Killer

I always thought certain animal names were ridiculous, like "killer" "kugo" "butch." Why make your pet sound mean. We have two dobermans -- we gave them benign names, "Rusty" and "Ruby." They don't need names that make them sound meaner than people already assume they are by the pure nature of their size and their breed. Then we have the two cats. Mookie is black and white with markings like a cow and she is mute -- couldn't meow if her life depended on it. And then there is Baghera, solid black like the black panther from The Jungle Book. Baggy, as we call him, came to us as a very young kitten that we felt needed protection from the queen bee cat when he first arrived. He grew up playing with Rusty when Rusty was a puppy and followed up by teasing with Ruby when she first came. We have pictures of Baggy cleaning Rusty's ears for him when we first brought him home and his ears were healing from the cropping that they do to dobermans. Who knew he would grow up to think his life's mission was to rid the neighborhood of as many mice, moles, birds and squirrels as he could. In the last week alone he has brought me home one mouse, one bird and a squirrel. I've watched him follow along on the sidewalk as the squirrels run down the electrical wires -- he's obviously waiting until the wire runs out and they have to come to the ground. For a cat with no front claws he has racked up quite a number in his mission to rid our neighborhood of the rodent population. I'm not quite sure what drives this cat. He has a comfortable home. He is fed regularly, has been provided a comfortable bed and a loving environment. He has been fixed, so he is not out there trying to impress the female cat population. Not to mention the fact that all the female cats in the immediate area have been fixed, too. I just don't know where we've gone wrong as cat parents. We've done all we could and our boy has grown into a serial rodent killer. I know, some may say he is just doing what comes natural and, besides, those squirrels are a nuisance, anyway. Of course, these are not the people who have to come up with ways of disposing of the victims. On the bright side, it has given me plenty of good reasons why Hannah cannot bring a hamster to live in our home -- it just wouldn't be fair. The hamster would have to live in constant fear, and it would just be teasing Baghera. I can see it now. We'd find an empty hamster cage and Baggy would look at us like "what, I thought it was like those lobsters you look at in the restaurant before ordering." Oh well, I guess we'll leave the hamsters safe in the pet shop, and we'll just keep helping Baghera get rid of his catch until the stupid rodents wise up and go live in some other, safer neighborhood.

Good help is hard to find

Even Rusty is trying to pitch in and help around the house.

And the winner is...

Mary Elizabeth has been adding to her vocabularly. She, of course has been saying "Mom" and "Mommy," she also has Dad, no (sometimes put together as "No, Dad" particularly when he is asking for a bite of something she has), seat, Ruru (Ruby), thank you, Melmo (Elmo), yes, yeah, shoe, but the winner in the name game is "Nana." Needless to say, Hannah couldn't be happier. There was some speculation on how Hannah was going to take to being a big sister. She was not at all excited when she heard she was having twin cousins and was even less happy to find out she was going to have a new brother or sister, but the closer we got to the time for the baby to arrive, the more excited Hannah got and then when she finally got here Hannah couldn't have been a prouder big sister. Now, I couldn't be a prouder mommy. Hannah is so good with Mary Elizabeth. She plays with her, she sits with her to watch a video and asks her questions about what they're watching -- she is quite pleased with the fact that Mary Elizabeth can now show you where most of her body parts are and will point to certain characters on screen when prompted. She's tough on her, too. She wouldn't be Hannah if she didn't have a tough side. She doesn't let Mary Elizabeth get away with being a whiner. All in all Hannah is a hugh help and we're both having a lot of fun helping Mary Elizabeth grow into the person she is going to be.

Three little ducks all in a row...

As of Monday Mary Elizabeth and two others from her room in daycare moved up to "The Ducks." This is something we've been aspiring to all summer, due to Mary Elizabeth's fondness for the rubber duckey (she and Ernie). At any rate, she began walking the first week of August and is now walking well enough to move up with the rest of the toddlers to the Duck room. Naturally, her mother is much more excited about this milestone than she is. She doesn't seem to understand why we get all excited when she shows off a new achievement, it's kind of like -- ..."so what, I can find my head, what's the big deal? Do you need me to show you where your head is, too?" She is, of course, more than happy to help you find your belly, but that involves hiking your shirt all the way up to your chin, so we try to avoid that in public.

On the one hand, I get just as excited as her older siblings when she accomplishes something new, and on the other hand with each passing day and new accomplishment she is less and less a baby and more and more a very independent little puss.

