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July 01, 2009

The truth about cats and dogs

Dog609 Until we got this cutie-pie last fall, I'd only had cats. I knew cats pretty well -- as well as anyone can know them, anyway. I believed the party line about cats -- that they are aloof, haughty, proud, mysterious, and single-minded.

Now I've had a chance to observe the dog and the cats, together and separately, and I'm beginning to suspect that the party line is not entirely accurate. That is, I think that, perhaps, the cats are simply not all that bright. And that their PR people concocted the "aloof, haughty, proud" image as a cover for their general, you know, dim-wittedness.

See, the dog is capable of learning. She understands a dozen commands and obeys them, mostly. She knows her name. She can do tricks. She can hear people in the neighborhood slamming car doors and reacts appropriately, in her mind, by barking ferociously to protect her home. When she does wrong, she knows it, and she grovels before us with low, humble ears and beseeching eyes.

Boykitty609 The cats, not so much. They recognize and respond to the sounds of a can-opener and bag of kibble. That's about it. Our little boy cat, in particular, is a stereotypical dumb blonde. He's the Owen Wilson of the animal world. A loverboy, and very cute, but not so quick on the uptake. (He'd be our Butterscotch Stallion except that he's more of a Butterscotch Gelding.)

He sleeps on the printer because it's warm, and then he is completely taken by surprise when his bed rumbles and spits out pieces of paper. He hangs his head over the side to look for the creature that must be inside the printer, and jumps when he gets poked in the nose by a sheet of paper. Every morning and every evening, when I'm brushing my teeth and dealing with my contact lenses, he jumps up on the bathroom counter. Every time, I put him down and say, "Down!" And every time, he jumps back up again. We do this approximately 3,650 times a year. And still there is no glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

I don't think it's a matter of disobedience. A dog listens to your instructions and smiles and nods and thinks to herself, "Sure, boss, I get it. I'll just wait until you're not watching." You can practically see the gears turning. I just don't think the cats get it. What we interpret as an aloof gaze is probably more of a blank stare.

It's not a value judgment. I'm not saying dogs are better than cats. I'm just saying dogs are, generally, smarter. We've been giving cats' walnut-sized brains a little more credit than they deserve. Let's be realistic. They're not haughty, they're just waiting for the elevator to get all the way to the top floor. It's a long wait. We need to be patient with them.

While I was thinking about this post, a study came out of England that supported my unscientific observations: "Cats outsmarted in psychologist's tests." I feel a little less disloyal knowing that there is scientific evidence that cats live, literally, in the moment. (Sort of like Drew Barrymore in 50 First Dates.)

I'll publish this as soon as I can sit down. The senior cat is sitting in my desk chair even though I have moved her out of it approximately 1,460 times. Sigh.

June 25, 2009

The man in the mirror

Even the kids knew it was kind of a big deal. Their friends texted them about it, but they'd already been watching the updates over my shoulder. May said, "I'll always remember that I got a manicure the day Michael Jackson died."

They hardly knew who he was. They'd seen him on TV in the past and asked, "Who's that weird old lady?" I told them that old lady used to be the coolest entertainer in the world. I showed them pictures of him when he was a cute young black man. He had a great smile then, and a beautiful Afro. And he could really dance. "Remember in 13 Going on 30," I said, "when they were at a party and played "Thriller," and everyone just had to dance? Didn't it make you feel like dancing too? That was Michael Jackson." They nodded their heads.

I liked Michael Jackson. Everyone liked Michael Jackson. I don't think I ever owned one of his albums, but I didn't have to. He was on the radio and MTV all the time. I had to explain to the kids that MTV used to play music videos, back before it went to an all-scripted-reality-programming format. Michael Jackson was the first black performer to get any kind of airtime on MTV. He invented the moonwalk, I told them. They think Napoleon Dynamite invented the moonwalk. They don't know it used to be cool.

Still, they had a vague sense that something big had happened. I felt the same way when Elvis died. I knew him only as the sweaty, bloated has-been in a white jumpsuit. It wasn't until after he died that I saw footage of him as a young man and realized what a sensation he had been. Thats the Elvis we remember now.

I hope it will be that way with Michael Jackson. I hope the news stations stop running footage of the frail, emaciated, troubled man whose handlers failed him (as they failed Elvis, and Judy, and Marilyn). I want show my kids the old videos and performances so they will know, and we will remember, why he was the King of Pop.

