tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48432854130753752792024-03-19T01:48:14.951-07:00Georgie Drinks TequilaAmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-58801665642090760802018-08-16T16:40:00.000-07:002018-08-16T16:40:56.232-07:00Oh the changes....I am not a person that accepts change very easily. It's always been difficult for me. H is the same way. But we have had A LOT of changes in our little family since January. The first big change is that I moved in with Mom at the end of January. I was not particularly happy about moving in with my mother at the age of 43. I took great pride in the fact that I was the only one of her 3 kids that had NOT moved back home. But I had a choice between moving in with Mom and being homeless because I couldn't afford to pay the freakin expensive as hell rent anymore so I packed up the cats and we moved to Fuquay. I also always swore that I would NEVER live in Fuquay. I had lived in Cary or Morrisville my entire adult life. We have all slowly adapted to living with Mom. Georgie stalks around downstairs like he owns the joint. He also enjoys intimidating Mom's little dog, Ollie. Saturn is Saturn. She runs. And runs some more. And whines to be fed. Sniper, the resident old man-cat, just sort of watches everything from the hallway upstairs with benign amusement. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I also finally went back to school. I started again in April to finish my Certified Medical Assistant. Projected graduation is February 2019. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The other HUGE change is that I met the love of my life. We are getting married on September 1. Just 16 more days! When I said that I would never move to Fuquay, I didn't expect to meet the man of my dreams, who happens to also live in Fuquay. Being totally and completely in love helped me see that maybe Fuquay isn't so bad. My amazing future husband and I were friends for well over a year before he finally asked me out on a date. Our first date was April 19. He proposed on May 21. I am a firm believer of "when you know, you know. Why wait any longer than necessary?"</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am hoping that all of these changes will not make my anxiety flare up and take hold again. I have taken great pride in the fact that I have not had to be on any sort of antidepressant or anti-anxiety since February. For the first time in my adult life, I don't feel like I need either one. For now, I'm just kinda going with the flow and, honestly, I'm enjoying the ride. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For now, anyway..........</div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-7927931681448930552017-10-21T18:16:00.000-07:002017-10-21T18:16:25.221-07:00LossIt’s been a while since I’ve been able to write. So much has happened and I haven’t really been able to get the words out. I’m trying though.<br />
<br />
I’ve had 2 major losses in my house in July. It started on July 15 with the death of my mom’s older sister. Aunt Cathie was like a second mom to me in a lot of ways. While we knew that she had been sick, she had Alzheimer’s and was going downhill, nothing prepared me for the day that she actually died. The entire family was there. She was surrounded by the people she loved most in the world - her husband, children, grandchildren and sisters. I miss her everyday. I miss “helping” her decorate cakes in the summers (meaning stealing some icing when she wasn’t looking). I love you Aunt Cathie and I know we will meet again.<br />
<br />
The other loss happened on July 30. My beautiful Harper passed away. She was only 6. It has been so hard to put into words how much I love that fat little black kitty. And yes, I mean love. Not loved. It’s not past tense. Harper had an autoimmune disorder called Evans Syndrome that mimics liver failure. She started acting kinda punky on July 20. There was a ton of construction going on at my apartment that week with the roof being replaced. Harper always was the more sensitive of the 4 cats so I figured she was just wigging out about that. I took her to the emergency vet on July 27 and her vitals were normal. The vet told me that if she didn’t start eating by Saturday, I needed to take her to her normal vet. When I took her to the regular vet, they did blood work that showed her liver was failing. Dr. Struck said that her liver values and blood count showed that she had Evans Syndrome and we needed to start steroids immediately. They took her into the back to start them. I got a call the following afternoon that she was not responding to the meds and I needed to make a decision. I went up there to sign the forms for euthanasia. My sweet, fat, amazing Plum passed away peacefully in her favorite place - Mama’s arms while I sang “You are My Sunshine” to her. She had her tiny little black head tucked under my chin like she used to do when she was a baby and was scared and/or cold.<br />
<br />
This little girl touched my heart. She always knew when Mama was hurting or angry or just upset about something. She would always cuddle very close to me. She slept right under me every night. I’m finally starting to get used to not having her to sleep with at night. Sniper has finally stopped calling for his little sister. Georgie is actually being a little sweeter. Saturn is Saturn. Still just runs at full speed around the house. She has kinda taken over Harper’s Head Bitch position and is relishing her newfound authority over the boys.<br />
<br />
They say time heals all wounds. I’m waiting for that to happen. In the meantime, I watch for that little black hummingbird that flies into my porch most every Sunday afternoon. I am fully convinced that it’s Harper coming to check in with Mama. Maybe Aunt Cathie is with her. I don’t know. What I do know is this: Harper will find me again when she’s ready to come home. I know this without a show of a doubt in my mind. I just have to wait until she’s ready.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-2000482757581480952016-06-20T00:12:00.001-07:002016-06-20T00:12:47.739-07:006 weeks<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The last 6 weeks or so has been incredibly long. I've been in a deep depression/anxiety loop. I'm not really sure where it came from, but it hit me hard. It started in late April, around the same time as the 1 year anniversary since I lost my job. I had to have some blood work done to make sure I didn't have an autoimmune disorder (I don't), H is being a typical teenager, changes with school for me, getting out into the dating world again after 2 years.... The list can go on for a while. I don't do big changes very well so all of this hit me like a ton of bricks. Thank God I have a good doctor who doesn't hesitate to increase my medication if and when it's needed. I was thinking of the things that have helped me cope with this terrible "loop" and thought I would write them down. Maybe it will help someone else at some point. Maybe it will help me again at some point to go back over this post and remind myself that I will be OK.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Please remember that I'm not a doctor. These are things that help me. Please talk with your doctor if you are having problems with depression or anxiety. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Family</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My family is incredibly supportive and always has been and I am incredibly close to most of them. The unconditional love that comes with (most) families is a tremendous help. Knowing that you can call a family member that will listen to you yell, scream, repeat yourself over and over makes handling these "loops" a little easier. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Friends</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Being a typical Pisces, I don't have a lot of super close friends. I have a lot of acquaintances, but only a handful of people that I trust enough to open up. Unfortunately, I don't trust just one person to tell everything. There are things I talk to Mom about or my cousin or my sister or one of my 3 best friends. It's something I know that I need to work on. The love and acceptance between friends is different from what is gotten from family. These people know about my "issues" and not only accept it, but still want to be seen with me, even on my worst days.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Music</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As is fairly typical with a Pisces, music is therapy for me. I can get lost in listening to a variety of music while I'm sitting on my porch. Music is an escape. My downstairs neighbors get a nightly "porch concert", which I'm not sure they particularly enjoy, but it makes me feel grounded and safe. My go-to is usually pop-opera like Il Divo, good old country music (Tim McGraw/Brad Paisley), and people that nobody has ever really heard of like Ramin Karimloo and Sierra Boggess. