Icy; Happy; Maybe Kitty

Big Kids: swimming with Daddy. Baby: sleeping beside me. Aaaahhh, peace and quiet.

This weekend we went to see the local Ice Festival, with sculptures and ice slides and an ice castle to play in and an ice maze to get lost in and movies playing on an outdoor ice screen (which we skipped). The kids had soooo much fun. We went first on Friday afternoon, and since they enjoyed it so much, we went again on Saturday. Friday was wonderful, there was hardly anyone there. Saturday was INSANE. Too bad--but it made me extra glad we'd gone once already and gotten to really enjoy it.

Took the kids out for dinner the other night at a divey pizza joint with some friends. Three strangers approached our table at different times to tell us how well behaved our kids (six in total) were. We thanked them, and after they left, laughed about all the stuff they must not have noticed. My kids were blowing bubbles in their chocolate milk, which piled up and out of their cups and onto their white shirts...there were several tearful incidents between the babies involving not-so-gentle pats...and at one point I asked G to repeat something I hadn't heard, and he bellowed "I HAVE TO GO POOP REAL BAD"--classy. I think the attitudes of the moms at our table made a big difference in how we were perceived by others. There are days where my kids could behave exactly the same way they did that night, and my reactions would be totally different--I'd snap at the big guys to stop blowing bubbles or I would take their drinks away; I'd get embarrassed about the loud update on the state of G's bowels; I'd get exasperated at the babies for not being as lovey and sweet as they usually are together. I would be projecting harried, pinch-mouthed misery, rather than the relaxed enjoyment our table of friends shared that night. In the face of such obvious irritability, I doubt anyone would approach us to compliment our children--although that's probably the moment I'd be most needing to hear it.

With all this happy happy joy joy spilling out of me, I've been thinking about another pet to share all my syrupy feelings with. I'm really on the fence here--after Lunch died, I was surprised at how easy it is to care for one cat. Cats are generally pretty easy, but two cohabitating cats who dislike each other make things a little trickier. Fran is fat and content and requires very little daily maintenance. If her food dish is empty, she lets me know. I scoop some poop, and vacuum piles of cat hair from around the house. That's about it. In return, she loves us all, snuggling with the grown ups and consenting to the clumsy attentions of the kids, and sleeps away most of every day. My aunt has some kittens to give away, and I've considered taking one in. But kittens are a lot more work than our sedate fatty Fran. The kids would be over the moon...but they're not the ones scooping the poop and making sure the furniture remains unscathed and cleaning the tipped plants, etc. Despite all the common sense arguments against it, I keep thinking, "Maybe we should..." Maybe I'm just missing J's babyness and looking to replace it with a baby of another species. For now I will continue to debate it with myself, but I think it's just a question of when I'll give in. I'm such a sucker.