With today being the kids’ first day back at school and all, I had big plans to get some stuff done around the house. On my list, in addition to tidying, dishes and vacuuming, was to organize the pantry. I figured that after getting the kids settled at school, I’d have some nervous energy to unleash on cleaning the house. What I didn’t anticipate was that my nervous energy would only be released by sending text after neurotic text to my girlfriend, anxiously pacing the house while doing nothing in particular, and attempting to phone or email everyone I know.

I got home approximately 4.5 hours ago and so far all I’ve managed to accomplish is the dishes. Oh, and a bit of tidying downstairs. Frankly, I’m not sure what happened to the other 4 hours. They just disappeared on me somehow.

Before heading off to school this morning, I took some pictures of the kids on the front porch.

Logan was ready and raring to go. He’s got no fear at all. He couldn’t wait to make new friends and meet his teacher.

Lily, on the other hand, was feeling a bit more apprehensive. She was worried that her teacher would be mean. I reassured her that everything would be fine and she’d have a great time at school. She seemed to accept my word for it and was happy enough on the walk to school.

When we got there, I was faced with the task of separating the kids into their seperate grade levels. The grade one kids were all sent to the library and the grade three kids were meeting in the small gym. When I walked into the library with Lily, I immediately noticed a group of parents and kids from her kindergarten class last year. I left Lily with one of the other moms while I took Logan to the gym, promising her that I’d be right back.

Right off the bat, Logan discovered that he was in the same class as his best friend, so when they left with their classmates to go to their new classroom, they were happy as clams.

I headed back to the library and chatted with the other moms (and a couple of dads) while we waited for the grade one teachers to sort out how they were going to organize the kids. Lily was feeling shy and nervous and wouldn’t even talk to the other kids she knew. She clung to me like a little monkey so I concentrated on trying to help her feel better while we waited.

Finally, the teachers were ready to read off their class lists. They informed us that, as of the day before, there were now going to be four grade one classes instead of three. When Lily’s teacher read off her list, I was disappointed to hear that Lily didn’t know a soul in her class. I was shocked as quite a few of the children from her kindergarten class had moved to the new school as well. As it turns out, the kids from the old school had all been separated, with each of the four girls going into a different classroom and the boys being separated as well. I’m sure it happened randomly but I was still upset that Lily would have to start out her school year without any “old” friends around.

When Lily and I got to her classroom, I noticed another little girl sitting at a group of desks alone and suggested that Lily sit next to her, hoping that they’d bond simply because of the fact that neither of them knew anyone else. Another upside to the extra class was that Lily’s class appeared to be quite small, with only about 15 kids in it. Plus, I instantly clicked with the aide that had been assigned to her classroom.

Once Lily was settled at the carpet so the teacher could take attendance and read a story, I was able to leave with no tears (Lily didn’t cry, either!) and head back home.

Normally, the kids and I make the walk from home to school in about ten minutes. On the way home today, I did it in five. Maybe I can translate this whole nervous energy thing into some massive, kickass weightloss! Actually, never mind. By next week, school will be old hat and I probably won’t move that quickly any more.

I’m off to pick them up again in about half an hour. I can’t wait to hear how their days went and I’m hoping and praying that Lily clicked with at least one other person in her class.

Whew. One day down. Only about a bazillion more to go.

______

In an unrelated note, I think my poor, unfortunate firstborn child has a future involving orthodontics of some type, don’t you?

Filed under: Confessions, Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring by WWS (Lynn) - 4 Comments →

* I know, I know. It’s not actually a word. But, it totally should be.

Behold! Here is some of the random crap that has happened in my life recently:

If I ever had any doubts about being “done” after two children, the past two hours of my life spent sharpening as well as labelling 36 pencils and labelling 48 crayons, 48 colored pencils, 24 markers, 20 duotangs, 8 erasers, countless glue sticks, a couple of binders, scissors, pencil sharpeners, tissue boxes and shoes has cured me of it. If an “accident” were to happen, said accident is allowed no more than two letters in his or her name.

______________

Whenever I vacuum (which is frequently), my five year old daughter scrambles away in a panic. She is intelligent enough to understand that it is impossible for a human girl to fit inside a vacuum (though a hamster slides quite nicely down the hose, but that’s a story for another time), but she doesn’t want to take the risk, just in case.