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Writing</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I don't write as much as I should, but it is very therapeutic to see those words pop up as I type. It's almost like once I start, the words just seem to flow. I might be writing for school or even helping H write an essay. Either way, writing helps more than I even realize sometimes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Breathing</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Breathing seems like such a simple thing to do. But when you're in the middle of a panic attack, it makes it hard to breathe. I can usually feel a panic attack coming on about an hour or so before it starts because my chest feels tight, almost like an asthma attack. My doctor makes sure that I always have a prescription for a rescue inhaler. Breathing deeply in and out can sometimes make a panic attack a little shorter.</span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">H and the cats</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This one is a very personal and very effective aid in dealing with the "loop". H is finally old enough to understand that Mama isn't just being weirder than normal. He might not actually offer words of encouragement, but he will hand a cat to me, reminding me that they are good "tear catchers". The cats with their antics (particularly Saturn with her constant running) rarely fail to make me at least smile, if not laugh outright. She is such a little nut and possibly the happiest cat on the planet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Being alone</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I know this seems like the wrong thing to do when you're stuck in this vicious loop, but for me, having my alone time is a requirement. If I do feel like I need to hide from the world for a while, I also know that I'm not completely alone since I can pick up the phone and have human contact without actually leaving my apartment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Being crafty</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Getting lost in a sea of fabric and thread helps so much. There are no expectations of talking about what's bothering me with the sewing machine (and if my sewing machine DID actually talk back, I'd be very concerned. I'm learning a new craft called tatting. It is very relaxing to follow a pattern and make something.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Medications</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Medications are not a last resort for me. I know that I need to be on an antidepressant and an anti-anxiety. Both have been increased in the last 6 weeks. The increase has finally started to help. It's OK to need medications to deal with depression and anxiety. There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with admitting you need a little help. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">School</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'm finishing up a final anatomy class before I will be at Wake Tech full time. Knowing that I can't miss class regardless of how I feel makes me get my ass out of bed and get going. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Not fighting the panic attack</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's gonna happen no matter how much you don't want it to happen. Don't fight it and maybe, just maybe, it won't last as long as you thought it would.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>The Best News </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The best news is that I'm finally starting to pull myself out of this. It's been a long and exhausting 6 weeks. But I realize that the panic attacks aren't gonna kill me. I don't feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin at anytime. I haven't cried over something silly like the top not going on my contact case.</span>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-75071496637570079942016-04-18T18:55:00.000-07:002016-04-18T18:55:06.799-07:00ChangesLots of changes have been happening around here lately. I can handle little changes and just kinda go with the flow and be just fine with them. Big changes, however, kinda freak me out a little. OK, a lot. Between school for me, H turning 17, H getting his driver's license in the next few days, and me changing schools and following a dream, it's been a roller coaster the last few months.<br />
<br />
H turned 17 in November. It's so hard as his mama to see my baby boy as a young man. To me, he should still be that little boy who thought Mama knew everything. As a typical teenager, I'm convinced that he thinks I'm the dumbest human on Earth. Sometimes, I think it shocks him that I actually have brains and am actually quite intelligent. But then, 5 minutes later, he's asking me some random question and still believes everything I tell him. I'm waiting to get my brains back, but since I didn't acknowledge that either of my parents knew anything until I was about 30, I guess I have a pretty long wait.<br />
<br />
I just finished my 3rd quarter in my pursuit of my Associate's Degree in Applied Science. The hardest class was Anatomy/Physiology and I aced it. Fortunately, for me, the way the human body works (or doesn't) fascinates me. I've kept my 4.0 GPA and haven't gotten any further gray hair. <br />
<br />
The other big change is that I decided to truly follow a dream and go to nursing school. I have so loved being in the classroom and being a labor/delivery nurse has been my dream since H was about 2. I do worry that my tender Pisces heart will make it tough to handle some of the heartbreak that comes with delivering babies, but I also know that same tender heart will make being a nurse truly the best decision I could ever make. I'll graduate in about 2 years and finally have my RN before I turn 45. Since I'm going in with a 4.0 GPA, I will be at the top of the pack and hopefully won't get wait listed. <br />
<br />
I'm really kinda scared about the medical classes that I'll have to take and learning how to do an OB/GYN exam sort of creeps me out (what if the woman's parts smell awful??), but at the same time, I'm so excited about starting this new phase of my life. I honestly can't wait to be on the hospital floor helping families celebrate the best moments of their lives. Strangely enough, I also can't wait to console families in those awful moments when their dream of becoming a parent does not come true. I know that's when my compassionate, loving and tender personality will truly be able to shine, possibly for the first time in my life. I've been working toward making this dream of my own come true for a very long time. I feel at peace and comfortable in my own skin for the first time. <br />
<br />
I want to be the kind of nurse that I had when I was in labor with H. She was maternal, loving, comforting, gentle but she also was tough when she needed to be, like when H's heart rate dropped and didn't come back up. She looked at me and told me that I either needed to get him OUT or I needed to consent to a C-section. She didn't give me any other options. When I was getting my epidural (after literally about 72 hours - he was a stubborn thing...), she told me to just put my head on her chest and rubbed my hair while the anesthesiologist did his thing. That simple gesture made me relax so it was easier to get the catheter in my spine. I also want to be the kind of nurse as my OB/GYN. I don't see the doctor but the nurse practitioner. That's mostly because the doctor fishes with Daddy and that's a little weird. But it's also because Pat is just simply fantastic and doesn't take any crap from me. <br />
<br />
I hope I don't get overwhelmed with all the changes that have happened the last few months and that are going to keep happening at least in the near future. The last thing I want is to have my anxiety levels get too high. I don't want it to get so bad that I have to hide until I figure shit out. So far, that hasn't happened, but I also know that it is a possibility. I also know that I have a phenomenal support system with family and friends to help me if and when I need it.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-55817489744702991482015-10-01T18:15:00.000-07:002015-10-01T18:16:16.141-07:00College LifeI made it through my first quarter of college. I can't believe that the first quarter is already done. It just seems insane to me. It went by so fast. Going back to college has always been a dream but one that I didn't think was ever going to be possible. I'm so glad that I finally made the decision and dammit, I'm sticking to it. <br />