June 19, 2009

Move-up day

Today was the last day of school. Bess is officially a freshman in high school (though still at the junior high), Ella is headed into fourth grade, and May has graduated from elementary school and will be in seventh grade next year.

May also received a certificate for exiting from ELL (English Language Learners) this spring. She has now attended school in America longer than she attended school in China. She expresses herself beautifully in English and reads at or above grade level. She still has trouble with some of those pesky irregular English verbs, but that will come with time.

It's so hard to believe that this is the same little girl who came here as a shy 8-year-old and could only say "OK" in English. What a graceful, accomplished young lady she has become.

Firstdayschool  Grad20091

June 12, 2009

Domestic haiku

I've never been much of a writer of haiku (or any other kind of poetry, for that matter). But lately 17 syllables seem to be about as much as I can manage. Here are some haiku on everyday subjects.

Three cats on my bed
Big dog lounging in their midst
Hey, where do I sleep?
 
Someone put empty
butter tub put back in the fridge
My toast sits naked
 
Cat on my desk chair
Why must you sleep where I sit?
Fur on all my pants
 
How many times must
I repeat myself on this?
Please pick up your socks
 
Breeze through the green trees
Drowned out by a leaf blower
I close the window
 
Weep, appliances
Fingerprints on stainless steel
What was I thinking?
 

June 03, 2009

CSI: Mommy

Everyone loves a mystery. We're all amateur sleuths at heart, right? That's why God invented Google.

I have found an easy way to satisfy my inner Nancy Drew. If you'd like to try it, just get hold of an assortment* of children and pets, and in no time you'll be setting up a personal crime scene investigation lab in the comfort of your own home -- complete with disgusting bodily fluids!

With a little help from the usual suspects, you'll soon find yourself solving mysteries like the following taken from actual case files:

  • What's that smell?

  • Who is throwing up hairballs all over the house?

  • What is the dog eating?

  • Why does the cat have hairspray on her fur?

  • Where are your socks?

  • Where are your underpants?

  • Why are there four pairs of dirty socks in your backpack?

  • Who took the last Oreo and put the box back on the shelf?

  • Why am I the only person in this family who knows how to tell time?

  • Why did you wait until 9:30 p.m. to tell me you need your uniform washed for tomorrow?

  • Are your legs broken?

  • Did you hear what I just said?

  • Did you just say what I think you just said?

  • Who forgot to flush?

If, like me, you are closer in age to Jessica Fletcher than to Nancy Drew, you get to solve the following bonus mysteries ripped from today's headlines:

  • What did I come in here for?

  • Where are my keys/glasses/phone?

  • Why did I open the refrigerator door?

  • What was I saying?

Seriously, what was I saying? Oh, yeah -- get yourself a big enough brood and soon you'll be solving mysteries like these and bringing your junior miscreants to justice before they have a chance to say, "I didn't do it!"

*You have to have more than one suspect or there's really no mystery, is there?

May 27, 2009

Daily accomplishments -- a log

I have been thinking about the "100 days" posts and wondering what I do accomplish on a daily basis. If I can remember to do it, I think I'll occasionally post a daily list. I know there are days when I feel I've accomplished nothing, and I'd like to know if that's true.

Here's my list for today, in excruciating detail:

  • Got kids up and fed
  • Drove kids to school
  • Loaded and ran the dishwasher
  • Put brisket in the crockpot
  • Started this blog post
  • Worked on a post for another of my blogs
  • Researched summer programs for May and Ella
  • Scheduled two medical appointments
  • Hung out on Facebook
  • Agreed to be a board member for a fledgling (and tiny) nonprofit
  • Swapped e-mail with family members
  • Read two articles and listened to two podcasts online
  • Exercised the dog
  • Picked up the kids from school
  • Helped kids with homework and reading (longest sustained effort of the day)
  • Fed the pets
  • Cleaned the litterbox (not my job -- someone owes me)
  • Did a load of laundry
  • Watched kids play outside
  • Finished making the brisket and side dishes for dinner
  • Washed the dishes
  • Read half the new issue of TV Guide
  • Watched The Daily Show
  • Tucked kids into bed
  • Finished this post
  • Did a little reading

Not a bad day. I got some things done and also got to relax. Nothing earth-shaking, though. Just routine maintenance. I'm still aware of the myriad of things I didn't get done. Maybe tomorrow.

May 25, 2009

Random 100 days

Some blogging friends recently posted lists of their personal accomplishments during President Obama's first 100 days. Their lists looked something like the following:

  • Earned a PhD.

  • Taught my 3-year-old algebra.

