Small Town Festivals

I took my family to the 2nd Annual Meeker Pecan Festival to usher in the fall season. It was a lot of fun.

There is something about a small town festival. It’s the only time when I would ever allow my children to pick up candy from the street and eat it. Not only did I allow this, I actually encouraged it.

“There’s another one!” was the chorus down the street from parents pointing candy out to their children. The candy was being thrown from makeshift floats in the tiny festival parade.

You know it’s a small town when the main street can be blocked off for the parade and no one minds.

This particular parade was made up of locals with classic cars, Jeeps, and ATVs; floats carrying the football team, cheerleaders, and other random participants; the high school band, some people on horseback, and the local fire department and police department. What would a parade be without lights and sirens?

The people on the floats threw candy out to the kids. This candy landed on the street that, when open, doubled as a state highway. And despite the knowledge that cars and trucks drove on this surface, I found myself excitedly pointing out the missed candy to my children as it the little wrapped treasures were sitting on pristine bone china instead of dirty asphalt. It’s amazing what a festival will do to a person’s perspective about the 5-second rule. Of course, this was before the people on horseback came by. I’m pretty sure it was planned that way so that candy was tossed before some horse dropped a load on the pavement. I noticed that even the band marched in front of the horses this time. Lessons learned, I guess.

After the parade, festival goers dispersed to other locations around the town to sample baked goods, judge candy contests, view wild tigers, and visit with neighbors. Booths were set up at the local church and a greenbelt by one of the banks in town. The town was so small that even these were within walking distance.

I enjoyed this one so much that I plan to seek out more small town festivals to attend. Any suggestions?

A Simple “Thank You” Will Suffice

My son is five. And if I do say so myself, he’s very sweet and well-mannered. I won’t go so far as to say he’s perfect, but he’s pretty close. While I would love to take all of the credit for his impeccable manners, I have to admit that a lot of his kindness and courtesy is just part of his personality. He’s just nice.

As I have mentioned in previous postings, when I drop him off at school, he doesn’t want me to walk him inside. This used to mean that I could walk him inside the building, but not to his class. Now he has extended this to being able to go inside the building by himself. I only agreed to this after a trial run to make sure he could open the heavy, steel doors to the building by himself. It’s a struggle, but he can do it. And I remain parked out front until I see that he’s gotten past both sets of doors.

Because the drop-off window is so narrow, most of the time, there are other people going inside with their children so my son gets some help opening the doors.  (These would be the parents of children who haven’t yet banished them to the boundary of the parking lot.) But a couple of days ago when I dropped him off, there was no one else around. As usual, I waited to make sure we was able to gain entry.

While I was waiting, I saw one of the teachers walking across the parking lot toward the front door. My son pulled the door open with great effort and, instead of going on inside, he waited. He held the door open and waited for the teacher to get inside. I beamed with pride and my heart exploded. I cannot take credit for his actions, but I was moved by them.

After school that day, I asked if the teacher had thanked him for holding the door open for her. Anyone could have seen that it wasn’t an easy task. Even if it had been easy, most people would have uttered a quick “thank you” before dashing inside. Most people. But not this one. She said nothing to him. Not. One. Word.

Unlike me, my son did not take offense to this. He explained to me that this teacher had been in a hurry and didn’t have time to stop and talk. How much time does it take to thank someone? I wanted to scream. But I didn’t. Instead, I praised my son for his manners and told him how proud I was of him for doing something so polite. I didn’t say all of the things I wanted to say about how rude that teacher was. But I was thinking it. 

Welcome To The Jungle

For the majority of the day, the four cats who reside in this house are carefully concealed under furniture, behind large house plants, or in the darks depths of our closets.  However, on occasion, they put aside their territorial attitudes and lounge in a cat cluster. When this happens, walking through the living room feels like trekking through a cat forest.  Cats hang lazily off the ledges of the kitty condo or drape themselves across the back of the couch. This can be very intimidating to our lone dog. She, like the rest of us, has learned to let sleeping kittehs lie.