<br />
I'm usually not one to talk to many strangers other than a "hey, how are you" sort of thing. But something strange happened when I walked into the classroom on the first day. I finally realized that the only way I'm going to truly succeed is to truly come out of my comfort zone. And I have. And I'm not sure I've ever been happier. <br />
<br />
I'm making new friends that I really think I'll have even after I graduate. Most of the other students are not a whole lot older than H. I just kinda talk to them like I would talk to him. Seems to be working. I'm not the class clown, but I do get a lot of laughs.<br />
<br />
One of the friends that I made, N, is so much like me that it's a little scary. She's 4 days older than me so our Pisces natures mesh very well. Where we are alike, we might as well be the same person. Where we are different, we are total polar opposites. This makes for some long and very funny phone conversations - especially when she does her impressions of the other students in her program.<br />
<br />
One of my instructors just seemed to click with me right away. I feel like we could have been friends if she weren't my teacher. Her teaching style just really works for me and my learning style. I had her for two classes this quarter and I really learned a lot about myself in her classes. She welcomed questions (and God knows, I ask A LOT of questions), class discussions and was so patient with me when I asked her about a million times "I'm not sure I'm doing this right. Could you come take a look?" I will miss Ms. C next quarter.<br />
<br />
My other instructor, well, she wasn't my favorite. I did learn stuff in her class. This was in clear evidence when we played "Jeopardy" on Tuesday and the team I was on beat the shit out of the other 2 teams. Clearly, I learned something. I just didn't like her teaching style. <br />
<br />
So the first quarter is done. I made it not only through the quarter, but I made it with a 4.0 GPA and perfect attendance. I'm so stoked about the upcoming quarter!!!Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-39039553036588685262015-09-18T22:12:00.000-07:002015-10-01T18:16:03.635-07:00Music is therapySometimes I wonder if music is as important to other people as it is to me. I spend a lot of time sitting on the porch and listening to music. Being a Pisces, it's just natural for me to listen to music. I've always got music on in the car. Sometimes, it's country music and sometimes it's Il Divo or Canadian Tenors or Celtic Woman. Sometimes, it's 80's music. Sometimes, it's old Southern hymns that we sang (and still sing) in church. <br />
<br />
Country music is my first love. I love the old country stuff by Dolly Partin, Kenny Rogers, Randy Travis and Crystal Gayle. But I also love the new stuff like Brad Paisley or Luke Bryan or Lady Antebellum. I love George Jones and George Strait. George Strait might be the same age as my mom, but he's still yummy..... I think I know the words to all of Lorrie Morgan's songs. <br />
<br />
I discovered Il Divo about 3 years ago. I'd been listening to Canadian Tenors and Celtic Woman for a couple of years prior to that and my mom called and said "you HAVE to listen to this." It was Il Divo singing "Amazing Grace" and I was hooked immediately. It doesn't hurt that they are VERY easy on the eyes. I'm working on learning the lyrics to all of their songs but the language barrier makes it little tougher than learning the lyrics to country songs. They sing in English, French, Spanish and Italian. Listening to them has reawakened my love of learning other languages. I already speak Portuguese and some French and some Spanish, but now I'm learning Italian too. Most of the time, I have no idea what I'm singing, but I have a good time nonetheless.<br />
<br />
Tonight, I've been listening to hymns from church from when I was a little girl and a teenager. There are so many of these hymns that I can hear Granny sing. I was listening to "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder" and I felt like I was 13 again and watching TV with Granny while she rocked a baby to sleep while singing this song. Even though she's been gone for 13 years, I can still hear her voice. These old hymns give me strength sometimes and sometimes, they just make me happy. Tonight, it's a combination of both. <br />
<br />
When H was little, he was convinced that I knew all the words to every song on the radio. He didn't realize that it was probably a CD playing. He told me once "Mommie, you should put out an album." Bless his heart, he didn't realize that Mommie can't carry a tune in a bucket. I do take a certain pride in the fact that he's almost 17 and I can still sing him to sleep in the car. He might be falling asleep as a defense mechanism, but I choose to believe it's because it's as comforting to him as listening to Granny or Mom or Daddy singing is to me. I've always sung to him and music has always been a part of his life. <br />
<br />
I grew up listening to both Mom and Daddy singing and playing the piano. We are a musical family - my brother sings, plays the piano and was in the band in high school. My sister has a beautiful voice so do my nieces. H is in the marching band. Mom's sisters both have beautiful voices and Daddy's brother was in a real band in the 70's. Like they had a record and everything! <br />
<br />
I hope other people find as much peacefulness, relaxation and happiness in music as I do. I honestly can't imagine not having an appreciation and true love for music.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-70615013135215466412015-08-20T15:54:00.002-07:002015-08-20T15:54:40.855-07:00Back to School<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">School starts on Monday. And not just for H, but for me as well. I decided after not finding a job for the last 4 months that I would finally go back to college. After some typical Pisces hiding and mulling over, it actually was a very easy decision. I've wanted to go back to school to finally get my BS in Nursing since H was a little bitty thing, but money, time and circumstances just never allowed that to happen. Since I do have such a phenomenal support system in place with family and friends, this is a perfect time. So I will start my journey to becoming a Clinical Medical Assistant on Monday. It will take me about 18 months to complete. I will graduate with my Associate's Degree in Applied Science and will be one step closer to getting my Bachelor's Degree in Nursing. This is some scary shit but I'm ready. My projected graduation date is April 2017 - just 2 months before H graduates high school. </span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Also, H starts his junior year of high school on Monday. How I got old enough to have a kid old enough to be a junior in high school is beyond me. I'm so proud of how much he has matured in the last year.</span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Even better - new pics of the cats. Sniper will be 5 next week, Harper is 4, Georgie is 3 and baby Saturn is 15 months old. I love them more each day even though Saturn has chosen H as her person. </span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgchQwYU2cjdZgn-RnBFQMB0fdVudocifTeOY8wB2a7mZUZMe0-Jq4P2KEPpkc0bxyaBgdJi7YZeY0bDQlQETDPq3ATR7Cn70Ezh23__oglqXqNqvJr3_mie2LwnRf-FIlohMOfE0mCOec/s320/IMG_1889.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="180" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harper's pretty little face</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7GKnim3K_dhYZhPVy9v4vg7g8nhsnTwL39NO9j6qQOtAUkY9VJd_fQ6xxKqrOGO6eJBROlOXf75UJXsES2TJviy3aFjJ6C1bq822YlnAXJLuwqL4Ze3lFlqohA-_Q-CZ7fwrG-9fQ6qI/s1600/IMG_1990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7GKnim3K_dhYZhPVy9v4vg7g8nhsnTwL39NO9j6qQOtAUkY9VJd_fQ6xxKqrOGO6eJBROlOXf75UJXsES2TJviy3aFjJ6C1bq822YlnAXJLuwqL4Ze3lFlqohA-_Q-CZ7fwrG-9fQ6qI/s320/IMG_1990.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Georgie being handsome</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJwdhV7KaUlabttmJwi35tzurrq-sQTs4ulHONpgPcEsmPZSApiD6tKHTm0Z3J8fTCokYbGkVqApLjuPSnA514ImAvGzW5AZJJ8pYtxgCSByjZOFN4ylGgoQDY82DeDz1dbfnY6swRiQ/s1600/IMG_2019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJwdhV7KaUlabttmJwi35tzurrq-sQTs4ulHONpgPcEsmPZSApiD6tKHTm0Z3J8fTCokYbGkVqApLjuPSnA514ImAvGzW5AZJJ8pYtxgCSByjZOFN4ylGgoQDY82DeDz1dbfnY6swRiQ/s320/IMG_2019.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saturn on the curtain rod</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVt7ioKhmF5k8Xn_HxlYx2cmI5-nPv9J6yZspeoGYS2QSHKQdoyQmFs_KVIwWwePBZKH4AdaTJUlsLykN5mSUNp9xybDO5cdYRNOZUgXOvb5t8smzVEwleT0oHn3a5x2q_9w4mey0ImKA/s1600/IMG_1907.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVt7ioKhmF5k8Xn_HxlYx2cmI5-nPv9J6yZspeoGYS2QSHKQdoyQmFs_KVIwWwePBZKH4AdaTJUlsLykN5mSUNp9xybDO5cdYRNOZUgXOvb5t8smzVEwleT0oHn3a5x2q_9w4mey0ImKA/s320/IMG_1907.PNG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sniper staring at Mama<br />through the back door</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-52079972009616297272015-07-23T22:04:00.000-07:002015-08-20T15:55:07.628-07:00Family Support SystemSometimes, we don't think about the emotional support system that we have with our family. I have a huge family and most of them live within about 45 minutes of my apartment. My sister and cousin live the farthest away in Manhattan (sister) and New Jersey (cousin), but distance doesn't really affect the support they provide - especially with my sister. This wasn't something that I really thought about until H's dad and I split up in 2010. It's something that has been on my mind a lot since losing my job in April.<br />
