Boondock Ramblings

What will he be when he grows up?

I don't know what Jonathan will be when he is older . . .

Right now he likes superheros, but I'm not sure there are many openings for those at the moment -- unless Superman dies again (and comes back to life and then dies again and then . . .)

Maybe he'll build things. . .

Maybe he'll be a firefighter . . .   

Hopefully he won't be a super villain like Dr. Doom. . . .

Or maybe. . .Oh craaaaap. . . I think he might become a Calvin Klein model. . . .

Be still my poor mama heart.

Hosted by Cecily

My big fat what?!

I love my Big Fat Greek Wedding. That's why I wrote about it on Powder Room Graffiti this week.

I have a post at Views Beyond the Lens for You Capture as well.

Yeah. He's wearin' "fli-lops in winter." So?

 

I let my son wear "fli-lops" on Sunday.

But they are actually sandals. He calls them "fli-lops." I'm not sure where he even heard the word. Maybe at the sitters because we don't wear fli-lops at our house.

I let him wear them because he had socks on and because it wasn't that cold out. It was cold, but not that cold. Yet.

In fact, we haven't yet had a lot of cold this winter in our part of the world. We haven't even had a major snowfall. Maybe by Christmas.

It sounds weird to say it, but I guess I don't care if we have snow or not. I'm not a huge snow fan. I got stuck in the snow one time coming home from work -- when I worked in a town at the bottom of a nasty, steep hill that is actually called a mountain. It was dark, the snow was deep and cold and my tires just kept spinning. A stranger pulled up and helped push me out, if I remember right, which was nice, but kind of scary because it was dark and he was a stranger and, well, I was a bit freaked by it all.

Speaking of "freaked", I apparently use that phrase a lot, like "That freaks me out." The other day Jonathan and I were playing with a plastic spider. At first he was fine with it, but then he didn't want to play with it anymore.

"Mama...eew...'top it. That freak me out." he told me.

Anyhow, back to the photo of my son's feet. I let him wear fli-lops Sunday. And he didn't have a coat either. (He did have his grandmother's winter gloves, hence the gigantic hands.)

And he walked on the brick wall behind my parents house, unassisted, while I took photos.

Tsk. Tsk. I am a rebel mama. Hear me roar. (Or is that giggle sheepishly?)  

This is part of WordFUL Wednesday at Seven Clown Circus.

Hey, Crazy Cat Lady! I'm sorry for mocking you . . .

Remember a week ago when I mocked the cat lady? Sparx left a comment on that post that read in part: "On the old lady, maybe the cat is the only relationship she has. I'd be devastated if we lost our cat and didn't know what happened. . ."

And suddenly I felt guilty. Not a lot, but a little.(No. A lot, but I'm trying to be nonchalant about this, K?)

Then this past week our newspaper ran a story about a family whose cat had been killed and I felt even more guilty. Actually, it was worse than the cat "just" being killed. The cat had been in the family for 15 years. It was let out a couple times a day, it wandered for awhile and always came home. One day it didn't come home and the family worried.

The wife came home from work and found a message on their answering machine. It was a message from a future serial killer (we here at the office are all in agreement. That's what this little punk is) who said he had the cat (Mr. Kitty) and was killing it. The person, who the family believes is a neighborhood teenage boy, cackled as he spoke.

The family's number is unlisted. They know someone who knows them did this and that might be one of the scarier parts of the story. That and there is some freak out there who may go from cats to dogs to children one day.

So, I feel guilty because I mocked someone who cared enough about her cat to spend more than $600 looking for it by putting ads in the newspaper and putting flyers up all over the neighborhood. I don't know if she ever found her cat and I hope it wasn't a victim of this freak.

I felt guilty because there was a family who cared enough about their cat, and the cats of others, to call the police and the local newspaper to tell their story so hopefully other cats wouldn't be harmed. I feel guilty because this past week, as I thought about the family whose cat was murdered, I realized my cats are like family too.

They drive me nuts, those cats of mine -- one of them stinks, one is trying to kill me . . . the other, well, Tubby Thomas doesn't really bother me at all (except he is brain damaged. No really he is. I love him. He's just not right in the head.).