The two adult females are not interested in chasing string, rubber mice, or each other. The male kittens, on the other hand, are a dangerous pair when they are awake. Captain Chaos and the Mayhem Master can make a cat toy out of the most obscure things. They can also jump higher than any NBA player I’ve ever seen. (relative to their height, of course) And when this frenzied mood strikes them, the backs of our living room furniture are transformed into a kitteh race track. It matters not that there are large spaces between these pieces of furniture. These kittehs have flying squirrel in their DNA strands.

Kittehs do not respond to reason. Or begging, for that matter. So…to avoid being the unintended victim of a violent kitteh collision, it’s best just to stay outside. With the dog.

Triple Tuber Lie Detector

Say “potato, potato, potato.”

When I was a kid, this was my mother’s idea of a lie detector test. I don’t know who she learned it from. Part of me doesn’t even want to know. But it was a staple in the investigations in my childhood homes.

Mom: Did you make this mess?

Me: No, it wasn’t me.

Mom: Say ‘potato, potato, potato.’

Me: Potato, po-taaa–haa, pspssssttt, ha, ha, ha.

Mom: See, you can’t say ‘potato, potato, potato.’

And that was it. Case closed. If you couldn’t successfully say “potato, potato, potato,” without breaking a smile or bursting out laughing, it was proof that you were lying.

The thing is, just the thought of saying it makes me smile. It’s ridiculous. It’s hilarious. How could I possibly keep a straight face when uttering something so outrageous? And the harder I tried, the worse it got. I would even prepare myself to remain stoic and repeat the triple tuber response with the seriousness of a eulogy. I would practice in my mirror or in my head. But no amount of practicing was going to help me say “potato, potato, potato,” without at least smiling. It’s far too goofy.

And now I use it at my house. It still works just as effectively as it did when I was a kid. Of course, it’s not admissible in court, but neither is the other lie detector. That’s okay. It’s still good for a laugh.

iCarly: “I Want My Website Back” Episode Sends Bad Message

My kids watch iCarly on occasion. Typically, I find the content unoffensive, even though the kids on the show are teenagers and my children are younger than that. Today, however, I saw an episode that left me speechless. Luckily, my daughter didn’t seem to register the message that I did.

Nevel is the nemesis character who wants to kiss Carly Shay. The “I Want My Website Back” features him getting the URL to the iCarly website and holding it for ransom. He agrees to give it back IF Carly will kiss him on the mouth. I balked at that, but when Carly actually broke down and agreed to the trade, I felt sick. It got worse from there.

Carly agrees to kiss Nevel in exchange for the return of her website. She asks him to meet her in the alley behind her apartment at 8 p.m. When Nevel shows up, he brings two thugs with him to ensure Carly doesn’t try to run away and skip out on the deal. Let’s see…teenage girl, dark alley, three males…this has the makings of a bad slasher film.

Nevel slathers Blistex on his lips and tells Carly she needs to have a pleasant attitude when she kisses him or the deal is off. I was so disturbed at this point that I wanted to strangle the writers who thought this made for good tv.

I’m sure the writers and producers of this show would reason that Carly got away and that made the context okay. However, the basis is that she was agreeing to trade a sex act for the return of something that belonged to her in the first place. She wasn’t kissing someone she liked. This was extortion. Considering the age of the characters in this show, I equated it to rape. It doesn’t matter to me that she got away. It was clear that the intent of Nevel’s character was to hire two large adult males to force this girl to kiss him on the mouth. There is something deeply disturbing about that.

Unfortunately for my daughter, this show is now off-limits. I do not support a message that even entertains the idea of girls agreeing to swap a kiss for property. Isn’t that called prostitution? Kissing should not be seen as currency. It’s bad enough that we have to deal with kids sexting and getting into adult situations because of their lack of maturity when it comes to relationships and technology. I don’t think a tween/teen show needs to further that problem by its careless handling of a very serious issue.

As far as my house is concerned, iCarly is offline.