______________

My husband is morphing rapidly into one of those eccentric, crabby old men. In addition to the striped Dad shirt that he insists upon wearing, he has recently embarked upon a crusade to beautify the neighborhood by walking up and down the boulevards with the lawn mower, merrily mowing away because “if none of these young whipper snappers care about how their neighborhood looks, somebody’s got to.”

______________

I recently bought an iPhone and holy crap, why did nobody tell me about these things earlier? I’ve had it since Friday and there’s a good four hours worth of my life that I’m never getting back. Who knew I could spend so much time helping a family cross a river on a raft? Don’t even get me started on the virtual checkers. I may never get any more housekeeping done ever again.

______________

A couple of weekends ago, I had a girls’ night out with some friends. We sat in the bar section of my favourite restaurant and I made lots of really inappropriate moaning noises as I ate what may possibly be the best butter chicken in the world. (Sorry, India. I really doubt you can top Albertan butter chicken and naan. I’d like to see you try, though. And send me some.)

Out of the six of us, three are married, two might as well be married and one has unloaded a total jerk of a husband and is now living a much happier life without him. Considering that she is currently unattached, she was quick to notice a table full of hot, muscular men close by. At one point, someone decided that we should try to sneak pictures of the hottest, most muscular one. We started out by setting the camera on the table, flash off, and trying to surreptitiously get a good shot of him. Failing that, I (emboldened as I was by my two bellinis and long-lasting marriage), grabbed the camera and tried to take pictures of him without actually looking as though I was taking pictures of him.

I started by taking a picture of the table:

Mmm. Bellinis.

Then I moved on to looking like I was fascinated by the lit-from-beneath liquor bottles at the bar:

(Seriously, that woman was side-eyeing us like mad the whole time. Pshh. We weren’t giggling maniacally and taking pictures of you, non-hot, non-muscular lady. Sheesh. You just can’t take some people anywhere without them causing some kind of scene.)

Finally, I took a picture of the hot guy in question:

We took the fact that he was staring right at us and smirking as a good sign.

My girlfriend, armed with the liquid courage provided by her second pitcher of Bellinis, asked the waitress to send him a drink, courtesy of her. Following that, a conversation was struck and before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of a bar, surrounded by cops and taking pictures of a bunch of poor schmucks who had no idea that the song they were flailing their arms in the air to was “It’s Raining Men.”

(True story.)

In the end, my friend decided that the hot, muscular guy was actually kind of a dud in the personality department (isn’t that always the way?) and we left not long after determining that the bar we were in must certainly be a gay bar. I’m just glad that the hot, muscular police officers I was taking pictures of didn’t decide to arrest me for invading their privacy that way. I guess a little crazy-stalkerish flattery goes a long way for some people.
_______________

So, what random crap has been going on in your life lately? Do tell!

Filed under: Confessions, Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 1 Comment →

Knowing that the Tooth Fairy is about to visit is a very exciting feeling.

What I want to know is this: why do my babies have to keep on growing up so quickly? I’m pretty sure I just ovulated…

Filed under: Happy Happy, Offspring by WWS (Lynn) - 1 Comment →

For Canada Day this year, I convinced Lucky to leave work early so we could go together to check out the various patriotic events in the city. We had initially planned to do the standard face-painting-patriotic-tattoo-sticking-jumpy-house-jumping-cotton-candy-eating thing at a park in town. When we got there, however, we noticed a CARNIVAL!! across the street and abruptly changed course. There’s really nothing like spinning your kids all around for a few hours to subdue the little characters into blissfully quiet silence for the rest of the day.

We started them out gently on the swing ride. Logan has freaked out mid-ride in the past, forcing the operator to let him off lest he die! right! there! but I remain convinced that the only reason he did so was because a) the ride was bigger and b) he allowed himself to get all worked-up beforehand. This time, there was a very short line (less time for him to think about the certain doom that lay ahead) and the operator was letting kids on the ride as we walked up. Lily passed her tickets over like a pro and trotted over to the first swing she saw. Logan started backing up, mumbling something about maybe not wanting to go on this ride after all.

“Oops! Too late!” I exclaimed, giving him a little nudge forward. “Your sister is already on! Can’t let her go by herself! Don’t hold up the line!”

(I know. I’m a super great mom. I’ll let you in on my secret later.)

Logan ambled over to the swing beside his sister, throwing dubious glances at me over his shoulder.

“Woo hoo! This is great! Right on!” I called to him. “Don’t listen to that little voice inside telling you to run away! Self-preservation is highly overrated!”