<br />
H's dad and I were together for 14 years and when we split up, I got the strongest emotional lifting up from my immediate family and from my best friend. The first year, in true Pisces form, I pretty much locked myself away to deal with the pain and feelings of failure that I'm sure plague everyone at the end of a long term relationship - whether it be marriage or not. I am very fortunate that these wonderful people in my life wouldn't allow me to lock myself away for too long at a time. I am also fortunate that H's dad and I are good friends now, but that took a couple of years to get to this point.<br />
<br />
Since I lost my job, all 3 of my parents, my brother and sister, my "big sister-cousins", and various cousins, aunts and uncles have been incredibly supportive. They know that in my Pisces nature, I will hide away as I usually do when there is something on my mind that I am trying to deal with but don't really know how. Sometimes, I wish that I didn't feel the need to hide, but as I get older, I know that it's just part of who I am and am learning to accept that. My family makes sure that I don't hide away for too long. They text me or call me to check on me, or say "let's go to lunch - my treat" or "come over and let's sew" (that's from my mom). The lunch invitations are the best. I'm always game for free food.<br />
<br />
I know that it worries them if I don't call or text or communicate in some way with them regularly. I talk to my mom at least every other day - often way more than that. Like several times a day. I talk to my sister almost everyday, whether it be by text or call or Facebook. Same with my stepmom. I talk to Daddy about once a week. <br />
<br />
I talk to the elder "big sister-cousin" ("D") nearly everyday and to the younger one at least once a week. D and I generally talk very late at night after everyone else is asleep. She doesn't sleep well and I don't have to get up in the mornings so it works well for both of us. She gives me the "shoring up", as we say, that I need when I need it.<br />
<br />
I guess what this rambling means is that I am so thankful for my huge, loving, loud and crazy-ass family. Without them, I think I would be in a heavily padded room with a long list of medications at Holly Hill.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-10564950247258783262015-06-22T05:00:00.000-07:002015-06-22T05:00:09.522-07:00UnemploymentUnemployment just sucks balls. I was laid off at the end of April and still haven't found a job. I think I've sent out about 50 resumes but have only had 2 interviews. Sigh.....<br />
<br />
I think H is really loving me being home. His dad and I share 50/50 custody so when H is with me, I'm here if he needs me. I *know* the monsters, I mean cats, are loving it. Mama doesn't leave the apartment for very long, if at all. They have become more clingy than they already were. Sniper follows me everywhere, Harper squeaks when I walk in the room and has tried to claim the laptop as her personal warming station. Georgie follows me and meows and Saturn is just her normal crazy-ass kitten self. <br />
<br />
If I've been sitting on the porch longer than they think is appropriate, one or more of them will start batting at the door to tell me to come in. Usually, it's Sniper, but sometimes the other 3 will join in. H will usually come out here with a cat. He says he's just showing them outside, but I think it's to make sure that I'm still here and haven't left without him knowing.<br />
<br />
You know that irrational part of your brain??? Well, that part of me is absolutely loving being at home. But the rational part is telling me that since I've made friends with the squirrel that comes to visit, it's probably time to go back to work. <br />
<br />
I'm hopeful that I will start getting some calls for interviews soon. I'm getting a little too comfortable hanging out in my comfy-shorts and t shirts.....Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-3436023155310427052015-06-20T21:50:00.000-07:002015-06-20T22:08:40.585-07:00Happy Father's Day!Today is Father's Day - you know, the companion to Mother's Day. H says there needs to be a Kid Day, but I told him that was every day. <br />
<br />
I have 2 dads - a Daddy and a Dad. Daddy is my biological dad and Dad is my stepdad. Both men are wonderful fathers and they each taught me different things. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zeWObJyRTYkZ9T6ILL_BZivRV_kRKWLN3TGI0LWlyC_VgRpNFpq9qndP36h4Mr39ULTZbQjjlpzeXht6Ya0F6R9WyRbNQzJnatY2udqrBXzbCkWUNHGrewv_U3IDk-IfAAgwNCbHTSY/s1600/daddy+and+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zeWObJyRTYkZ9T6ILL_BZivRV_kRKWLN3TGI0LWlyC_VgRpNFpq9qndP36h4Mr39ULTZbQjjlpzeXht6Ya0F6R9WyRbNQzJnatY2udqrBXzbCkWUNHGrewv_U3IDk-IfAAgwNCbHTSY/s320/daddy+and+me.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy and me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Daddy taught me about fishin', cooking fish, and major tackle box renovations. He also taught me to drive him down to the beach when I was 16 and we were both off work for the day. Daddy showed me how to parallel park so I could get my driver's license. We must have parallel parked about 50 times that day and he didn't lose patience. He taught me about the many things he learned while serving his country in Viet Nam. "I learned how to do this in the Army" is the phrase that is still heard on a regular basis. I'm not sure how much of what he said he learned in the Army was actually learned IN the Army or if it was learned through experience and being a NC State Highway Patrolman, but that phrase usually meant that I was either gonna learn something important or it was the beginning of an awesome story. Daddy taught us all how to swim by throwing us in the shallow end of the pool and said "swim". Of course, he was right there beside us, but we did swim. He attempted to teach us how to dive by standing in the pool, holding our ankles while we stood on the side and said "now jump." Needless to say, it didn't work, but it was fun anyway. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFKKwtHIBHAkXeqbS4JvIBVYUXS7elIyPROQ7eD6b8WNP5dYY1xznvnp5XGzO11iMPiM-tDIqWJVy-HBTQDAfwGgp_s8cUaw7HmeXXCmVHeXfpt9hql6TqFHX7INtg6KCreypaPSFr1o/s1600/fathers+daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFKKwtHIBHAkXeqbS4JvIBVYUXS7elIyPROQ7eD6b8WNP5dYY1xznvnp5XGzO11iMPiM-tDIqWJVy-HBTQDAfwGgp_s8cUaw7HmeXXCmVHeXfpt9hql6TqFHX7INtg6KCreypaPSFr1o/s320/fathers+daughter.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am my father's daughter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Some of my most treasured childhood memories are laying in the back of the truck while Daddy drove back from the lake. I actually got to relive that memory when the family went to the beach for Daddy's 65th birthday a few weeks ago. It was so fantastic to spend an entire weekend with Daddy and the rest of the family. It has been many years since I've done that and H has never done that. I'm not sure who had more fun fishin' - Daddy, my brother, my niece or H......<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbpBgDAD3UOVZacuOoyzkDJKYeUNPSLMB4iEJv0VgZWwc4FRITF1jJlmXN4oAt9584IJRkGJVHKDgxkTvDVWPnFQDnuyqMFf5xt5icfE2ZteAT0Y7IXBOM0zHcjIVFwVXPOTVol46ow9w/s1600/dad+and+me+042414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbpBgDAD3UOVZacuOoyzkDJKYeUNPSLMB4iEJv0VgZWwc4FRITF1jJlmXN4oAt9584IJRkGJVHKDgxkTvDVWPnFQDnuyqMFf5xt5icfE2ZteAT0Y7IXBOM0zHcjIVFwVXPOTVol46ow9w/s320/dad+and+me+042414.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad and me on his 80th <br />birthday (4.24.14)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One of the things that Dad taught me was to beware of those indelible mistakes. He wrote a letter to me when I was in Brazil my senior year of high school reminding me of how much he loved me and to be cautious of those mistakes that I can't take back. This still sticks with me even as an adult. He always said that complaining about something or life not being fair was just kinda useless. He would say "what's this 'fair' shit? Nobody ever said anything was going to be fair." He also taught me the importance of the words "just do it." This could mean a multitude of things but the essence always seemed to be to stop complaining and get on with whatever "it" was that day. The last thing (literally the last thing - it was just before he went into the nursing home) that Dad taught me was that if I pulled a practical joke on Mommie (the kitchen sink spray nozzle was rubber banded down and she didn't know it and sprayed herself while attempting to wash her hands), I was on my own with that. But I could sit beside him since Mommie was less likely to get back at me if I was with him. Dad has Alzheimer's and lives in a nursing home now. The last time I saw him, he told me that he was a good secret keeper because "I have Alzheimer's so I'm just going to forget it anyway." <br />