Goggie Bed – Some Things Are Not For Sharing

Our new goggie is pretty laid back. Maddie doesn’t bark or howl or whine. She doesn’t chase our cats. In fact, she is pretty fond of them and tries to get them to play with her on occasion. Mostly they just stare at her and roll their kitty eyes, but she tries.

Our two kittens are more agreeable to Maddie’s attention than the adult cats. In fact, one of the kittens, Max, likes to softly bat at Maddie’s tail. Maddie doesn’t mind this attention. On the contrary, she seems to enjoy it. Sometimes, she even seeks Max out for a little play time.

Today, Maddie was curled up in her bed and Max came by to rub against her. This was okay until Max attempted to climb into Maddie’s bed. THAT, it seems, was crossing the line. The dog who doesn’t get upset when one of the cats drinks water out of her bowl has some strict rules about her bed. No cats allowed.

I guess some things are not for sharing.  Now we know.

And it starts…

My son is 5. He is sweet and loving and generally affectionate toward his family. He hugs his sister and kisses me – as long as I’m not wearing lipstick. He likes to hold my hand when we take the dog on walks – even when it’s hot outside and physical contact results in sweaty palms. He even holds my hand when I walk him to his kindergarten classroom and tells me he loves me when I leave. That is…until today.

It started in the car. A hint of what was to come. He looked over at me and said, “Mom, you don’t need to walk me in today. I know where my classroom is.”

I did what any mature adult would do. I argued my point. I explained that I couldn’t allow him to cross the parking lot without my assistance. I left out the fact that I could have pulled up right in front of the building where the parking lot wouldn’t have come into play at all. This is called strategy. Or, in this case, failed strategy.

My son insisted that he did not need me to come with him inside the classroom, but finally relented – after some really pathetic begging on my part – to allow me to walk him inside the building. He even held my hand while we walked across the parking lot. Some rules are set in stone. But as soon as he got inside the building, he left me in the dust.

I followed behind, dodging the other parents so as not to be separated from my son. After all, I didn’t want him to worry that I had gone without saying good-bye. But he moved quickly and I lost sight of him briefly in the sea of his pint-sized classmates. By the time I found him, he was already deeply engaged in conversation with another child and completely oblivious to my existence.

He remained on the far side of the room and didn’t even look over in my direction. My presence was no longer needed. There was no verbal dismissal. No “bye, Mom!” to be had. He didn’t even respond when I called his name and told him to have a good day. I walked out of the room as if I’d just been fired. I actually had to fight back tears. I was that devastated. And I never even saw it coming. I had been in denial.

Now the reality has set in. My son is growing up. His independence has started, and I am no longer the center of his universe. All I can say is – this sucks.

The Kittens – Meh!

Guest blog by: Lili

My human has brought home kittens. KITTENS!!!! She is certifiable. It’s beginning to look like an episode of Hoarders around here.

I am aware she keeps telling other humans that I was a rescue. That I showed up on her mother’s porch out in the country when I was just a couple of months old after being dumped with the rest of my family. It’s a quaint story, and there is some truth to it, but I like to think that I chose her as my human out of the kindness of my heart. Well, that, and the fact she’s a sucker for a stray. Uh, I mean, temporarily displaced feline.

I’ve been with my human for 9 years now. I get loaned out to her mother for a couple of months on a mousing expedition, but other than that, I’ve been a permanent fixture around here. I’ve fought off dogs that were trying to hurt my human’s offspring, killed large spiders and a few small snakes, and been loyal. When I say “loyal”, what I mean is that I didn’t try to smother my human in her sleep. Suffice it to say, I’ve earned the respect of the household. However, my status as mistress of the house is being undermined.

First, there was Tabby. I know it’s short for Tabitha, but this is no witch. This cat does nothing more than lie on her back and sleep. She could get a part-time job as a speed bump if they had such things for houses. Someone my human used to work with found Tabby in his barn. Tabby has no front claws so she wasn’t really prepared to fend for herself out in the harsh country. I suspect some insecure human living in a one-bedroom apartment let her boyfriend dump Tabby out in the wilderness.