(Okay, fine. I may not have uttered that last part. I’m not completely heartless.)

By the second revolution, Logan had clearly decided that the ride wasn’t out to prematurely end his life and flashed a happy thumbs-up on his way by.

Yaaaaay! This is fun!

Ride number one was a success!

The kids went on a couple of tame, kiddy rides before Logan decided that he wanted to tackle the Gravitron. Not even Lily felt brave enough to tackle the Gravitron. A big spaceship-thingy that sucks you to the wall and holds you there while spinning like a top? No thank you!

Logan was unwavering in his decision to go on, though. I worried that he’d completely lose it when the door shut, but a couple of kids promised me that they’d ride beside him and he’d have the best time ever, so I bit my tongue and sent him on his merry way.

Baaaaaaarffffffffff…….

Logan bounded off the ride like a jumping bean and exclaimed, “Hey, Mom! Did you know that if you turn yourself upside-down in there, you stick to the wall? Upside-down? It was awesome!”

“Just make sure you turn yourself right side-up again before the ride stops or you’ll land on your head!” I told him, grinning like a fool because my kid was actually enjoying himself! On rides! Maybe Disney World wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all!

By this point, we were running low on tickets and the kids were running high on adrenaline. They decided that they were ready to take on the giant Hurricane. Lily barely met the height requirement to ride, but the fact that she could hardly see over the front of the car didn’t stop her from hopping right in like a champ.

It wasn’t until the lap bar had been snapped into place that the kids started to wonder whether or not they had made the best choice in riding the Hurricane.

Uh, Mom?

We’re wondering whether or not we made the best choice here…

If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you for the rest of your life…

The ride filled up quickly and before we knew it, they were off.

Logan: Holy crap! Why am I on this death trap?
Lily: What? I can’t see a thing!

*terrified silence*

Not a peep was to be heard from either one of them and Lucky and I strained to catch a glimpse of their tiny little faces. All we could gather was that the pair of them were plastered to the outside edge of the car, frozen into absolute stillness.

Ruh-roh.

When they made their way off the ride, I asked, “So, how was it?”

How do you think it was, you crazy woman?

“It was the worst ride in the world, MOM! I hated it!” Logan exclaimed in disgust.

Let me just get back to you when I can stand up straight without falling over, mmmkay?

“Not so fun,” Lily replied somberly.

The only upside to the Hurricane was that it provided Lucky and me with the perfect segue into talking about our upcoming trip to Disney World.

Me: The rides at Disney are so much better than these ones!

Lucky: Right! They’re way smoother and won’t squish you to the sides or anything!

Me: Yeah! If you can ride this ride, you can take anything Disney World has to dish out!

Lucky: Exactly! The rides at Disney are all fun!

Me: And totally won’t hurt you at all!

Lucky: And you’ll have the best time EVER!

Kids: Can we just lay down somewhere for a few minutes? You know, just to catch our breath? Ooh! Look at that lovely bench!

The kids capped off their riding experience with one (smaller!) last (and slower!) ride and then climbed exhaustedly into the car. Needless to say, the rest of our evening was quiet and mellow and bedtime was a breeze.

I was left wondering why I couldn’t get them to go on MY favourite ride, though.

Any ideas?

Filed under: Happy Happy, Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring, Out of the Mouths of Babes, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 2 Comments →

It was either this or inviting you over to watch a slide show…

Ladybug on the Move! from Walking With Scissors on Vimeo.

Filed under: Offspring, Out of the Mouths of Babes by WWS (Lynn) - No Comments →

On Friday afternoon, Logan had his much-anticipated birthday party. Knowing how difficult it is to keep boys entertained for any length of time, I got smart this year and held the party at an indoor playground. Here’s how the party was laid out:

4:00pm-5:00pm – arrival, check-in and playtime!
5:00pm-5:45pm – party room for pizza, cake and presents
5:45pm-6:00pm – playtime while laser tag is being set up
6:00pm-6:15pm – laser tag!
6:15pm-6:30pm – video games and going home!!

Looking at the schedule, you’d think that the party was too short. You’d think that there was no way that the boys would be able to fit in all the fun they’re capable of having in just 2.5 short hours. You’d think that a group of ten boys would be able to keep themselves entertained at a giant playground for longer than thirty minutes. You’d think that, but you’d be so wrong. Every one of those kids lined up at the concession stand after exactly half an hour so that they could lament to their party coach just how boooored they were.