We savor the time when they are babies, we enjoy the new discovery of things when they are children, we endure the pre-teen years and I'm finding that we gray with the teenage years (Jason will be old enough to drive next year) and it is amazing to think it all happens in the blink of an eye.

My life as a work of literature...

Take your pick -- The Tale of Two Age Groups -- It is the best of times, it is the worst of times.... or perhaps Much Ado About Nothing, Of course we could just pick movies, too One Flew over the CooCoo's Nest, The Shining comes to mind because I've had REDRUM on the brain -- if you haven't figured it out yet, school has started. My mornings are no longer my own. Yesterday wasn't too bad, only Hannah had to get off to school. Of course, the morning met its fair share of mishaps. The last of the milk had been used Tuesday evening -- a rare occurrence in our house as it is because I HATE to run out of milk. No problem, I'll send Jason down to get milk in the morning before Hannah has breakfast and all will be well with the world -- not counting on the fact that the newly purchased gallon of milk would already be sour before we even opened it. "I'll just make toast," Hannah said, disappointment dripping from every word. While I was enjoying one more peaceful cup of coffee on the porch (I had wisely elected to take the day off to get Hannah off to school) she emerges from the house "Someone turned the toaster up and my toast is burnt! I'll just have dry cereal." Could be worse, I thought. You could have poured the sour milk on the last of the cereal and then you wouldn't have the option of dry cereal. At any rate, the rest of the morning went without further major incident and the first day of school was complete for the elementary schoolers.

Let us proceed to day two, or day one for the Jr. High kids and day one of mom trying to get everyone where they need to go and make it to the train on time. UGH!!!

Sharing the bathroom with a teenage girl -- not fun. Trying to get five people up, fed, dressed and out the door on time, not fun, dealing with Hannah and all her quirks -- really not fun.
There was an incident with the shoe laces that had me using words that are most often reserved for sailors (Hannah); there was the primping and primping and primping (Mallorie) that kept me from the much coveted bathroom and then there is the hermit (Jason) who gets up first, gets ready and eats breakfast then retires to his room to watch the news only to emerge five minutes before he thinks we should leave and then say as we pull in to the school 20 minutes before they have to be in their first class "Mom, can we try to get here a little earlier tomorrow?" He has a timetable all his own, which doesn't take in to consideration that there are three females trying to prepare themselves to face the day and one baby who needs to be gotten ready and all of this is supposed to happen before 7:30 in the morning.

Summer is definitely over and no matter how much I enjoy the routine of the school year getting back into the habit of getting 5/6 of our family out the door first thing in the morning has challenges all its own that sometimes make me feel we could be the subject of either a comedy or a horror movie -- perhaps a public service announcement stressing the importance of multiple bathrooms or warning that no matter how cute babies and toddlers are -- they become teenagers one day. The only thing to look forward to with teenagers is that one day they become young adults and all your hard work with them will hopefully pay off.

Labor Day

Here we are -- it's Labor Day. The day set aside to remember the working man and woman, the unofficial end of the summer. Of course, fourteen years ago Mallorie apparently figured "Labor" day meant the day your mom should be in labor, and made it her birthday. With the end of summer, we now have the end of all of our summer birthdays. Everyone is now a year older and it is the unofficial beginning of a new year in our house, new grade in school, new room at day care for Mary Elizabeth (she is walking now and getting ready to move to the Duck room).
In honor of Labor Day Pastor Beth talked yesterday about the role of "work" in our Christian life. I sat there reflecting about the role plays in each of our life. God intended us to work, Adam was created to keep after the land and animals and to benefit from it. It is for the glory of God that we work; however, as a society, we tend to forget that part and work for the almighty dollar. Jason asked me the other day -- if you could work at a job where you worked little hours and made little money, but enough to support your family, or you had a job where you made a lot of money but had to work a lot of hours which would you choose? I think in theory that is an easy one -- you take the one that grants you more time with the family, but then there is the subjective question about how much money is enough to support your family. That question is subjective in that we each have different expectations about what you wish to provide for your family. Perhaps sometimes we need to take a more childlike view (not a teenager's view) of our life in determining "How much is enough?" For most of us we have as much as we need, but we still want more, which is what drives us to work harder and longer and seek the "better" job, all of which takes us away from our family and separates us from God.
With Labor Day being our unofficial new year the kids and I have discussed hopes and goals for the coming school year. This year, I am going to remember the "life/work balance" and continually remember to respond to the question "is this enough?" "Is this enough time talking to the teenagers? Is this enough cuddle time with the baby? Is this enough family time for all of us? Is this enough for our family?