I Divorced My Cat

fluffy cat

It was love at first sight.

I was scrolling through Facebook when I stumbled upon a photograph of kittens, so young their eyes weren’t even open yet. “I neeeeeeed one of those!” I commented. And I did. Six months earlier, our beloved orange tabby cat had been eaten by a wild animal. I missed her. I missed living with a cat. Also, mice were invading our farmhouse.

A few weeks later, we brought home one of the kittens from the photo, a fluffy gray tabby with big blue-ish eyes. Our three-year-old son named the tiny ball of fur, Runaway. Continue reading “I Divorced My Cat”

7 Weird Things All First-Time Moms Worry About

Being a first-time mom was the hardest transition I’ve ever made.

It was harder than going to college, harder than getting married, harder than buying a house. After my son was born, I think I went a little Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs for a little while there. Maybe I am still crazy. Maybe this is just who I am now.

I’ve always been worrywart, but becoming a mother put all of my neurosis into overdrive. So if as a new mother, you find yourself having a meltdown over which diaper cream to buy or wondering why your baby makes so much noise while they are supposedly sleeping, don’t worry. You’re in good company. Okay, well you might not be in good company but at least you’re not alone. Continue reading “7 Weird Things All First-Time Moms Worry About”

8 Reasons Raising Children in a Small Town is Awesome

raising children small town

Raising children in a small town can be challenging.

There aren’t zoos or museums or giant parks or festivals. Our town doesn’t even have its own playground. Often I am asked why I live here and why we choose to raise our children here. People tell me, “I would go crazy if I were you.” Continue reading “8 Reasons Raising Children in a Small Town is Awesome”

Dear Second Baby, I’m Not Sorry

Dear Second Baby,I'm Not Sorry

When I was pregnant with my second baby, someone told me that younger siblings aren’t as smart as the firstborn because they don’t receive as much one-on-one attention. As if the little baby karate-chopping my insides at that very moment was already starting off life at a disadvantage. Continue reading “Dear Second Baby, I’m Not Sorry”

Three Terrible Days in Montreal

Recently our family took a trip to Montreal.

My husband and I thought it would be the perfect mini-vacation because it’s the closest city to where we live and even though it’s still cold outside, there is a lot to see and do. The highlight of the trip was supposed to be the Biodome, which is sort of like an indoor zoo.

The first problem occurred even before we left our house when I realized that my passport had expired a month ago. Everyone over the age of 16 needs a valid passport or enhanced driver’s license to get into Canada and back into the United States. Having an expired passport was really bad. It should have been an omen for what to expect from the rest of the trip. But we had already booked and paid to rent an Airbnb in Montreal. There was no changing the plans or cancelling. We would just have to drive up to the border and try our luck. Continue reading “Three Terrible Days in Montreal”

12 Funny Tricks Babies Play on Their Parents

Babies look so sweet and innocent. We parents often stare at them and wonder what it is they dream about when they close their eyes and what they think about when they stare at their mobiles. The truth is that babies actually have a lot more going on than we might assume. They are plotting and planning. You think that smile that you saw cross your newborn’s face was just gas? Think again. Continue reading “12 Funny Tricks Babies Play on Their Parents”

A Letter From the Family Dog (Guest Post by My Husband Will Eberle)

Dear family,

Fuck you.  Truly.

Remember, before you brought those feeble, pink, fur-less puppies home, when you used to care if I lived or died?  Yeah, me too. Continue reading “A Letter From the Family Dog (Guest Post by My Husband Will Eberle)”

A Letter From the Family Dog (Guest Post by My Husband Will Eberle)

A Letter From the Family Dog

Dear family,

Fuck you.  Truly.

Remember, before you brought those feeble, pink, fur-less puppies home, when you used to care if I lived or died?  Yeah, me too.

Nevertheless, I’m still here, patiently waiting for you to regain your senses and rekindle the relationship we once had.