Thankfully, the above-mentioned party coach was fifty shades of awesome and immediately threw down the gauntlet.

“I bet you can’t beat me to the top of the playground,” he taunted with a grin.

A rousing game of tag with a real, live teenager was just what the boys needed to get back into the spirit of things. They played happily, but only as long as the much-admired party coach, or “Coach,” as he was dubbed, played with them.

Hey, Coach! Come get me!

Where’s Coach?

The girls, on the other hand, could have admired their reflections in the fun-house mirror all day and night without ever losing interest.

That’s just the difference between boys and girls, I guess.

The party venue was fantastic until we were ushered into the party room and soundly closed in. If you’ve ever wondered exactly how much noise ten boys and two girls can produce, suffice it to say that it’s a lot. A whole lot. It was a struggle to keep those boys focused long enough to eat their dinner and sing Happy Birthday to Logan. They were just itching to get back out to the playground again. (Funny how a place so darn boooring still managed to have so much appeal.)

The boys were getting so unruly that at one point, Logan (who has a hard time processing really loud noises), clapped his hands over his ears and yelled, “Be quiet! You’re too LOUD!”

With the food consumed and the presents opened, the boys seemed to realize that the party would soon be drawing to a close and tumbled out of the party room like a litter of puppies, eager to get back to the business of playing. The word “bored” wasn’t uttered again as the kids were desperate to fit as much fun as possible into the last minutes of their party experience.

Laser tag and video games were played, tickets were redeemed for crappy little prizes, and kids dripping with sweat ran amok until, one by one, the parents began to arrive.

After the last kid was picked up, our little family exited the party site, ears ringing, and headed home – exhausted but happy.

The best part of all? We left the mess behind us!

Can I get an amen?

Filed under: Happy Happy, Offspring, Out of the Mouths of Babes by WWS (Lynn) - No Comments →

Last weekend, my precious, firstborn baby boy, turned eight. We had a get-together with the grandparents, complete with generic cherry chip cake, on his actual birthday.

Ooh! Look who has TWO girlfriends!

His birthday party is today after school. I booked it at a local indoor play-place where Logan and his crazy friends can run around like the maniacs they are and not break anything. This kind of party is ideal because:

1. I don’t have to clean up any messes
2. Kids love climbing and running and getting sweaty
3. I don’t have to clean up any messes
4. The food, cutlery, napkins, etc, are all provided
5. Video games!
6. Laser tag!
7. I don’t have to clean up any messes
8. Did I mention that I don’t have to clean up any messes?

This year, Logan asked for a Wii remote cake. Considering how much fun I had playing with fondant for his last cake, I figured a Wii remote would be easy! (Certainly, I could have done a better job, but it actually wasn’t too hard, all things considered).

I decided to make the cake three times bigger than an actual Wii remote and baked two chocolate cakes, which I then carved and layered in the right size. Last year, I used premade Wilton fondant, which tastes really, really horrible, so this year, I got smart and made my own from marshmallows and icing sugar.

A lot of my recipes are from American sources, using Imperial measurements. In a country where all the packaging is in Metric, this can be a challenge. The recipe called for a 16 oz package of marshmallows and I’m standing there holding a 400 g bag going, that’s got to be close, right? Considering that the life of a Canadian is a life of hybrid measurements, you’d think that’d I’d just naturally be able to mentally make the conversion, but you’d be wrong. As it turns out, 16 ounces is closer to 450 grams. I’m pretty sure the people who decide on American vs Canadian package sizes are just messing with us.

I was nervous about making my own fondant because I had it in my head that such a task would be really hard! and scary! As it turns out, it was quick and easy. I made the cutest little fondant ball. It’s so soft and smooth and now I just want to hold it in my lap and stroke it like the puppy my husband won’t let me have.

Who’s a cute little fondant ball?

You are! You are!

(I forgot to take photos of my little ball of fondant, so I totally ganked the fondant pictures from the website where I got the recipe. Check it out here. Good stuff!)

I also forgot to take pictures of the cake in progress because clearly, I’m awesome. I made a chocolate layer cake with chocolate frosting between the layers and vanilla frosting on the outside. All homemade and pretty darn good, if I do say so myself!

Then I went to work decorating the cake with the fondant.