<br />
Happy Father's Day to both of my beloved dads. Without them and their influences - and that of my mothers (Mommie and Lisa), I would not be the woman I am today. <br />
<br />
I love you Daddy and Dad!!!!Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-8018418380007253292015-06-15T19:29:00.000-07:002015-06-20T22:07:33.215-07:00Saturn is 1!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2K2ng_B3ef0b9iyljgXYVwIkl24ZmbymKEGXmvYXTnnqBf0FWWI6jHkLhAMWK3ouDtSqFVZzC5bruDkVM9UA_Kl_O_AlS1dR38sRcBk8NvuQNP2gOVxRTKnJ1DPIoorGQ9ZKVkEdcXDk/s1600/IMG_1776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2K2ng_B3ef0b9iyljgXYVwIkl24ZmbymKEGXmvYXTnnqBf0FWWI6jHkLhAMWK3ouDtSqFVZzC5bruDkVM9UA_Kl_O_AlS1dR38sRcBk8NvuQNP2gOVxRTKnJ1DPIoorGQ9ZKVkEdcXDk/s320/IMG_1776.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Mama, there's a fly in the house"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Saturn turned 1 on May 28. She's much smaller than the other 3 and weighs in at a hefty 7.5 pounds. She's very feisty and is almost as chatty as Sniper. I thought Georgie ran a lot when he was teeny, but that's NOTHING compared to Saturn. I swear, all the cat does is run. She's either chasing the other 3 or she's running for her life from chasing the other 3. She also likes trying to get in the dryer and the washing machine. There is no counter that is safe, even though she's not big enough to counter surf with her teeny paws. She also tries to trip me when I come inside by flopping over on her back right in front of the door.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QNns_GQXXJhomGTqAPNiuLXQWKMebcoVlR2UUlezfLbBrjnZIKqSKO14V5DBozcBoSI96KPBtDGvuZ7Fs-Pp6cFvEL77CSQsEfTQSIrdYt3jJa-pLB3VNw9jNJxgRR9sga1Dkzn5wA4/s1600/IMG_1732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QNns_GQXXJhomGTqAPNiuLXQWKMebcoVlR2UUlezfLbBrjnZIKqSKO14V5DBozcBoSI96KPBtDGvuZ7Fs-Pp6cFvEL77CSQsEfTQSIrdYt3jJa-pLB3VNw9jNJxgRR9sga1Dkzn5wA4/s320/IMG_1732.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"If you can do it, so can I"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
She and Georgie have come to an understanding. Saturn chases Georgie and then Georgie bites her. Harper just kinda lets Saturn run all over her until she's had enough of the kitten shenanigans. Then she swats Saturn upside the head, Saturn yells and runs off. Sniper seems to tolerate her the best and tries teaching her manners. They actually play together a lot. "Playing" really means that Saturn attempts to attack Sniper, fails, turns a flip, bunny kicks Sniper in the jaw and Sniper tries to put Saturn's whole head in his mouth. There is usually some hissing and meowing involved, but since it's not typically serious, I don't always intervene. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafkMjK_WxcU3mx3Q5C4Htl0DC7vMfHWY7QVL2wCQVopOinvEX6ytgI0F97VZUjVVGNM9r6J5jqJyyXJMN9S0UJVXPHD8yweNC0qXWpnyjEB2Gves5cdiaDBOvgBiJsrKCxFKr7ysdXsY/s1600/IMG_1878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafkMjK_WxcU3mx3Q5C4Htl0DC7vMfHWY7QVL2wCQVopOinvEX6ytgI0F97VZUjVVGNM9r6J5jqJyyXJMN9S0UJVXPHD8yweNC0qXWpnyjEB2Gves5cdiaDBOvgBiJsrKCxFKr7ysdXsY/s200/IMG_1878.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">super comfy on H's lap</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Saturn LOVES her human brother. She sleeps with him in his chair and helps him play video games. H has taught her how to run up the ladder to his loft bed. He's working on teaching her how to get down without looking like a wounded gazelle jumping over a fence in the process. It's not going too well, but they try. I think she would stay in H's room or with him all the time if he kept a little bowl of kibble on his desk....<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGffmOyDxTUZfExD0GrrN9j-Oft-E6FeIPWUkg7QonfVTWHHFxiAFWU0k35SbYlyP54EHwZGhhTwCwJFXele8sOxpLzUUCGlf8qlhKxWxibdIY436Gh1-YtFWh8fRWtZxUYizhtqepF00/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGffmOyDxTUZfExD0GrrN9j-Oft-E6FeIPWUkg7QonfVTWHHFxiAFWU0k35SbYlyP54EHwZGhhTwCwJFXele8sOxpLzUUCGlf8qlhKxWxibdIY436Gh1-YtFWh8fRWtZxUYizhtqepF00/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">little pillow thief</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiok2oiRHqdF79_X44sLQYyiz2s5ypMqYdofc7QzuO9P5yHbYTbMJqOxdzYadzCuKPZqikiF0LxX2PpoKXVQyfkYkwCIdaeD_rixtE0SwD23-Uo5sm5JQscx2jiHF3_xtvTmMS3ss6i9Oo/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiok2oiRHqdF79_X44sLQYyiz2s5ypMqYdofc7QzuO9P5yHbYTbMJqOxdzYadzCuKPZqikiF0LxX2PpoKXVQyfkYkwCIdaeD_rixtE0SwD23-Uo5sm5JQscx2jiHF3_xtvTmMS3ss6i9Oo/s320/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">happy babies on Mama's bed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was worried that they wouldn't get along or there would be trouble when I brought Saturn home. They've settled in very well and now take up a little more than half of my bed. Even though I don't usually let them lay on my pillows, Saturn has stolen the pillow that is right beside my head and will swat at anybody who DARES to lay on her pillow. And yes, that includes me sometimes. That's when I have to remind her that I am the only one that can open the cans of wet food.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutV7IJJ6UxE8VY1zBfIsfrVtjM3sQGKUJ0_ZY00w6aiIllqPvbXrnWyFrho3afye5bjKqFADFj7VhDpR8Xfh1zYh-oJSNvV732ENTffrwn53k-MXU_0Nlp3jM6HfIAzQhUggzlyEj0mg/s1600/IMG_1802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutV7IJJ6UxE8VY1zBfIsfrVtjM3sQGKUJ0_ZY00w6aiIllqPvbXrnWyFrho3afye5bjKqFADFj7VhDpR8Xfh1zYh-oJSNvV732ENTffrwn53k-MXU_0Nlp3jM6HfIAzQhUggzlyEj0mg/s320/IMG_1802.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">she does a fabulous rug impression</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Happy 1st birthday, Saturn!!! You run a lot, jump up the walls, practice kitten wall bouncing and like to hide behind the blinds (except it doesn't count as hiding if I can see you). You have become very adept at playing "ooh what's under the covers" at night. You make your Mama and human brother laugh all the time and you have made us very happy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-78850998959588871612014-12-08T16:16:00.001-08:002015-06-20T22:07:33.212-07:00Christmas list for the cats<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
The cats have their own ideas about what they would like for Christmas. </div>
<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
Saturn would like a baby hedgehog to play with but Mama said no. The other 3 would like the same or a live mouse but Mama said no. Sniper tried to argue with me that he wouldn't hurt it. He just wants to carry it around in his mouth. Mama still said no. </div>
<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
After some grumbling and complaining and Saturn running for her life, they decided that they would like a new wand toy. Georgie ate their other one. And the one before that. And H's earbuds. And the last roll of toilet paper. Again...</div>
<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
They would also like a laser pointer because Mama lost the last one. And some new crinkly balls. </div>
<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
