Up for air
I should be writing an ebook right this second, but I thought I’d take a break to make a few random updates and observations.
First of all, this kid (see picture, below) is going to summer camp tomorrow for 6 days. What? Seriously. WHAT? Will I cry? Probably not. But my system is fighting against this. If only my friends cared about me or their children at all, they wouldn’t start their own children on this Journey Toward Instantaneous Adulthood so soon. And if their children were not on the fast track to renting their own apartment, my child would not be shopping the ads for his own.
I’m just kidding. But my heart does not believe that my first born is leaving for a week. I cried for 4 hours the day he started Kindergarten. But in all fairness to telling a true story, I had given birth to Beloved 2 weeks before that and I was a mess that no counselor could clean up. I remember making the statement to Todd, “That was it! Now someone else will be raising him!” Then I wiped my nose on my sleeve and Todd responded, “You better hope not!” And all has been well up until now. And now he leaves his mama again.
I am an idiot.
Speaking of idiots, can I please, PLEASE have just a brief moment to mercilessly mock pet owners? Please. Let me have this time. Really.
Last night I took the three younger kids (the ones that still love me and don’t want to move out of the house. ha ha.) into Pet Supermarket. It all went fine. We just needed some hamster bedding to provide our wee ones with a lovely place to sleep and dispose of their hamster messes. When it was time to check out, the lady said, “Are you a part of our VIP program?” No, ma’am, I’m not. Do I look like a VIP? I’m standing here with 3 people under 44 inches, none of whom can stand still for more than a fraction of a second, and one of whom is about to pee her pants. I’m nobody’s VIP. These were my thoughts. My words were,
“No, I don’t live close to here. I won’t be using a VIP card.”
“Well, we’re all over the place, ma’am. You can use this card anywhere,” she said.
“Oh. Well,” I stammered.
“It’s free,” she argued. “What could be wrong with ‘free’?”
Folks, I’ll tell you what’s wrong with free. The extra ten minutes I stood there and got to hear about her husband’s cat allergies. I can assure you that my VIP card was not free.
She started filling out my information, which took an unnaturally long time. When she got to my address and zip, she asked for the last 2 digits of the zip. I gave them to her and she said,
“Well, you don’t live far from here…”
However, I do NOT go down Fowler toward the mall. And I did not know that this Pet Supermarket had been open for 7 months. So, whatever lady, you know?
As I waited and waited and WAITED for her to finish my information, she chit chatted about animals. I said that at some point in the not so distant future, we would probably have an outdoor dog. Oh boy. That was the wrong feral cat to let out of the bag.
“Why?” She said, obviously unsettled by this information. “Why not get an indoor dog?” Well, because you may have noticed that dogs are hairy, slobbering beasts and shed and chew and smell like the bottom of your shoe. And you may have further noticed my large, unruly band of gypsies that have off-sprung from a questionable gene pool. I don’t need another beast inside my house. Those were my thoughts. My words were,
“Because an indoor dog would kill the husband, and we need him. He has bad allergies.”
“Well then, get an indoor something else. Or get an outdoor cat.”
What if I don’t want an indoor something else? I have more things indoors than you could catalog with bar code software. And what if I don’t want an outdoor cat? If I’m getting a dog for protection, because we are moving to the country (by the way, we are moving to the country soon, but that’s another blog entry), how does the outdoor cat solve that problem? When Cletus drives up on this 4-wheeler and freaks me out at 10 p.m., am I going to throw my outdoor MEOW MACHINE at him and say, “Go get ’em, Felix!” No, I’m not, because cats never cooperate. They own whatever joint they live in and they also don’t scare a fella like Cletus. I hate cats with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. But most of you already know that. Put your cats away when I come around. Even if I love you to pieces, I will not love your cat. It’s who I am.
Jumping Weasel Critters on a Hot Cross Bun. May I just point out that when God created animals, He gave them what they needed to survive outdoors? They have fur and claws and paws and barks and instincts. They have skillz. Sleeping at the end of my bed and breathing their nasty pet breath in my face at 3 a.m. doesn’t change their lives as much as we think it does. They don’t need that. They aren’t lying at the end of my bed in the dark of night thinking, “I’m sure glad Missy gave me this couch to soil. I was really, really afraid of sleeping on a pet bed in a nice wooden dog house. My owner rocks. I hate the outdoors.” A dog outdoors is not the same as a homeless guy without a place to sleep when a thunderstorm rolls in. It just isn’t.
So, yes, I will likely own a dog in the country who will likely spend most of his time outdoors and have a very nice place to sleep. And it will be a nice dog that will bite the leg off someone who doesn’t have the proper number of teeth in his or her mouth.
And that’s that. Give my stinkin VIP card already.
I really wasn’t that mad. I don’t get that mad at pet store cashiers. But I did think the whole thing was a little bit much. And that is precisely why I just wanted to pay an extra 46 cents and get out quick. As it was, I then had to take Sister Tinklepants to the pet store bathroom. And then look at ferrets. Sigh.
I am writing Chapter 13 of 22 tonight. I don’t think I can finish this one before bed, but definitely by tomorrow. That will leave 9 left to write when I am done. I’ve never been this focused or this fast. And I think I’m learning how to do this so the children won’t always hate words. I think they are okay with this. Lately, I’ve been doing it into the wee hours of the morning and spending as much time with them as I can in the daytime. I must seem tired, though, because I heard Mama’s Boy pipe up in the back seat last night and tell another one of the kids, “When adults get enough sleep, they are really nice.” Ha. I love that boy. He needs a therapist, but I love him.
More on the ebook tomorrow. For now, I need to get back to it. August will launch a better blog. And I will actually feed it and care for it.
If there’s anybody still out there, here’s some love. Love.
Also, Happy Birthday to the Organizer.:)