Of course, when I look at it, all I see are the mistakes and imperfections that the cake is riddled with. The fondant isn’t completely white because I couldn’t find clear vanilla extract. The fondant isn’t completely smooth because I didn’t warm it up enough in the microwave before rolling it out. Some of the remote buttons aren’t exactly perfect. While I tried to carve and ice the cake so it was perfectly straight and uniform, it ended up looking a little wonky. (Yeah, I know. Blah, blah, blah!)

Logan had a look at it, though, and didn’t see any of those things. What he saw was a huuuge Wii remote cake that looked just like a regular Wii remote! Only huuuuger! He didn’t see any of the imperfections that I saw, which was a good reminder for me to stop obsessing over the little things and just enjoy the cake as a whole. It’s enough to impress an eight year old, Wii-loving boy, so it’s enough for me.

Filed under: Happy Happy, Offspring by WWS (Lynn) - 4 Comments →

Now that Logan is nearly eight, we’ve decided that he’s ready for an allowance. To earn it, he has a set list of chores to do around the house – mainly keeping his room tidy and his bed made, with a side of collecting the garbage and tidying the bonus room. Lucky, organized fellow that he his, wrote up a chore chart and stuck it to the side of the fridge:

Notice that there are two names on the list. The second name is MINE. Poor, simple Lucky. I’m pretty sure he thought he was doing me a favour, considering that I had talked about writing myself up a weekly chore list to keep up the motivation to clean. I planned on writing it up myself, however, because I have an order that I like to do things in.

(It was interesting to see the types of chores that Lucky feels I should be doing, though, and when.)

I have to admit, I lack enthusiasm when it comes to housework. I mean, Logan has motivation in that he gets paid to do his, but what do I have? Well, I do get the satisfaction of watching my kids destroy my hard work within minutes.

Wait.

That doesn’t sound satisfying at all, does it? That’s because it’s NOT. My kids view a clean house as a challenge. I’m pretty sure they take bets on who can mess it up the most in the shortest amount of time.

Housework is a losing battle.

My first reaction to “the chore chart” was to ball it up and shove it down my husband’s throat. Where’s his name? And what about Lily? She’s old enough to do some chores around the house, too.

Upon further reflection, though, I realized that I do like to have a list of things to do up in an easily visible location. I decided to bite my tongue, realize that Lucky somehow thought he was helping me, and just make a few quiet modifications to the list.

Considering that he brought this on himself, I’ve decided not to give him Sundays off. His chore is one that takes consistant, daily effort.

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 3 Comments →

A very happy Moth’s Day to all of the moths out there from our family to yours.

Filed under: Happy Happy, Offspring, Out of the Mouths of Babes, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 2 Comments →

So. I got a cat eleven days ago. Those of you who know my husband me understand that this is a huge deal because:

1. I don’t deal well at all with change of any kind
2. My husband is blatantly anti-pet
3. My husband is very good at getting his way (namely, not getting a pet)

 For reasons that I’ll get into on another day, and because Lucky has threatened to divorce me if I get a dog, I decided that I must have a cat. I needed a cat to retain my sanity and happiness. “No” was not an option. I would have a cat. Oh, yes. I would have one. With a little strong-arming and a lot of emotion, I managed to convince Lucky that letting me get a cat would be a good idea. (A happy wife is a happy life and all that). I researched online until I found the perfect cat, a sweet one year old with all of his shots and none of his gonads.

“Hi! My name is Max and I’m the greatest cat who ever lived. Word.”

I packed the kids in the car one Saturday afternoon and drove a kajillion miles over to the far north-east end of the city to go pick up our new kitty. On the way, I gave myself a mental talking-to because I knew from past experience that I was going to morph from a rational cat-wanting human being into an irrational, overreactionary what-the-hell was-I-thinking basket case and completely freak the frack out once the cat was in my possession.

“Okay, Lynn. It’s just a cat. You’ll be just fine. It’ll be good for the kids to have a pet not living behind bars. It’ll be good for you to have a warm, purring little bundle to cuddle. Everything will be just fine. Don’t. Freak. Out.”

(If you think this kind of reaction is completely over-the-top, well, you’re right. However, when I say that I really don’t deal well with change, I am not kidding. If you look up the term “panic attack” in the dictionary, there I am, in all my freakish glory.)

As an aside, here’s a little cartoon to help me illustrate my overreactionary quirks. The scene: I’m frolicking at the beach, trip and fall in the sand… (just click the picture to see each of the three panels)

(Ok, fine, so it’s a crappy cartoon. Better not quit my day job.)

