Baby News

Well folks, it's time for an update on the little baby we call Shayce. Especially since there have been vast changes since the last time I posted about her. She is now walking. Somewhat. She can take about ten steps and then fall. She can also bearcrawl. She's a very adept crawler. She can get anywhere in the house in less than 2 minutes. So if you're the babysitter and you have to use the bathroom you better pee quick.

She has also started talking somewhat. She can say "Hewwo", thank you "Day doo", Dada, Hi there "Hay dah", and sometimes when she falls down she says "Wohwohwoh". I was reading her one of her little books, and when we came to a picture of a cow, I said, "Look Shayce, a cow! Cow says Moo!" Then she said "Moo!" She's so cute!

She's also gotten to where she throws fits when you do something that she doesn't like, or when you don't let her do something that she wants to do. Even then she's cute.

Got to go. She just came over with a big "Hewwo!"

Pretty Packages

All right guys, it's time for the bi-annual story with a moral.

This afternoon, as I was sprawled across my wonderful, comfy, king size pillow-top mattress on my beautiful bed that my handsome husband bought me, talking to him on the phone, my Trinket and my Gizmo joined me on the bed. For a short while they were content just with being on the bed. For a short time they were just fine pretending to people, enjoying the comfort of a luxurious mattress instead of a kitty bed, or just the carpet. Then after a couple of minutes, contentedness turned into boredom. Gizmo resumed her kitty ways and began washing herself, and Trinket turned to the pursuit of the glass chalice in which the people water dwells. It became a game- Trinket would walk over to the glass and start to sniff, perhaps have a taste, and her mommy would notice the mischeif and pull the kitten back onto the bed, roll her over onto her side and pet her. Trinket would purr, allow herself to be wooed by the delights of being caressed and leaving a token amount of shedded fur on the bed, and then resume her pursuit of the people water. After several circuits of the game, I got off the phone with Wonderful Husband, and began trying to convince Trinket that I didn't need help drinking the water. I lured her over to the other side of the bed and petted her. Then I cradled he rin my arms and stroked her belly. I tried playing with her with a string. And still, she would humor me for a minute or two, give me a decisive "Meh", then wriggle away and go for the water. So, I gave in to her. I decided to share my water with my delightful kitten. I went over to my nightstand, and there was Trinket, looking at the water in the glass with lust in her pleading eyes. I picked up the glass and asked if she wanted some. She purred. So I took the glass, and she followed me into her room, where I poured the water from my glass goblet into her water bowl. And then, guess what happened? She watched me pour the coveted water into the bowl, gave the bowl a derisive sniff, then stalked away. No thank you. Just a disgruntled wave of the tail.

So, where is the moral in this little experience? It struck me that the only difference in the water in her bowl and the water in my glass was the outside packaging. The water is inherently wet and delicious, but the presentation was what mattered to my Trinket. This led me to my thoughts about how Trinket is not so very much different from myself (aside from the fact that she is an animal and I am a human), or even from the world at large. People also tend to go more for the outward appearance. Why else would there be discrimination against fat people, ugly people, dirty people, and minorities? They did a special on Dr. Phil and showed that there is a vast difference between the way handsome people and pretty people are treated. We, as people, have been duped by appearances. Why do people act like a fat person is less precious or worthy of love than a thin one? Why do they think that an ugly person is less worthy of admiration than a thin one? All humans have the exact same basic worth- despite fat ugly, white, black, yellow, green, purple, or warty, and despite their education level, income level, or criminal record- because they were made by God and loved by him. Not saying, of course, that it would be wise to invite a serial killer over for dinner or hire a child molester to babysit the kids. There's nothing wrong with protecting oneself against the mistakes and downfalls of another person. What I am saying, though, is that all people have inherent worth, in spite of genetics and bad choices. Whether you look like a glass chalice or a kitty dish, the water inside is still the same.

A Trinket in the Land of Men

Pretty catchy title, huh? I just realized that I didn't specify which one of the kittens in the pictures is Trinket. Trinket is the black and white tuxedo kitty, and Gizmo is the zebra-striped brown tabby.

Gizmo got groomed for the first time yesterday. She has experienced baths before, and had her claws clipped before, but yesterday is the first time in her whole life to get combed. I was informed that I was mean and wretched by my poor pitiful kitty while I removed the knots from her extra-fluffy plume of a tail.