Currently I’m literally drowning in my own fat, a once regal, now morbidly obese canine long of tooth and nail struggling to get off the couch, desperate for just one minuscule scrap of attention.  You used to stand on opposite sides of a field and hit tennis balls for me for hours. I’d gallop across the alfalfa like a Prometheus Proto-dog, glistening in the sunshine like an Egyptian god-dog emblazoned in hand-ground pigment for all time on the side of some Pharaoh’s sarcophagus.

Now I’m the thing you trip over on the way to finding your Crocs. You used to buy me raw chicken and lovingly Saran Wrap individual portions to be frozen and triumphantly presented to me each day like flutes of champagne at the Carnivàle. Now you fling a hideous glop of dry kibble in my general direction every night before flossing your teeth. Would that I was the floss in your treacherous fingers, at least then I’d feel your warm touch just once again upon my fur.

Do you remember when we used to go canoe camping together?  I’d ride in the prow like a Viking pillager, steadfastly keeping lookout for the first spit of land, the rich timbre of my bark peeling of the mountains when we found a likely cove?

Now I’m lucky if you notice me barking when you’re stepping on my tail.

I. Literally. Can’t. Even.

Let’s get a few things straight. Those new puppies you got? They’re shitty dogs. They have no teeth or claws to speak of, and they don’t even have the decency to kick dirt upon their feces, no they have the audacity to make you handle it and wipe their neither regions with dampened clothes. How absolutely vile.  Can we talk about their protection skills for a minute? Unless you’re looking for someone to protect a warm bottle of milk you’d be better off with a banana slug if intruders visited the home place at night.

I can crunch through chicken bones; I wouldn’t know who to put my money on in a fair fight between them and a graham cracker. I can swim across a reservoir; those pathetic displays can barely survive a sink bath.  It disgusts me.

But it wasn’t always like this. We used to have something truly special. Oh how I remember the delicious jangle of my leash, the brisk wind whipping through the open door, your joyous whistle. I’d bound to the stoop, your beloved and trusted companion, and we would cover miles of terrain like visiting dignitaries inspecting the estate of a great and noble host.

Life was simple. We were happy. All I needed was you, and all you needed was me. Or so I thought.

Now all that I inspect is the floor of the breakfast nook, the site of my daily debasement, where I’ve taken to groveling beneath the “high chair” of the one you have crowned, and christened “baby.”

How I despise this “baby.”  Would that she too knew the dirty oaken boards of you floor, would that her knees became accustomed to its knots, as she waited hour after accursed hour for just one morsel of pre-chewed food to drop. Would, that just once her precious dampened cloth failed to come to her aid, and she was made to live with the natural consequences of her deprivations after soiling our once lovely den.

I pray that you will come to your senses, my old, dear, friends –  my “family.”  I pray that the fog will rise from your once mighty brains, the shroud will be lifted from your eyes, and you will remember the noble dog before you.

Though it has been years, I entreat you to remember that it is still not too late.

Simply leave the fur-less ones outside –  nature will attend to the rest.  Remove the jars of putrescence vegetable mush from the refrigerator and once again fill its shelves with glorious mounds of Saran-wrapped chicken.  Throw the “diaper bag” in the nearest trash compactor so that nothing might prevent you from easily grasping the leashes and toys of your oldest friend.

We can be great again, you and I.  Just throw the ball.  You can be assured that I will always fetch it.

I leave you now as I found you, wretched and alone.  May the sun and fresh air of days to come remind you of your decency, and your duty.

Sincerely,

Your Dog.

P.S. – I know how much you love that damp cloth, so I left you a little present in the shower.

 

 

 

 

12 Things I Love About Baby’s First Year

12 THings I love About Baby's First YearToday is my baby girl’s first birthday.

It’s hard to believe that one year ago Ada came into this world. She made quite the entrance and she hasn’t stopped surprising us ever since. I can only imagine what Ada’s toddler years will have in store for our family. Continue reading “12 Things I Love About Baby’s First Year”