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4 kittens

A Texas Treasure indeed.

Posted on 2015.04.05 at 21:36
We drove past the stadium, and Hokey Pokey said, "That's where we saw the football game and it rained! We had to go in that big hallway!"

I was amazed. "You remember that? You must have been two years old!" I said.  We'd gone into the cement breezeways with throngs of people, while it poured cats and dogs.

"I was three," he said decisively, "because I could talk well."

I was extra amazed! "You can remember not being able to talk well?"

Pokey nodded.

"What was it like?" I asked. "What was it like before you could talk?"

"Mmm mmm HMMM mmm mmm!" he pantomined, gesturing and hmmm-ing like he had duct tape over his mouth. I burst out laughing.

"No! I mean, what was it like in your head?" I asked.
"Mm-mrr!" Pokey answered, with an explanatory shrug.
Then Rascal cooed, "uuuuugh!"
"Like that!" said Pokey, "Uuuuugh."


Big Cat is wobbly on his feet and his sides are caving in. That is the bad news, the physical signs of imminent departing.

The good news is that he is eating the pain pills when I sneak it into kitty treats. That literally extended his life by maybe a month or so. Giving him a pill was turning into its own trauma, inducing back spasms and incontinence and so on. Now his pain seems to be actually managed, which is the point of the pills.


Hokey Pokey whispered in my ear, "Are eyesh meer?"
"Just tell me outloud," I said.
"It's a secret," he said. This is in the lobby at daycare, after dropping off Ace.  He tried again, "Are eyes mirrors?"
"Oh!" I exclaimed, "are eyes mirrors? Like the one-way mirror in Ace's classroom?"
"Yes!" he said. "Are they one-way mirrors?"
"I suppose they are," I said. "The reflectiveness is a bit wonky, but sometimes you can see things reflected in someone's eyes. But you are definitely able to see out from the inside, but other people can't see in."


What's that weird Donnie Darko bunny doing?

Oh, it's Hokey Pokey. How cute.


Now that Hawaii can read, she is of course silently reading along during story time.
"That's not how you say it," she says to Jammies, "It's not 'whut no u can't', Dad. It's 'What! No you can't!!' "

In other words, she corrects his inflection if she deems him insufficiently expressive, too wooden.  Words fail me for how great and hilarious this is. (Perhaps I should consult Hawaii.)


When Hawaii was Ace's age, she would come wake us up at 5 am. One time I told her, "My hair is still sleeping; you have to go wake up Daddy."  Then after that she'd wake up Jammies on her own, saying "Play with me! Shh, Mommy's hair is still sleeping."  (I recalled that recently out of nowhere.)


Ace says "where's my Dodo?" and "where's my Evie?" and "there's my Ree-ree and Mah" and generally uses the pronoun "my" incorrectly but oh-so-adorably.


One year ago I was pregnant. It was maybe the hardest time in my life, physically. I felt so awful, and work was hard, and kids were hard. People were sympathetic, but it's not like someone died. It's just pregnancy.

The snowdrifts of pollen:

particularly remind me of this time of year, one year ago.

Now, I'm not pregnant. Just that comparison alone, the anniversary of feeling so awful, feels like a million bucks.

I was pregnant last Geebie Family Day and last Easter Campout, in 2014.  I was also nine months pregnant the Geebie Family Day and Easter Campout the year before that, in 2013 with Ace.  So this is the first spring in a long time that I've felt so good.


We were camping this weekend. Hokey Pokey found a little worm and roly poly to play with.

The worm died, mid-play, and Pokey kept right on playing with him. As the afternoon wore on, the dead worm got increasingly worn and mangled in his middle third. He had a little branch with a designated bed area, bathroom area, and so on. "This is where wormy watches TV!" Pokey said, draping Wormy over his hand and relocating him. (I should have taken a photo.)


Like I said, we were camping this weekend. We have outgrown our Coleman four person tent. It was like a clown car. Ace screamed on and off all night long. It was wearying.

At 5 am, the big kids woke up for the day. Jammies kept trying to shush them, because all the other families were still asleep and it was dark out.  They would not shush. Finally he rounded them up and took them to the truck. "Where are we going?" they asked him. "Nowhere," Jammies said, "We're sitting in the truck and you all can scream all you want, until other people are up and about." They wailed and screamed and then got used to it, and they all sat there for about 30 minutes.

For the second night of camping, we went back to our house and took baths and slept in our own beds, and you know, that's what was right for our family. Just like the sanctimonious parents always say to do.

On my commute, I pass this sign:

What a depressing neighborhood! This is where the Guadalupe and Comal rivers meet, maybe, or else it's where Comal county meets Guadalupe county.

Anyway, who's the genius that shortened Comal to Coma and Guadalupe to Guada? He has a real lack of ear for euphony. The font, plus guada-coma, is just a Texas Treasure indeed.

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