  • Wrote a book.

  • Grew family's entire food supply in the back yard.

  • Built a house with my bare hands.

Me, not so much. I can hardly remember the past 100 days, much less list my accomplishments, trivial as they are.

I do know, however, that mid-May through mid-June is my crunch time. That's when all the kids' dance recitals, sports events, soccer tryouts, gymnastics performances, school plays, talent shows, final school projects, graduation ceremonies, etc., fall. I hardly have time to catch my breath.

That's a roundabout way of saying that I'm falling behind on blogging. I've written numerous posts in my head, really I have! For all four (four?!) of my blogs! But sometimes you have to choose between living life and blogging about it. I'll catch up with you later.

May 11, 2009

Babies don't keep

Many years ago, my mother clipped a poem from a women's magazine and taped it to her dresser mirror. The last lines of the poem went:

The cleaning and scrubbing
will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up,
as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs.
Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

My mom had seven babies, so there were lots of cobwebs at our house. But I always remembered that little poem.

When my babies were little, I rocked them and thought to myself, "Remember this moment. Remember holding your baby. Remember how her head smelled and how her little body felt in your arms. Soon she'll be too big to hold and you won't be able to imagine that she was ever this small."

I remember thinking this, but it's hard now to remember actually holding them. They really did grow up fast. Bess was 10 months old when we met her and Ella was 12 months. Two months after we brought them home, they were walking, feeding themselves, and starting to talk. I missed their infancy. I held them as long as I could, but they wanted to be up and doing things. There were things to learn and explore. They became toddlers overnight. And May was 8 when she arrived, her babyhood lost to all of us including herself.

I wish I'd asked Big A to take more pictures of me holding my babies. It would be nice to have proof that I did it, because now I'm second-guessing myself: Did I hold them enough? Did I spend too much time on cleaning and scrubbing, or God forbid, computing? Why is it so hard to imagine them being that little? I can look at pictures of my girls when they were babies, and I see in those tiny faces the big girls they have become. But I can't remember what it was like to look down and see a little face gazing up at me from knee-height, or how it felt to pick up a squirmy 17-pound body. My memory is obscured by the 100-pound teenager who is standing in front of me right now.

I was right to think that they would grow up fast. But I was wrong to think that they would become too big to hold. While we're sitting on the sofa together, one or two or all three girls sidle close to me. They rest their heads on my shoulders and creep onto my lap. In front of their friends, they give me a brusque goodbye; safe at home, they grab my hands when I tuck them in and pull me back onto the bed. "You will always be my baby," I tell them. Even May.

When my mother comes to visit, as she did on Mother's Day, she sits close to me on the sofa and wraps her arms around me and tells me I was her first baby. I'm bigger than she is. If I tried to sit on her lap, I think I'd break her. But if she could hold me, she would. I understand that now.

May 01, 2009

Blood ties

Recently I had some routine medical tests, the kind that become increasingly routine once you enter middle age. The results were okay, mostly "consistent with normal aging"; this isn't as reassuring as it's intended to be, but I'm getting used to it. One finding was a bit peculiar, however. Nothing bad, but it was something typically only found in Asian and Native American populations.

When the doctor (who is Chinese) told me this, my first response was, "Well, my children are Asian," as if that were any kind of explanation. Did I catch Asian-ness from them? Was this some kind of anatomical red thread?

Then I remembered that there were vague rumors of American Indian lineage on my mother's side of the family. I went home and checked the records. Sure enough, my great-great-grandmother on my grandmother's side was American Indian (she died in childbirth, and her tribal affiliation is unknown), and my great-great-great-grandfather on my grandfather's side was full-blooded Choctaw. This makes me something like 3/32 American Indian. You can imagine how disconcerting it is to learn something like this so late in life.

When I mentioned it to the girls, May said, "Mom! That means you're part Asian like me!" I think I had told the kids about the land bridge theory at some point. The idea is a bit of a stretch, but it's interesting that she made the same connection I did.

I don't believe in a red thread that supposedly ties families together. I'm not so sure we were "destined" to be a family. But I do understand the need to make a connection. It's natural for family, friends, and members of a community to look for the things we have in common, the traits and tastes we share. It's that connection -- more accurately, it's our desire to make that connection -- that truly binds us to one another.

April 21, 2009

The Fixer

I've learned a lot about dogs since S, our Corgi mix, joined us. For one thing, dogs sure can shed! I thought I'd been through the worst, having once owned a white Persian cat, but her fur output was nothing compared to this dog. I'm constantly vacuuming up drifts of black fur along the baseboards.