Back to the story!

The kids and I spent a few minutes petting the cat and talking to his previous owner before packing him in a cardboard box and driving him home.

“Your old green couch may be ugly as sin, but it sure is comfortable!”

Max mellowed out in the car all the way home, poking his head out a couple of times to check out the view before settling in to do what he does best: lay around and do nothing.

I, on the other hand, was most definitely not mellowing out. The entire kajillion mile drive home had me alternately freaking the frack out in my head and mentally telling myself that buying a cat was certainly not panic attack-worthy.

We got the cat home, let him out of his box and watched him explore his surroundings. (By exploring, I mean that he wandered around for about six seconds and then laid down in the living room for a nap.)

When Lucky came home from work that night, I was in full-on panic attack mode. I couldn’t take a deep breath. I couldn’t eat. I sat woefully at the kitchen table with my head in my hands and lamented about how I never should have gotten a cat and I can’t believe you actually agreed to this!

Lucky (previously known as the animal-hater) calmly told me, “Lynn, he’s just a cat. He’s not even doing anything. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not! It’s not! How could I do this? What made me think it would be a good idea to get a cat! I need to find him a new home NOW! I can’t take the stress! Ahh!!”

“Lynn, calm down and give it a few days. You always get like this. Everything is fine.”

And you know what? He was right. I calmed down and things were fine. For awhile.

Being that Max wasn’t declawed, I thought it would be best to purchase him some sort of scratching post to lie apathetically next to use so that he’d leave my furniture alone. It quickly became obvious that Max viewed his claws as merely a decoration and not as something actually worth using. (Yay!) In addition, I bought him a couple of toys to play with.

Lily adopted him as her very own baby, hand-feeding him his cat food (pellets, not the jellied stuff from a can!), petting him lovingly, and carrying him all around.

“Oh, man. Here she goes again.”

“Why does this small one always have to carry me around? I can walk!”

“The things I put up with around here…”

And Presenting… MAX! from Walking With Scissors on Vimeo.

Whenever things got quiet around the house, Max would emerge from his current napping spot and curl up on my lap for some love.

(Ever been gently head-butted in the jaw by a cat? It’s surprisingly pleasant!)

After a few minutes, he would very gently and deliberately reach his forepaw out and place it on my arm before loudly purring and settling in for yet another nap.

Things were going great and I was mentally congratulating myself for not letting my unstable mental condition beat me until Logan started complaining that his eyes were itchy. He sneezed whenever he got too close to Max and he was beginning to have trouble falling asleep at night due to the uncontrollable urge to claw his own eyes out.

Logan had always been fine whenever he was around cats at his friends houses but I suppose there’s a difference between being around a cat for a couple of hours at a time and having one actually live with you all the time.

By the time Max left with his new owners (a lovely couple who had both lived harmoniously and un-allergenically with cats in the past), Logan had rubbed his eyes so much that he had bruises under them. Max has been gone for just over three days now and Logan is only just beginning to feel normal again.

I, on the other hand, am sad. It was hard to give up the cat, being that he was perfect and all. But, perfect as he was, my son and his health is my top priority.

In the six short days that we had Max the cat, I learned several things.

1. It is wholly possible to fall in love with an animal in only six days time. Especially when that animal is the best, most awesome and amazing cat who ever lived.
2. My husband, despite being known for his decisiveness and unbending nature, was willing to put my needs above his own and let me proceed with my crazy cat-owning scheme even though he really didn’t want to
3. The aforementioned husband is remarkably calm and unflappable when faced with his wife’s neurotic tendencies and, despite not wanting a cat in the first place, actually recommended keeping the cat around even when the basket-case wife was ready to usher said cat out the door and run screaming in the opposite direction.
4. Even though he protested mightily to getting a cat in the first place, and even though I know he’ll deny it until his dying breath, the truth is that Lucky actually liked the cat. I even caught him watching TV with Max tucked right in on his lap.
5. I have panic attacks entirely too often and for the most inane reasons. I think I may need to pay a visit to my doctor and have my meds adjusted.
6. I grew up not liking cats even a little bit and now I’m pretty sure that, given the right circumstances, I would make the awesomest crazy cat lady in the world.

Enjoy your new home, Max! We hardly knew ye and yet we loved ye all the same. I hope you get all the cuddles you could ever want.

Filed under: Confessions, Just My Luck, Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring, Pity Party by WWS (Lynn) - 4 Comments →