Trinket, however, is doing quite well. She has learned how to give kisses (I lean down, she sniffs my face, we touch noses and I make the kissy sound with my lips, and no, I don't actually kiss her- gross!). She likes to sit from an imperious height (the back of the couch) and observe the goings-on of the house. Occasionally she gets so involved in whats going on at the moment that she slides from her lazy reclining position, does a flip as she falls, and proceeds to land on some weird part of her body.

So, that's pretty much it for now. Just thought that you guys would enjoy a little update on the furries.

Oh yeah, I have dogs too. Two of them. Today David and I went on a walk and left Sadie at home. Poor puppy. Sometimes she knocks on the door in the afternoons and in the evening when David gets home to make sure that we remember she exists and needs food (I'm exaggerating, by the way, but she really does knock on the door. You could have just spent one hundred sixty three and a half hours straight playing with her and still, thirty minutes later, there it is again. The demanding "bang. Bang. BANG!" I digress.)

David just discovered that Trinket knows how to open doors. If a door isn't latched in this house you had better be prepared for a friendly little furry intruder to arrive within minutes, announcing herself with a self-satisfied purr, and an open, wide-eyed look of triumph, joy, and curiosity, as if to say, "Hello! I'm Here! I take it I was invited since I managed to bulldoze the door down. Pet me! I'm the Baby, gotta love me!" She's a very sturdy little cat. She can handle any door in the house.

David is cleaning the litter box right now and said that he thinks that the cats crap twice their weight every day. Then he asked if I thought tigers cover their poop too. Trinket doesn't. Guess she's not a tiger.

Petty Indulgences

I think everyone in the world needs a pet. Whether dog or cat, depending upon a person's tolerance of devotion and adoration, all people need the experience of complete, open, unconditional regard.

Let me take a minute to tell you about my Trinket. She and I did not bond too well at very first. At first my feelings for her were slightly polluted by my past crumpet-who soaked-up-all-my-excess-time-and-attention-and-squeals-of-she's-so-cute-look-at-the-kitty-show-me-the-kittyness (otherwise known as Gizmo), who wasn't shy about voicing and displaying her opinion that the new kitten should curl up, wither, and die.

But, now that that's all over, Trinket has become the delight of housewifely existence. She's not a graceful being by any stretch of the imagination, managing to disprove the theory that cats always land on their feet at every given opportunity, but all is forgiven when laughing at her spastic displays of playfulness when she joyously manages to find one of my ponytail holders on the floor, and also when I'm being clumsily "wooled to death" (as my oldest sister used to say about my crawling on and off and on her lap in effort to cuddle and find a comfy spot at once) when Trinket is in one of her moods of complete and utter love and adoration. It's just impossible to get mad at an adolescent cat who's wanting to love on you so much that you have to reach for her wreckless little fluffy body to keep her from tumbling to the ground. And reach for her to move her off the keyboard because she wants you to pay attention to her and not the computer. Her rattly purr that makes the walls vibrate when I pet her makes me melt.

And sometimes Gizmo still wants her to curl up and die.

The Silent One Speaks

News Update: I have a new cat!!! About a month and a half ago, my husband took me kitten shopping for an early Christmas present, and I got a black and white tuxedo kitten. We named her Trinket, mostly because it fits her perfectly, but also because it goes well with our other kitty, Gizmo. Now, up until purchase of new kitten, Gizmo was a very very quiet cat. Her silent behavior, however, was replaced upon meeting with hisses, snarls, and gutteral moans. Trinket, much to the dismay and puzzlement of Gizmo, is a very vocal kitten. She mews frequently and has even accomplished the art of hum-mewing with her mouth closed. So, once Gizmo got over the initial shock of a small, furry, noisy entity dwelling in her castle, they began the bargaining phase. This entailed a daily meeting of furry minds and wills on either side of the bathroom door, directly following Gizmo's release from her nighttime prison (the office). My husband and I have different translations of their little exchanges. What actually happened went like this:

Gizmo: (trilling) Prrrow?
Trinket: Meh meh meh meh meh meh meh meeeeeeehhhhh!!!!
Gizmo: Prrrow, prrow row?
Trinket: Meh meh meh meh mehmehmehmehmehmehmehmeh mehmehmehmehmeh mmmeeeeeeeeehhhhh!!!!!!!!
Gizmo: silence with laid back ears
Trinket: Meh! Meh! Mmmeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhh!

David's translation:
Gizmo: Still there?
Trinket: Yes Yes Yes Yeeeeeessssss!!!!
Gizmo: Ok, this is how it goes- you come out, and I eat you for lunch.
Trinket: Don't eat me don't eat me don't eat me don't eat me!!!!!
Gizmo: Still listening to groveling
Trinket: Don't eat me don't eat me don't eat DDDOOONN'TT EEEEEAAAAAT MEEEEE!