Oh and Harper would like to eat more without turning into more of an egg on legs. Mama said no. </div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-51043719803060872822014-12-02T12:05:00.001-08:002015-06-20T22:07:33.208-07:00And then there were 4....I've officially become a cat lady. I'm single, 40, and now have 4 cats. Yes, I have 4 cats.... I think I might be losing it a little because I started to miss having a kitten since Georgie is now 2 and not as BAD as he used to be. Since I'm not likely to be having anymore babies (human ones), H and I went to the Wake County shelter in July to just LOOK at the kittens. I should have known better than to even go. Especially since the shelter had waived all adoption fees for cats and kittens that weekend. And they included a voucher for the first vet visit. With my vet. Sigh..... <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RVLEPxrrlpmkkdMeiB547u2Xdw7dpX31OnSqcJ9tSwGCDJyCEaPFVo5O50H_1mMnGvu8WI_CYfVKIXO_1ZLCe9zEjob5d6ZRV9X9XuHFHXbD3Atel4x_Tg_bJETqNTej-fSRMPj1pbg/s1600/Saturn+072614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RVLEPxrrlpmkkdMeiB547u2Xdw7dpX31OnSqcJ9tSwGCDJyCEaPFVo5O50H_1mMnGvu8WI_CYfVKIXO_1ZLCe9zEjob5d6ZRV9X9XuHFHXbD3Atel4x_Tg_bJETqNTej-fSRMPj1pbg/s1600/Saturn+072614.JPG" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
We fell in love with this scrappy little grey and white female. She was 8 weeks old and a Russian Blue mix. I didn't really want another male since then I would really be outnumbered. I also figured that Georgie would have a problem accepting another male being a bottle fed baby. That and he likes to think that he's in charge of the whole operation. Sniper puts him in his place often. ANYWAY.... <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
H and I discussed names on the way to the shelter.<br />
<br />
Me: "what about Annabelle?"<br />
H: "no"<br />
Me: "um, Jezebel?"<br />
H: (eye roll)<br />
Me: "well you come up with a name"<br />
H (as a Saturn something or other drives past): "Saturn?"<br />
Me: "Seriously? Saturn?"<br />
H: "Yeah I like Saturn. Plus she's gonna run fast."<br />
Me: "OK. I'm just glad you didn't see a Dodge or a Toyota"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5I5KQV2T2kcZHOuN_2QH3pMLfNGrjGXg0p9SrgyBeGB_ApvvofFp86ulK3JzBVFXrVZ7ftXwRp7EgQDyOQzrNocmLGBFRo1XilAf4gNuYE6EWl-C6jRx9ikkgjS0JJPfWkM18a2bXzb8/s1600/Saturn+082114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5I5KQV2T2kcZHOuN_2QH3pMLfNGrjGXg0p9SrgyBeGB_ApvvofFp86ulK3JzBVFXrVZ7ftXwRp7EgQDyOQzrNocmLGBFRo1XilAf4gNuYE6EWl-C6jRx9ikkgjS0JJPfWkM18a2bXzb8/s1600/Saturn+082114.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
So, we named her Saturn Annabelle. I was insistent on the Annabelle. She just looks like an Annabelle to me. She's is fitting into the family quite well. All she does is eat, run for her life, attack the other 3 cats - all of whom are at least twice her size - and occasionally sleep. She likes to curl up under my chin in the middle of the night when she's cold, but then gets irritated if I accidentally lay my head on her. Sniper adores her, Harper tolerates her and Georgie is still waiting to see if she's gonna go away. He doesn't quite get that Mama can love another cat. Well, at least not another cat that wasn't already there when he got there. H absolutely adores her and she seems to love him - for now anyway. She likes to curl up in his lap and help him play on the computer. She's almost convinced that her name is "DAMMIT, GET THE HELL OUT OF THE DRYER!!!!"<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwoqbhyphenhyphenJgN0U-gS0R_BsTQ8Ezz8W_vWomfZad1LlUpMW4Wmy4q9sp012IqAJURnnBlVSFbRtes3UW5CLzasb4DN0W6IMJPbs3u7COx9Fb2ZjD9oxQk7MhS1OdhYO_tPU0Ont7Vxdcmzo/s1600/4+cats+111614.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwoqbhyphenhyphenJgN0U-gS0R_BsTQ8Ezz8W_vWomfZad1LlUpMW4Wmy4q9sp012IqAJURnnBlVSFbRtes3UW5CLzasb4DN0W6IMJPbs3u7COx9Fb2ZjD9oxQk7MhS1OdhYO_tPU0Ont7Vxdcmzo/s1600/4+cats+111614.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sniper (4), Harper (3), Saturn (6 months) and Georgie (2)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now I have stair steps for cats - 4 years, 3 years, 2 years and 6 months. I swear I'm done now. I don't think my queen size bed can hold another cat plus me. Besides, my apartment is only 1100 square feet and I can't afford a bigger one....Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-28448922661719547952014-08-25T09:15:00.000-07:002015-06-20T22:07:33.205-07:00Sniper's 4th birthday<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhK6aMkVQQrVDEw325iHVJB3FHcU6W-_OwLI8CcOQfopnX5M2pfZFx6g4jBfsDTp6WTc1Xr5jcZMLO4RrPMukcvTl4NeIxHS7MVmMLFJRuBXqQLMSV9zKaSONUOkq8ZvSAFGQzrE0rLeQ/s1600/Sniper+face+122710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhK6aMkVQQrVDEw325iHVJB3FHcU6W-_OwLI8CcOQfopnX5M2pfZFx6g4jBfsDTp6WTc1Xr5jcZMLO4RrPMukcvTl4NeIxHS7MVmMLFJRuBXqQLMSV9zKaSONUOkq8ZvSAFGQzrE0rLeQ/s1600/Sniper+face+122710.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sniper, age 17 weeks on the day he came home to Mama</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Today, Sniper turns 4. He came home to me after my ex and I split up. As the resident old man in this crazy group of 4 cats and 2 humans, he has seen a ton of changes in the last (almost) 4 years. He started out super whiny and he's just kinda gotten worse as he's gotten older. <br />
<br />
Sniper is crazy attached to me. He follows me around like a dog and, well, I've kinda trained him like a dog. Since he's most likely a Maine Coon mix, I figured that he was gonna be a big cat and needed to learn some manners. So in addition to his name (which he knows so well that he'll look at the TV if he hears it), I taught him how to sit, stay, wait, up, around, come, drop it, leave it, bring it to Mama, get out of my room, out of my kitchen, don't be rude, and the most important one of all, I'M DONE AND DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE. He runs when he hears that one and will meow pitifully from under the table like "I'm sorry Mama" so I'll pet him. Fortunately, he doesn't hear that one too often. Of course, he IS a cat so he will only comply with these commands when HE thinks it's a good idea. Or for food - he'll usually comply for food.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbT84aFYzDX6yZwaocasxWIXXsDnqEaIEfi1dO2b20ZFNfNI_d3w4RHS7QWrleDDALlsqwfpX7qFFravW4oW__YgnSZbjcqMU-hWJ2nwy6QKn-ZY2HoybZgjQ5k5dQw7MZbl85sTGHcZY/s1600/Sniper+snoozing+011011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbT84aFYzDX6yZwaocasxWIXXsDnqEaIEfi1dO2b20ZFNfNI_d3w4RHS7QWrleDDALlsqwfpX7qFFravW4oW__YgnSZbjcqMU-hWJ2nwy6QKn-ZY2HoybZgjQ5k5dQw7MZbl85sTGHcZY/s1600/Sniper+snoozing+011011.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">he still sleeps like this a lot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
He sleeps with me most every night. Well, "with me" meaning that he's on the floor beside the bed under the air conditioning vent. I have yet to find a people food that he won't at least try. He loves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with some milk to go with it. And yes, he does get his own teeny sandwich. I've never known a cat that will eat watermelon and apples, but he will. <br />
<br />
Fortunately, Sniper is very tolerant of all 3 kittens that he's had to be introduced to in the last 3 years. He still kinda hates Georgie, but he's as attached to Harper as he is to me. He's still waiting to see how he feels about Saturn but he really likes chasing her and swatting her feet out from under her so she'll turn flips. <br />
<br />
Happy birthday Sniper! I hope we get a crap ton more years with you. <br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Mama, H, Harper, Georgie and Saturn<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyzr8TRN9xMmdvB9WQ0bX5X3Yi41BeMlzJ6ogaCci5IaNbEmOVE6kCzvyIUg7QPryGZ5OZ4nl6RGxrEBX9jTdW0_z66AAyI2ccKIO7msYsJFM9zuvvaJ90Za_d2kfGMoFRwAmCnyHYPY/s1600/Sniper+060214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyzr8TRN9xMmdvB9WQ0bX5X3Yi41BeMlzJ6ogaCci5IaNbEmOVE6kCzvyIUg7QPryGZ5OZ4nl6RGxrEBX9jTdW0_z66AAyI2ccKIO7msYsJFM9zuvvaJ90Za_d2kfGMoFRwAmCnyHYPY/s1600/Sniper+060214.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-88186132594107510672014-08-24T19:01:00.000-07:002015-06-20T22:07:46.852-07:00First day of schoolSchool starts tomorrow. My son - my little boy - will be a sophomore in high school. A sophomore!!!!! It just doesn't seem possible. I know all parents say this, but it really does seem as if he started kindergarten just yesterday. I can't believe that he is almost 16 and pushing 6 feet! I miss him being that sweet little boy that had only given up his passy 6 months before kindergarten started. So I thought about a timeline of his (so far) 10 years in school:<br />
<br />
Kindergarten: his teacher sent a note home asking us to tell him not to write in cursive because the other kids couldn't read it. He also got sent to the principal's office for the first time.<br />
<br />
1st grade: awful teacher but he met his first real friend, Wesley. They got into lots of trouble together.<br />
<br />
2nd grade: got rezoned into a different school. He stopped saying "cunshtibull" instead of comfortable.<br />
<br />
3rd grade: I finally let him stop riding in the booster seat. He stopped calling me Mommie.<br />
<br />