Last week I realized I needed to get our Tubby Thomas to the vet because he was sneezing, having trouble breathing and looked to be generally in very bad health.

(In all fairness, Tubby Thomas has always looked like he's on the verge of death. Again, he is also our "brain damaged" kitty, so sometimes it is hard to tell when he's actually sick.)

It cost us $100, but Tubby Thomas is on medicine for an ear infection and an upper respiratory infection and he's on the mend

Now I just hope whoever killed that family's cat gets the punishment (and help) they deserve. And I hope the "Crazy Cat Lady" finds her feline family member soon.

(Just so you don't think I've gone all soft -- the woman is still crazy. She's just not crazy because she misses her cat, OK?)

(This is Tubby and Jonathan in March of 2008. Tubby's tongue hangs out. Always has. And he drools. Always has, at least since I've known him. Jonathan is enjoying imitating him. Jonathan was about 16 months old here.)

Just focus! FOCUS!

Sunday was a Do-Nothing Day. I like those days. We visited my parents in the country and once again Jonathan and I found ourselves at my parents old barn.

I had no intention of entering the barn until Crazy Dog decided to slip inside and twist his leash around an antique table leg.Then Crazy Child thought he would follow Crazy Dog. The opening between the two large doors was narrow. I'm not, so I could get in after them very fast. I had to kick over a cinder block that was holding the door closed and suffer a splinter before I could get inside the barn.

Once there it was ten minutes of telling Jonathan to stay away from the farm equipment (stored there by a neighbor of my parents) and Crazy Dog to come out from under a pile of old . . . stuff. Only Crazy Dog couldn't come out. He was stuck, with his leash wrapped twice around a table leg. I finally was able to set him free, only by unhooking his leash.

Not wanting him to take off toward the neighbors, who were shooting at targets in preparation for the opening of hunting season tomorrow, Jonathan and I had to wait for him to finish sniffing for cats and took our position at the opening of the barn, where I knew I could grab the dog on his way out.

I have a hard time focusing at times. At work, in life, and apparently with my camera.

I tried snapping off a few shots of Jonathan peering around the barn door. It would have been a cute shot, but apparently I don't know how to focus my camera because the kid came out blurry, while the door came out sharp.

Right now I am about to clutch two handfuls of my hair and scream in frustration. Or, should I say I would if my child was not asleep in the next room and I didn't have a major headache.

I should probably write something profound here about how sometimes there are parts of our lives that seem out of focus, but that if we are patient and careful, they will come into focus again. Instead I'm just going to write: Arrrrgh! That stupid camera and my stupid impatience!

I did manage to snap some other shots today that I enjoyed. At least that is something...right?

How was your weekend? Was it all you hoped? Or maybe more?

*Yes my kid's face is dirty in these shots. It's left over from the hot cocoa we'd had earlier.

I also have Weekly Winners at Views Beyond the Lens.

Reverence? Um...not so much.

On Tuesday Jonathan and I visited the local park, where they had just finished putting up all the Christmas lights and decorations in preparation for the Christmas parade tonight. (I always wonder why Christmas parades are so early. I mean, we have a whole month before Christmas. What.the.heck?!)

He was fascinated with the large inflated decorations with lights in the middle and hugged Santa, a bear and Frosty the Snowman. Then he punched each of them and watched them bounce back and forth.

We moved away from them rather quickly so the town manager wouldn't chase us down screeching about how much money all the decorations cost, only to find ourselves in front of a nativity scene.

A nativity scene, I might add, that had a figure of Jesus, who was supposed to be a shepherd. The town probably figured most of the heathens around here wouldn't notice that the "shepherd" was actually grabbed from some other display and was clearly Jesus as an adult.

Jonathan walked right in the middle of the display and proceeded to check it out.

He visited with Jesus (knocked on his hollow shoulder):

 
 Conversed with the Mother of Jesus (asked me to blow a bug off of her plastic shoulder and then tapped on her throat to see if she echoed):

Gingerly touched the head of baby Jesus (gingerly touched the head of baby Jesus and covered him gently with the blanket they had laid across him):

And then sat on a camel.

Ahem.

So much for reverence.

___

For more Photo Story Friday's visit Cecily at My Chaos My Bliss.

Hosted by Cecily