Another thing I've learned is that dogs get bored. And a bored dog is a naughty dog. Our cats don't get bored. If there's a ball of yarn handy, great; if not, that's cool too. They can always catch up on their sleep. We don't have to worry about chewed shoes and toilet "accidents" if we don't keep the cats entertained. (If they are feeling jealous, that's another matter.)

I've also learned that one way to keep a dog entertained is to give her a challenge. You don't just hand her a treat, because that will only keep her occupied for, oh, about one second, since dogs tend to inhale food. You stuff a treat inside a Kong toy and let her figure out for herself how to get it out. Depending on the reachability of the treat and the resourcefulness of the dog, it may take awhile. This is a good thing, because according to dog experts, working to solve problems keeps dogs intellectually and physically fit.

I have to remind myself of that when S has a biscuit stuck inside her Kong and I feel the urge to fix it for her. Because if I do, the game is over. If I leave her alone, she will stick with the task much longer than I would have given her credit for.

Watching S work for her treat, I have been thinking about parenting. I've felt the same urge to fix things for my children. When they were little and learning to stack blocks, I wanted to put a finger out and nudge the blocks into place so the tower wouldn't fall. There were times I gave in to the urge, and times I resisted. When I held back, sometimes the tower would fall, and sometimes there were tears and frustration. But eventually my children learned how to stack the blocks securely and build a bigger tower, and I learned that a moment's frustration wasn't going to kill them.

It's a constant struggle, knowing when to fix something for your children and when to leave it alone. I think it's especially difficult for parents today. We have somehow gotten the impression that we can, and should, protect our children from every disappointment and difficulty. And the truth is that we can't, and shouldn't. My children are so precious to me, of course I wish I could shield them from every heartache, but it's just not possible. If I jump in to help every time they face a challenge, they'll never learn how to stack blocks, or manage friendships, or work independently. I hate to say it, but the School of Hard Knocks is a pretty effective school.

I was at a family holiday party a few months ago where there was a white elephant exchange for the children and adults. Everyone brought a wrapped box of cereal, so the stakes were pretty low. There was a possibility that you'd wind up with a box of something yucky (i.e., sugar-free), but mostly we were doing it for fun, not for the prizes.

One mom, a lovely, caring mom, had a bit of anxiety about the game. She wanted us to agree that adults could not take cereal from children, though trading is part of a white elephant exchange. She hovered over her school-age kids and coached them through the selection process based on her guesses as to what was inside the wrapping: "Don't take that one, honey, take the one on the left...no, the one in red paper."

My brother and I laughed and suggested that a little disappointment wouldn't hurt the kids. "They might as well learn now that you don't always get what you want," I said, and I laughed again at how much I sounded like a cranky old man. My brother and I riffed on this for a while: "Yep, they should get used to disappointment, because that's what life is all about. It'll toughen 'em up." We were being facetious. Semi-facetious. Because if a fourth-grader can't handle the loss of a $3 box of cereal? What's he going to do when he doesn't make the soccer team or get into the college of his choice? (Also, he missed a valuable opportunity to learn how to distinguish between wrapped boxes of All-Bran and Lucky Charms, a skill he could use in the future.)

That's an extreme example of helicopter parenting, but I don't think it's all that unusual. Our school has to give the children instruction in problem-solving. A boy will break his pencil and sit staring at it or burst into tears rather than go get another pencil. Girls tattle to the playground teacher instead of settling their own disputes over who gets the next turn on the swings. We've all heard of parents coming to the high school threatening to sue when their son or daughter is kicked off a sports team for drinking. Colleges are even dealing with parents who come to campus to demand that a student's legitimate C grade be changed to an A. I don't even want to think about what these kids' future employers will have to deal with.

column written a few years ago by parenting educator Jan Faull made a deep impression on me. A parent wrote to say that her family was moving to a new city because of her husband's job. She was fearful of how her children would cope with this change. I expected Faull to respond with tips on easing the transition, and she did -- but another part of her answer surprised me. She talked about what a great opportunity this would be for the children to learn resiliency. When was the last time you heard someone talk that way?

It sounds quaint to say, "It'll build character," as our grandparents did, but was their approach really so wrong? I felt encouraged by Faull's advice. I realized that if my kids hit a few bumps in the road, it does not mean I am a failure as a parent. I can't always smooth the way for them, but I can give them the tools (and space) they need to meet challenges on their own.

I have to go now. One of my kids can't find any clean socks.