Bad Momma
I am a bad mother of a different sort. A bad cat mother. My poor kitties have been starved for attention for seven weeks now. Schaeffer and Elizabeth had gotten used to living in the lap of attention-luxury, and now they are desperate. If I have a free couple of minutes, I will go into the Cat Room (we sectioned off our T.V. room for them to live) and resolve to pet them each for ten full minutes. Invariably, that's when Anna starts wailing. Oh well.
I guess I didn't realize how much I groomed them before(they are Persians). Elizabeth is a walking matt-ball. My sister and I attempted to take the scissors to the matts, but it was hopeless. I made an appointment with a pet groomer, which I never thought I'd do, for Tuesday. She may have to be shaved. Horrors.
In other news, my poor '91 Honda may have kicked the bucket. Awhile back, I compared my Honda, in life stages, to a newly retired person. A little creaky, but still pretty reliable. Well, it's entered the nursing home. It's been in the shop twice in two weeks (which reminds me that I didn't write about my horrendous car experience last week. It involved me stranded on the interstate at night, in the rain, with a screaming baby, with the entire phone system shut down in our small town, and with a cell phone that could barely find a signal. Very awful.) Then it died again while Jason and I were out on a much needed, and very short, date. I spent the whole dinner fretting about the car and worrying that Anna's colic was driving her babysitting aunt and uncle to an early grave.
I've been delusional, for awhile, that my Honda was just fine, thank you very much. After the Stranded Ellen incident, I decided that my Honda could stick it where the sun don't shine.
It's interesting that I am usually very clear-headed in emergencies-- medical, emotional, and psychological. But when a car enters the scenerio, I panic. I have some weird car emergency panic-disorder. And last Tuesday night was my nightmare. Alone on a highway with my baby, with huge semi-trucks whizzing by. And when I think about having to go car hunting, and deal with car dealers and car prices and down payments and all of that, it just about makes me want to hyperventilate. But I've got to face the fact that my 200,000 mile two-door car probably isn't the most reliable or logical vehicle to be toting my seven week-old most precious cargo around town in.
Life has gotten complicated.
I guess I didn't realize how much I groomed them before(they are Persians). Elizabeth is a walking matt-ball. My sister and I attempted to take the scissors to the matts, but it was hopeless. I made an appointment with a pet groomer, which I never thought I'd do, for Tuesday. She may have to be shaved. Horrors.
In other news, my poor '91 Honda may have kicked the bucket. Awhile back, I compared my Honda, in life stages, to a newly retired person. A little creaky, but still pretty reliable. Well, it's entered the nursing home. It's been in the shop twice in two weeks (which reminds me that I didn't write about my horrendous car experience last week. It involved me stranded on the interstate at night, in the rain, with a screaming baby, with the entire phone system shut down in our small town, and with a cell phone that could barely find a signal. Very awful.) Then it died again while Jason and I were out on a much needed, and very short, date. I spent the whole dinner fretting about the car and worrying that Anna's colic was driving her babysitting aunt and uncle to an early grave.
I've been delusional, for awhile, that my Honda was just fine, thank you very much. After the Stranded Ellen incident, I decided that my Honda could stick it where the sun don't shine.
It's interesting that I am usually very clear-headed in emergencies-- medical, emotional, and psychological. But when a car enters the scenerio, I panic. I have some weird car emergency panic-disorder. And last Tuesday night was my nightmare. Alone on a highway with my baby, with huge semi-trucks whizzing by. And when I think about having to go car hunting, and deal with car dealers and car prices and down payments and all of that, it just about makes me want to hyperventilate. But I've got to face the fact that my 200,000 mile two-door car probably isn't the most reliable or logical vehicle to be toting my seven week-old most precious cargo around town in.
Life has gotten complicated.
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