was soaked. I sopped up the water, and promptly called someone to come take care of it, because we have dealt with this on and off for awhile now...and Bruce always temporarily fixes it and tells me NOT to call a plumber. Well...Bruce isn't here...and I need a working kitchen sink. Luckily someone came and it was fairly simple. This, as it turned out, was actually the least frustrating part of the day.

Remember the trash bag I sent up with Irelynn? I remembered later, too, and went upstairs to get it and gather up more trash to put in it from upstairs. Not too long after I was cleaning up, Irelynn came upstairs.

"Mom...I kind of dropped a tissue in the candle."


"Um...I dropped a tissue in the candle."


"Not anymore."

I ran downstairs to find a tissue...all black, laying in the center of a huge, round scorch mark on the carpet. Irelynn was fine, thank goodness, and needless to say we had a very lively discussion regarding fire safety. I asked her why she would have had a tissue near the candle to begin with (the tissue box is no where near the candle,) she replied, "um...I was trying to clean the black part off of the inside of the candle." While it was lit?? I'm guessing it was actually that she was curious about the flame and was messing around to see what would happen. My mom asked me if it was difficult to be angry knowing she was trying to "help." Actually, it was not difficult to be angry. Especially after seeing the carpet. I was thinking, "you're one of my 'smart' kids! Seriously???" I didn't say that, of course, but I really was shocked that of all the kids, she was the one who stuck a tissue in fire. The kid with the mohawk...I'd expect that from him.

I will say that I'm fairly proud of myself for surviving this long. I think it's because I actually lost my sanity a long time ago. At this point I kind of chalk it up to "just another day in the Sawdon household." I figure, bedtime will be soon, and I have some beer in the fridge. That reminds me, hopefully the kids won't have a snow day tomorrow, because I need to get to the store. We're almost out of milk, bread and beer.