4th grade: AMAZING teacher. He had a project to explain who he was (favorite book, movie, his hero, etc). The other kids chose a human for their hero. Not my kid. He chose the cat because Bucky licked him one time.<br />
<br />
5th grade: the end of elementary school. Middle school here we come!!<br />
<br />
Middle school was a blur of bad grades, his dad and I splitting up and temper tantrums (from both the kid and from me). I was never more thankful than when he was diagnosed with ADHD and Oppositional Defiance Disorder. I know that sounds weird, but there was finally a reason for his behavior and his grades. He got started on meds in March of his 8th grade year and we have never looked back. High school is looming!!!!!<br />
<br />
9th grade: the change in him was amazing! He started marching band and really found his place. Something that he is good at and loves. His grades turned around and for the first time since 5th grade, he didn't even come close to failing anything.<br />
<br />
Now here we are starting 10th grade. He's continuing in marching band and even starting Latin. I think it's gonna be an awesome year!!<br />
<br />
Good luck buddy!! Mommie loves you!!!!Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-41579575791781592782014-06-24T12:32:00.000-07:002015-06-20T22:08:10.958-07:00Cats are evil<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
My three cats are evil. There's really no other way to put it. I've known that Georgie was bad for a while, but now that I think about it, the other two aren't really all that good either. </div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
Georgie is a destroyer. All toilet paper MUST be put under my bathroom sink or Georgie will decimate it in about 3 minutes (I'm talking the huge, Charmin triple roll here). Paper towels are also fair game if they are left where he can get to them. iPhone charger cables and earbuds are just too tempting and he just can't help but destroy them. I think he's destroyed 4 cables and 10 pairs of earbuds. My iPhone and iPad charge on top of the printer so he can't get to the cables. I don't own earbuds because they don't fit in my ears, but H needs a new pair to replace the eaten pair at least every 8 weeks or so. </div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
Sniper takes great pleasure in knocking everything off my beside table except for the fan so he can sit in front of it and let it blow his fuzz in my face. He also knows how to open drawers and cabinets to get whatever I've taken away from him. He figured out how to open the back door if it isn't locked when he was about 5 months old. I don't really need to buy any toys for him. He will just go in the garbage can and find something in there to play with. He keeps doing this even though I'm certain that he knows it grosses me out. His latest thing is to stand on my stomach and meow in my face at 6:58am - 10 minutes before the alarm goes off - because his food bowl is empty. Then he runs when I start to get up as if saying "that wasn't ME meowing. It was Georgie"</div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
Harper can hear my bedside table drawer open from across the apartment AND in a dead sleep. She will take off in a flat run because she is certain there is something in there that she must have between her teeny little paws immediately. She also has figured out how to open my closet door so she (and the boys who follow her in there) can poke around in there and hopefully find some contraband. If she were brave enough, she would growl at me when I make her get out of there. It's one of two places in the house that they are not allowed to go - the other is Henry's room. Ponytail holders are in danger from her teeny little mouth. She can't resist them. I keep trying to loop one on her tail so she will run in circles to get it, but she doesn't fall for that.</div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
But then they are super sweet and purr and curl up in little cat balls to sleep with Mama every night so I guess I'll keep them. Besides, my queen size bed is much too big if they aren't taking up about 80% of it. </div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgrwBW7Rsch9byTdLbVEWDIBFfTFOncnVHlJxAjiGvY-25iJx95FJuORGGibnT6vKPmmJasTUm71yO1qo1ou9l5SRftwywyqnPnuMT04s4507-YwlwNOmHFWyw7UPUfKmOdC1v9a9fGQ/s1600/HarperGeorgieSniper+052614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgrwBW7Rsch9byTdLbVEWDIBFfTFOncnVHlJxAjiGvY-25iJx95FJuORGGibnT6vKPmmJasTUm71yO1qo1ou9l5SRftwywyqnPnuMT04s4507-YwlwNOmHFWyw7UPUfKmOdC1v9a9fGQ/s1600/HarperGeorgieSniper+052614.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harper (back), Georgie (middle) and Sniper (front) on Mama's bed</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-62775461169812787292014-03-05T10:00:00.000-08:002015-06-20T22:08:10.961-07:00Georgie turns 2I can't believe that Georgie is 2 today. He was just 2.5 weeks old when my wonderful stepmom heard him squeaking in her front yard under Daddy's old john boat. He was the 3rd kitten this cat mama had abandoned in their front yard. My parents have the two older ones, but with 4 cats and 2 dogs, they just couldn't handle a 5th cat, much less one that was so incredibly young and dependent. Lisa waited about 24 hours after she heard him squeaking to make sure that mama cat wasn't just out scrounging around for food before she texted me "do you want another cat? I found a little teeny orange baby."<br />
<br />
Harper was not quite a year old and Sniper was just 18 months old and I had a full time job plus a teenage boy. I wasn't sure if I was able to take care of such a young kitten, but I went over to their house to see "her". We were convinced that Georgie was a girl at the time and her name was to be Claire.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_53UYpbXa-sYwNd0Y5HBv4hKVRr3ERvVIEe4ofDXtdc33j51H2cCTa-6ks2AdP3aLvNY8YoS5COrQE4Qr2o_FbQwxBJXC5cZbZIJvR0AmZqPgFTzWxnpydTZYkifxvqhAf-1j4fX7A5w/s1600/Georgie+032612.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_53UYpbXa-sYwNd0Y5HBv4hKVRr3ERvVIEe4ofDXtdc33j51H2cCTa-6ks2AdP3aLvNY8YoS5COrQE4Qr2o_FbQwxBJXC5cZbZIJvR0AmZqPgFTzWxnpydTZYkifxvqhAf-1j4fX7A5w/s1600/Georgie+032612.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the day I brought Georgie home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I fell in love with this feisty, tiny, squeaky little orange baby. He was so young that his ears didn't stand up all the way yet and his eyes had only been only for about 6 days. He had already lost his umbilical cord, but he was unable to eat on his own or even pee or poop on his own. My stepmom showed me how to make kitten formula and how to feed the kitten with the bottle. She also told me that I had to burp the kitten about halfway through the bottle, just like I did for "H" when he was a baby. She also informed me that I had to wipe his little butt to make him go potty after he was done with the bottle. Oh dear lord, what have I gotten myself into????<br />
<br />
I brought him home in the baby kitten carrier talking to him the whole time. He didn't seem too impressed with my words or with my singing abilities. He got bored and went to sleep. After I got home, Sniper and Harper both knew something was up and there was some sort of creature in the carrier. Harper stuck her little black nose in the air and went straight to my room and curled up on the bed. Sniper was interested, but he just meowed and wrapped himself around my legs so I would fill up his food dish.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMj1pmi_89DT4AL7mJVQ1xgxzbp06Vn3JVPoEnVpT5IokMUBY2uqvPzBfafdrocA9r-b9FC-jznHIAc6L-8b1iYGMWNZF9gftpEu9RWrAjEF5Zj94jzCndsbpovzt8TcrBI3lgnWlNA4/s1600/Georgie+bottle+032912.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMj1pmi_89DT4AL7mJVQ1xgxzbp06Vn3JVPoEnVpT5IokMUBY2uqvPzBfafdrocA9r-b9FC-jznHIAc6L-8b1iYGMWNZF9gftpEu9RWrAjEF5Zj94jzCndsbpovzt8TcrBI3lgnWlNA4/s1600/Georgie+bottle+032912.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">holding the bottle and winking</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As soon as I got home, the kitten started squealing again to be fed. I warmed up a bottle and got him out of the carrier. Harper hissed and ran. Sniper ignored both of us. As I fed the kitten, his little ears wiggled back and forth after he finally figured out that the bottle was a good thing and not something to be fought or attacked.<br />
<br />