My translation:

Gizmo: Friends?
Trinket: Friends, friends, I promise, friends friends!!!!!
Gizmo: Friends?
Trinket: (louder) FRIENDS, FRIENDS, I PROMISE, FRIEEEENNNDSS!
(Door opens a crack and furries spot each other)
Gizmo: NOT FRIENDS!! NOT FRIENDS!!!

So, there ya go. After the initial period of socialization, which took about 3 weeks, they have become the best of friends. They cuddle, they lick, they play, and when Trinket does something dumb to get herself into trouble, Gizmo watches then looks at us vindictively (after the Trinket is chased away from her misdeeds) as if to say, I told you that kitten was trouble, but no one ever listens to me, do they?

Ah, so on to present events. The Gizmo, who used to never say anything, now slinks around the house, occasionally doling out a bite to the ankle or Trinket's neck and moaning at times as if she's having gastrointestinal convulsions. The most intriguing of Gizmo's new sounds is when David is sitting on the commode, at which point she walks halfway down the hall, sits down, stares at him and gives one, high-pitched "Meow!" and then looks at him expectantly as if she expects him to do something interesting. Maybe she is saying "Close the door, you're polluting the air!"

I'll probably think of more things to talk about later.

Bush Babies and Me

Ok, guys, time for a new post. Recently a friend compared me to a bush baby. I didn't have any clue what that was, for starters, and what he meant by calling me one. I was tempted to just tell him to take a flying leap, but I decided instead to find out what one was, and come up with the ways I was like one. Then I typed a paper. The resulting paper amused me so much that I decided to let everyone else enjoy it too. Enjoy!

Bush babies are nocturnal animals native to the African bush. They are small nocturnal creatures which live in small to large groups- smaller when feeding, and larger when sleeping. When they are sleeping they often stay in groups as large as 20. They sleep in small, enclosed spaces like tree trunks, all cuddled together. For such a small animal, weighing no more than ten ounces as an adult, they have a very large territory- up to 20 acres per group that sleeps together…. Amazing how only twenty little ten-ounce animals think they need 20 acres! That's an acre for each little nocturnal, fuzzy body. What cheek! Bush babies not only need an oddly large amount of space, but they are also one of the most peculiar looking animals in the African terrain. They have large, round, glassy-looking eyes, and enormous ears. They have the unique ability to leap great distances along the treetops, giving them the illusion of flying. Sort of like a flying squirrel with bigger vocal cords. Speaking of vocal cords, it's this particular body part the gave the little tyke its name. When a bush baby thinks that something is invading its territory, it gives a yell that sounds similar to the yell of a small, excited child. Want to catch one? It's not hard; just buy yourself some liquor (palm wine specifically) and you're good to go! You don't have to buy much- the little sots are cheap drunks. At least that's how the African bushmen catch them when they are in need of a funny-looking little pet. Bush babies survive on an omnivorous diet of bugs, caterpillars, lizards, dung beetles, flowers, pollen, honey, seeds, fruit, and the sap from acacia and albizzia trees. Because they are nocturnal animals, they sleep all day, and then awake for their nightly gorging sessions at dusk. Whenever they are foraging for food, they go in groups that consist of a male, a pregnant female, and the female's offspring from a previous litter. They have very fast reflexes (at least when they aren't doped up from a bushman with a keg), and catch their prey by pouncing on them. Their use as pets used to be much more widespread until 1940, when there was a particular heinous outbreak of yellow fever. At that point, bush babies were mercilessly hunted, due to their participation in the plague of sickness. You see, bush babies are somewhat like the idea of an alien life-form which peacefully cohabits with deadly gas; they carry the virus for yellow fever in their cute little bodies with no risk to their personal health. Problems ensue when mosquitoes bite them and pass on the virus to the next thing they bite, which in many cases are humans. Once they invented a vaccine for the virus, though, bush babies were once again flung into the process of alcohol abuse and captivity. Bush babies are amazing animals, and have incredible senses of hearing and night vision. A bush baby can hear a cricket’s legs walking on dead leaves from over 15 feet above in a tree. Obviously, these little guys don't miss a thing. Still needing more of a mental image of one of these little guys? Please refer to the recent animated film "Madagascar"- the little guys singing the "Move It" song with gusto are lemurs, which are very similar to bush babies. They are from the same group of primates, the main differences being that bush babies are smaller, nocturnal, and have a slightly different diet. Bush babies are nocturnal due to competition with larger primates who delight in daytime activity. Evidently, in a poo-flinging contest, the guys with the most crap win.