Tabby and I don’t get along. I can appreciate her sob story, but, okay, no I can’t. Luckily, she’s learned her place around here. She’s been here for two years so I can honestly say I’ve done my part to tolerate her existence.

And just when I thought there weren’t going to be any more disruptions, my humans bring home a giant, slobbering goggie! The world has gone mad. At least the goggie is a fast learner. Her name is Maddie and she figured out the first night not to mess with me. Tabby doesn’t seem to mind Maddie as much as I do. However, the kittens are another story.

A few days ago, my human caved into her daughter’s request for a kitten. Using human logic, which is flawed compared to kitteh logic, my human brought home two kittens. TWO. KITTENS!!! Neither of whom recognize my supreme authority. Max is smaller and easier to boss around, but George is immune to my hissing. He uses my litter box – even though he has his own. He eats my food – even though I loudly announce my displeasure with this blatant act of thievery. He even approaches me as though he has every right to be in my space. It’s appalling. It’s outrageous!

Even botox couldn’t hide the horizonal position of my ears. I. Am. Not. Pleased. These kittens are a menace. They must be stopped. If only I had thumbs…

Beating The Heat Requires Lifestyle Change

A few days ago, one of the national news stations was in Oklahoma City to cover the weather. The reporter even cooked a T-bone steak on the dashboard of a car. It’s that hot. And this heat isn’t going anywhere for a while.

When I decided not to work this summer, I had grand plans about all of the cool places I was going to take my children while they were out of school. Unfortunately, the sweltering temperatures have thwarted all my ideas. It’s too darn hot.

In order to conserve water, we don’t water our grass. It is becoming necessary to water the foundation to prevent it from cracking as the soil pulls away from the house, but there is no nightly sprinkler set up in our yard. Our yellowed grass crunches with every step. It sounds like breaking glass under our shoes. Walking barefoot is out of the question. I’m convinced the grass would actually puncture the skin.

Despite the oppressive heat, the dog still has to be walked. This requires some creative scheduling. In order to escape the 100+ degree temperatures, I have to walk the dog before the sun comes up and after the sun goes down. That kind of schedule is hard on the sleep cycle. Staying up late and getting up early isn’t exactly my style. However, it’s the only way to survive the heat.

I want to take the dog to a dog park so she can socialize with other dogs, but there are only so many cool hours in the day. The dog park will have to wait until this heat wave recedes. So will the zoo and the kids’ park and any other outside activity. This is Mohave Desert hot. Now I know why people who live in the desert only travel at night.

The New Goggie

A few weeks ago, I started browsing the local animal shelter’s website in search of a new dog. We have two cats, both of whom were rescues, but we wanted to add a dog to the mix. The animal shelter seemed like the perfect place to look. That’s exactly what it turned out to be.

As you can imagine, the place was filled with animals. It was hard not to adopt them all. The dogs barked and barked from their cages when we entered the “dog area.” All of them wanted to be picked, but after searching through several rows of kennel pens, I found the perfect dog for us. She was one of only a handful of dogs that didn’t bark when we walked by her pen. That is a definite plus for a family who wants to maintain a good relationship with suburban neighbors who may not appreciate a dog that barks at every little thing.

Her name was listed as “Hunny.” We quickly changed that to Maddie (short for Madeline) once we got her home.

Her info sheet mentioned she had been picked up as a stray nearly a year earlier. She was initially adopted by a family with a special needs child. The sheet praised Maddie’s patience with the child and noted her relaxed demeanor. The family returned her to the shelter after several months because they were no longer able to care for her. We found out later that Maddie’s owner had died. The most heartbreaking part of that relevation was that her “owner” was the child.

So we took Maddie home with us. She’s been adopted for the 2nd – and hopefully the last – time in her short life. She seems to be fitting in just fine around here. She even seems to be managing the cats with a little less anxiety. She loves to go for walks and play in the backyard. She still doesn’t bark unless there is something wrong. We could not have picked a more perfect dog for our family. I hope Maddie agrees.