Right On Schedule

Here I am, ready for my post of the month. Honestly, I do try to get around to it more frequently. I am a better reader than writer.

I forgot to mention it last month, I gave in and we have another kitty. His name is Pip, and he's an utter turd. He is relentless in his quest to taste every single food-like substance in the house. I am constantly correcting/redirecting/shoving/bitchslapping/spraying water on him, and I still find evidence of his misdeeds when I get up in the morning or return from an outing. Not that he's stealthy--his jackassery is exercised regardless of my presence. But we like him anyway, annoying little bugger. Even Fran pulls her punches sometimes.

Baby J is still giving me heart attacks on a weekly basis, or thereabouts. Last week I stepped into N's classroom for a moment during the wildly overcrowded pandemonium of pick-up time, and when I stepped back out, J was gone. I barked at the big kids to staytheredon'tyoudaremoveamuscle, and swam upstream through the slow, slow, crush of children and backpacks. I wanted very badly to just pick up bodies and throw them out of my way, but I refrained. I got to the front door where my spidey sense told me he was headed, and I still didn't see him...until I looked through the doors. That's about when my heart stopped, because there he was, ACROSS THE STREET.

I'm not sure if he was looking for me, or just felt like being on the move, but I guess he'd just gone with the flow of people, through the doors which someone helpfully held open for him (they're too heavy for him to open himself), acting all casual and looking like he was with whoever was nearest. A mom from G's class was talking to him, since she knew who he belonged to and could see that I was nowhere in sight. He was looking a bit upset (because he'd been stopped? because a Strange Lady was talking to him? I don't know), but he seemed relieved to see me. I had a sickening surge of what if, and then a flood of relief, and then a brief, explosive flash of irrational rage at every single person around for letting him out of the building and not noticing that he was alone and not stopping him. Those jerks!

To subsequent pop-quizzes about Where You Should Go When You Can't Find Mama (correct answer: notoutdoors to the office, notoutdoors where Mama will come to collect you notoutdoors), J answers, "Out." I'm sorry sir, that is COMPLETELY FUCKING UNACCEPTABLE. I know I've said it before, but I really am going to keep that kid tied to me.

The last heart attack he gave me was when we were visiting friends and he trekked across the living room, up a step, through the dining room and into the kitchen while carrying their teeny, precious, floppy-necked, 8 week old baby. To his credit, he carried her very well, cradling her head nicely. She was comfortable and content, and he was terribly proud--until the moms noticed and flipped our wigs. Poor boy, he didn't know what he'd done wrong, just that something was very uncool. He stood, looking at the floor, bottom lip stuck wayyyyy out, while I hugged him and struggled (with minimal success) to not burst into tears in mortification and relief. That one made an impression on him, and now when he sees the baby, he volunteers, "I sit on couch to cuddle baby." Yes dear, that would be a good idea.

This week his sleep has inexplicably swung into Shittyville. We seem to have cycles of great sleep, and then phase into awful nights that leave us all hollow shells of our former selves. This time I am blaming a combination of new molars and a full moon. Whatever the reason, we found ourselves recently with J in our bed, which I don't actually mind--when he sleeps. When he wakes and grumbles about something or other every 15 minutes or so, it's not such a warm family scene. At about 3 am, he woke me to fearfully show me the "big scary thing up there." A tiny light from the laptop beside the bed was casting a large, dim shadow of the bedside lamp. I sleepily mumbled that it was okay, just a lamp, not scary, see? I groped around and jerked the lamp over a bit, to show him how the whole shadow thing worked, but he hadn't taken his terrified eyes off the shadow to watch what I was doing. What he saw was the huge, dark thing, which had been looming above him, suddenly lurch menacingly toward him. He loosed a bloodcurdling scream in my ear and dove into me, burying his face in my neck and clinging to me for dear life. We showed him how the shadow was made, and I extinguished the light, but he requested his own bed. Predictably, he was still too scared to sleep in his own bed, and eventually came back to ours...then wanted his own again...then ours, etc, etc. It was about two hours before we got back to sleep. Ugh.

I am ready to drop...looks like poor G and N will have to wait until next month. Sorry boys, you just haven't done anything spectacularly horrifying lately. And that is okay by me.