Ok, so now the question arises: In what ways do I resemble a bush baby? Well, first of all, the obvious- I'm a cheap drunk, I love leaping through the air with catlike agility at high altitudes, and foraging with my mate and children for food in the undergrowth of the African jungle while pregnant. The more subtle comparisons, however are a little harder to nail. The more overt ways I resemble a bush baby is that in my family of origin, I was more of a watcher than a fighter. If the big monkeys were out throwin' poop clods twice my size, I would be on the side lines hiding, sleeping, or shrieking like an excited child. In my environment I was more an observer than anything else. The only time I came out of my shell was after the other primates went to sleep for the night (or left, or went away, or after I moved out of the environment). My orb-like eyes and oversized ears picked up everything; nothing escaped my notice. The fight in me only came out when there was an unsuspecting victim- like a smaller monkey or a big monkey feeling emotionally strung out and defenseless. Once I had spotted my victim from twenty feet away, I would stalk and pounce with lightning speed and deftly deliver my small, sharp death bites of criticism to the neck before they knew what was happening. My quarry was completely caught off balance due to my overly apt observations and skill at flinging the glaring truth about themselves into their faces with stunning accuracy at times when I didn't think they would swipe back. Sometimes I was wrong, and they would fight back, but soon they would grow bored with their warfare against a pipsqueak and I would live to fight smarter another day; there was never surrender under any circumstances.

So, there you go. Me and the bush baby. Twins I tell you, separated at birth.

The Zen of Crawling

Well, folks, it's been awhile since I have felt inspired enough to write. Just as easily as my life complicated itself, it has uncomplicated itself these last couple of weeks. So, that all said, my life now consists of housework, romance novels, and making sure my little brown furry tornado, more commonly known as Gizmo, doesn't wreak havoc whilst she shadows me around the house.


However, today my routine has changed. Today I came over to my brother's house to help my mom with my adorable 5 month old neice, Shayce (pronounced Shay-see). She is the cutest baby ever! Her most recent accomplishment is holding her bottle for herself. And I'll be darned if she doesn't look absolutely pleased with herself when she does. She's even taken to plucking the bottle in and out of her mouth just to show that bottle who's boss.

She's also working on figuring out how to get her knees beneath herself and her arms in the right spot so she can start crawling. She works so hard at it, and babbles the whole time. The only thing is, her babbling sounds more like growling than anything else. As my mom puts it, "She the growlin'est baby I ever did see!" The most amusing thing about watching Shayce play on the floor is the fact that any time she accomplishes anything new, she gets a look of absolute shock on her face. She was floored when, at the pinnacle of her growling frustration, she managed to wedge one knee beneath herself and lift her abdomen off the ground with a heartfelt "Yayayayah!" This was soon followed by her body thumping back down to the ground and a millisecond of stunned silence from the hyperverbal baby. And then resumed the ooching, grunting, flailing, growling frustration of baby, broken intermittently by a screaming diatribe directed at one of her floppy, fuzzy playthings.

I think Shayce would agree that the few seconds of baby buttum elevated off the floor was worth it.

Hail to the Moody Chief

Oh, kitten.

This phrase has been bandied around quite frequently in my house for the last two months. For some reason, she has gotten a mixed up sense of the hierarchy of the household. Whenever I was toying with the idea of getting a cat, the warm, cuddly vision of a lazy fluffy furrball lounging in my lap, sleeping all day popped to mind. Oh how untrue that has turned out. For some reason, the image of my mind's eye has chosen to derail and speed turbulently southward as opposed to coming to fruition, as I so wished. My house is now filled with the pitter-patter of little feet, which sound more like sassy, overfed thuds every day. Occasionally a little furry tornado whizzes through my bedroom, twirls around in playful abandon, then darts under the bed, only to pop out only now and then with all her suppressed rage and bite a towel or some other unsuspecting stationary object. She used to have a preference for my husbands feet, but after long, persistent, hard-headed experimentation with getting in a juicy bite on a big toe, followed by feeling herself rocket through the air and land across the room, she has decided that it's better to go for objects that don't object.

Well, speaking of husbands, mine is waiting to return to our little domestic hideaway, and the reproachful miaow that will be waiting for us on the other side of the front door.

The Furry Takeover

Well, well, well! Guess who's back? If you said "Cris! Hooray! Cris is back" then yes, you are correct!

Well, it's been awhile since I've caught my faithful readers up on the important goings-on of my little world, so I have decided to tentatively peek my head out of my little shell and enlighten those who are curious as to what I've been up to.

The last eight months have been incredibly delightful, joyful, and hectic. There are now four new additions to my little family, which was once made up of, well let's see... myself. As of August 6, 2005, I now have a husband. I have also chosen to complicate my life even further by attaining not one, not two, but three pets- two dogs and a cat. I got to name them all, too! Mwa ha ha ha! The cat is named Gizmo, and she is an adorable little 6 month old brown tabby longhaired kitten. The first dog I got was Sadie- a 9-month-old German Shepherd mix with soulful brown eyes and a bigger grin than any dog has a right to have. Our last little pet is a 4 month old rat terrier named Buster. I hate to say it, but he's a little bit of a momma's boy.

Thus, the title. My life has been literally taken over by furry objects- animals and a husband. I think the last one might just be the furriest. I never knew settling down would be so much fun!

In Whose Image?

Well, I have been wanting to write something new on here for a while now, but for the longest time I couldn't think of anything to write about. I guess I was waiting for another stroke of comic genius, since I love hearing my sister laugh whenever she reads my new posts. But the waiting is finally over. I have decided to break down and write something new despite my lack of creativity in making this funny.

A lot has been happening in my life these past few weeks. Everything was rocking along quite merrily, and I have been having a blast enjoying my life and looking forward to the future. However, I never could have predicted what has happened in the last few weeks.

In the last year or so I have been training myself to look for the joy in life no matter what was happening. I feel that I am in complete control of how I choose to interpret situations, therefore, I can decide whether or not I am happy. I do not believe that happiness is an accident of good circumstances like I used to. I used to think, "Man, I can't wait for my life to get good so I can be happy for once!" I've learned that it doesn't work that way. I can not only learn to be content in all circumstances, but I can teach myself to have a good time as well!

So anyway, life is good. And, more importantly, there's another person in it now. I am finally dating someone, which is the thing I couldn't have predicted, and which has thrown my happy little world into somewhat of a tailspin. Although, as he would say, "it's all been worth it".

But, aside from all that, there is a particular issue which has intrigued my train of thought recently, and which led to this particular article on my blog.

When I was little, I used to dream of being a world explorer/ detective, and loved the idea that another person's life depended on my power to save them. At other times, I would pretend that I was a superhero or some kind of mutant that had special powers, so I could use them for good and affect the outcome of the world, so to speak. All of this led to the question- why do humans seek power? What is it in our wiring that makes us crave the ability to control our environment and oftentimes the environments of others?

It all goes back to the question of who made us. The plain and simple truth is that we were all made according to a divine blueprint, according to the original, who is a supremely powerful being. We are drawn to horoscopes and future-telling mechanisms because we were made according to one who knows everything. We have the instinct to care what happens to each other because we were made after someone who cares very much about what will ultimately happen to every single breath of human life.

So, I said all that to say: Humans are very powerful creatures. We all innately possess a portion of the power of our maker, since he is basically defined by it. However, the crux of the matter is how we choose to use the power that we possess. We are capable of great amounts of good, great amounts of evil, or a great amount of wasted space; and this is all determined by the choices we make.

First, there are the people who abuse, misdirect, and misuse their power. These are the ones who commit heinous crimes and cause misery to others. These are the murderers and terrorists.

Second, there are those who are the ultimate in ineffectiveness. They are aware of their power through their concern for world issues and for their family, yet they have built up enough resistance through mental obstacles and hurdles that they are incapable of taking action. All they do is talk, worry, and wring their hands, and it just so turns out that talk is cheap. They waste their energy and ability, and ultimately become resentful and angry because they realize their abuse of the talents they were given. That's the trap of negative thinking- positive results require positive action.

Finally, there are the ones who learn to be stewards of their potential, by fulfilling it and making use of it, and teaching others to do the same. These are the mentors, the role models, the super heroes, the best friends and the happiest people. It's funny how people with the best self-esteem are the ones who have done the most with their lives, and yet only consider it a humble fulfillment of duty.

I want to strive to not only be a thinker, observer, learner, and teacher, but also a doer- a role model, mentor, and a superhero. An effective person with goals to reach for, and happiness and love to live for and inspire in others. And, if I can say at the end of my life that I have done that, then it will only be a humble fulfillment of my duty.