I quickly figured out that the kitten did NOT like laying on his tummy to take a bottle. He preferred to be held with his back against my chest so he could hold (or attack, depending on your point of view) the bottle. After he ate and burped stinky kitten milk burps and peed and pooped, he wouldn't settle down unless I wrapped him up like a kitten burrito. I could then gently (!) sway him back and forth and he would go to sleep for 2-4 hours. This went on for 7.5 LONG weeks until he was weaned at 9 weeks old.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgEjRnVGJYOkN1RXn4q60LuL8pgNVKcanOJO4ZuncWazwcadngjK0u8HZ8OnqTRUlOhA_fIuoyPChLkvRg6N3gZORujLtaycZnmbtBkF3fKFTaQgJTCEOltRJIiNHIQeDjEA_NfwaKqko/s1600/Georgie+burrito+040412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgEjRnVGJYOkN1RXn4q60LuL8pgNVKcanOJO4ZuncWazwcadngjK0u8HZ8OnqTRUlOhA_fIuoyPChLkvRg6N3gZORujLtaycZnmbtBkF3fKFTaQgJTCEOltRJIiNHIQeDjEA_NfwaKqko/s1600/Georgie+burrito+040412.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">he really loved his burrito </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I had never known a kitten that loved being swaddled almost like a human baby. My own human baby hated it!! This little guy went everywhere except work with me. He had to be fed every 3 hours with a longer stretch of 6 hours at night. He didn't know how to walk so watching him learn to walk was hysterical. The first time he ran, he actually ran backwards. Harper was terrified of him until he was about 12 weeks old. Sniper still isn't quite sure that he likes him, but I think he's accepted that he isn't going anywhere.<br />
<br />
I took him to the vet 4 days after I brought him home. The vet assured me that the kitten I thought was a little girl was actually a very healthy, 9 ounce little boy kitten. His name was changed from Claire (and other names that I thought of but didn't stick) to Georgie. He is a total rascal and as my sister says, "Jeez, your cat is BAD!" He got put in time out more than H did. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9MrlbPMj7hG85mdI6R5jvkHFXyVthVqgEJVBet_9q5D6CYYFUwuMdV0p53JhvpaY4xzTduSAXMdY4TE0wfK20i8RwcLcVOyIG3LsxbJ56Z5CA1AquU7aXFtHo5qVdelEyOdnX5JAvslA/s1600/Georgie+021214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9MrlbPMj7hG85mdI6R5jvkHFXyVthVqgEJVBet_9q5D6CYYFUwuMdV0p53JhvpaY4xzTduSAXMdY4TE0wfK20i8RwcLcVOyIG3LsxbJ56Z5CA1AquU7aXFtHo5qVdelEyOdnX5JAvslA/s1600/Georgie+021214.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Georgie, age 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That 9 ounce, helpless kitten is now 2 years old and weighs about 13 pounds. He loves his Mama and his feline sister. He wants to love his feline brother, but he's not real sure about his human brother. He is bitey, but the vet says that's common with bottle fed kittens. He sleeps with me every night curled up in a Georgie-ball at the foot of my bed. He's been on every surface in the apartment. He's terrified of outside and the vacuum cleaner but doesn't mind water. He sits on the edge of the tub to keep me from getting lonely in the shower. He is still super playful and I have to remind him daily that the phrase "climbing the walls" isn't to be taken literally. He doesn't know many tricks (unlike the other 2), but he does know his name and knows I mean business when I yell "I'm DONE - GET OUT OF MY ROOM!"Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-63470541224552347842014-03-04T12:09:00.002-08:002015-06-20T22:08:40.588-07:00Happy birthday Granny!Today would have been my Granny's 95th birthday. She was my mom's mama. I have such fantastic memories of Granny. I spent 4 summers with her growing up. She used to "sneak" us coffee-milk when she thought Mom wouldn't know. Coffee-milk is milk with enough black coffee in it to make it turn colors. We would have toast and coffee-milk for breakfast every morning and have devotion. There was something so comforting about listening to Granny read from the tiny devotional book and the Bible every morning. She was the best Christian I've ever known, but she had the most wicked sense of humor. I like to think I got my sense of humor from her. When we would get in her way when she was cleaning on Saturday mornings (she wouldn't let us help), she would put the bar chairs in the living room and turn on either cartoons, wrestling, Grizzly Adams or Tarzan to keep us out of her hair until she was done. <br />
<br />
Granny had 2 gardens in the summers. I miss shucking corn on the front porch and snapping beans in front of Guiding Light. I miss listening to her singing to babies while she rocked them to sleep. I miss the gentle way she woke all of us up with a quiet voice and a gentle back rub until we were awake.... Her Sloppy Chocolate Cake and her fried chicken and sweet tea.... The way she would cut her beautiful green eyes at someone who had irritated her.... Going to church or to Angier or to Belk's in Fuquay.... The way she would get frustrated if she forgot her grocery list ("Well, I can't go to the grocery store if I don't have my memorandum" The memorandum was always written on the back of an envelope).... The way she would ooh and aah over every single gift that was given to her and would show it off to everyone in the room like it was the one thing she had always wanted but had never gotten..... The way she called credit cards "charge plates" and didn't quite understand why she couldn't write a check at McDonald's.... How she sang "Sal Jones" with such heart and feeling as if it were the most popular song in the world even though nobody but the family knows the song and there are only 2 words in the song. Most of all, I miss her voice and the way she hugged us and the devoted, unabashed and unconditional way she loved us all. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRxHzYLgl00hKIHjhE_sv86XJhN-b5Gcs6gyF5UlKeril2giRQMz5j_59HmTZPKZ_uwy0OgApm25vMExIhEB-OnBgBMaF6yEeTiwaNyMEqLHXBzOTTHRYmLvAHtThut4y22UiLgL3mgI/s1600/Henry+and+Granny+120298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRxHzYLgl00hKIHjhE_sv86XJhN-b5Gcs6gyF5UlKeril2giRQMz5j_59HmTZPKZ_uwy0OgApm25vMExIhEB-OnBgBMaF6yEeTiwaNyMEqLHXBzOTTHRYmLvAHtThut4y22UiLgL3mgI/s1600/Henry+and+Granny+120298.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">H and Granny - H was 2 days old</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Granny died at home on August 15, 2002. I was with her when she died along with most of my immediate family. H was almost 4. He doesn't really remember her. I think his "memories" are just the stories that she told us that we are now passing down to the next generation. It breaks my heart that he doesn't remember the woman that went by Kit, Miss Kate, Granny, Mama, Mother and GG. <br />
<br />
Happy 95th birthday Helen Kate Dove Smith! I love you!!!!<br />
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-9001535623729411922014-02-27T13:44:00.000-08:002015-06-20T22:08:40.591-07:00The BIG 4-0Oh lord - my 40th birthday is in 10 days. 10 days!!!!!!! How the hell did I get old enough to be 40 and have a kid that will be taking driver's ed soon??? My mom is throwing a birthday party for me. I came up with the guest list and originally there were 60+ people on there. I didn't know I really knew 60+ people well enough to want them to celebrate my birthday with me, but then I realized most of them were family. This will be the first birthday party I've had since I was 10 and had a slumber party with a couple of girls from school and my sister helped us dress up at punk rockers. Think hair like Boy George in 1984..... <br />
<br />
I can't wait for my party...... I wonder if Mom will get party hats and balloons????<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPtlv90RfelIZY-62eyYWgIyQLHW-Ytdd-sJOQVLBjloiX1rJDn6TwULjHQQJ7_I7Akww9BgxVkoIXtPajoAhpJGvqcAZiVYOXmDpLII1hhiyCa70pgMqmPEs6oowE1AWPjzFvQrojGE/s1600/fennec+fox.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPtlv90RfelIZY-62eyYWgIyQLHW-Ytdd-sJOQVLBjloiX1rJDn6TwULjHQQJ7_I7Akww9BgxVkoIXtPajoAhpJGvqcAZiVYOXmDpLII1hhiyCa70pgMqmPEs6oowE1AWPjzFvQrojGE/s1600/fennec+fox.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I really want a fennec fox for my birthday</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-3176769783528442952013-11-14T13:23:00.000-08:002013-11-14T13:23:11.174-08:00Ahhhh...teenager memory.....My son, "H", had an English paper to write and was supposed to be working on it all this week AND turn it in yesterday since he will be at a marching band competition the rest of the week (YIPPEE, Mama gets the weekend off!!!!!). He had done absolutely nothing on the paper. Thank God his teacher is super awesome and called his dad to let him know. The assignment was to write a personal narrative about a foolish decision that he had made in the past. He started on it at his dad's house, there was some yelling and tears and snot and shouts of "I GIVE UP", so I went to get him and played referee for a few minutes (think "both of you to opposite corners"). After H and I got home and he annoyed the cats for a minute, this is the conversation between us (the Readers' Digest version)......<br />
<br />
Me: "Honey, you need to start writing"<br />
<br />
H: "I don't know what to write about"<br />
<br />
Me: "You can't think of anything???"<br />
<br />
H: "No, I'm trying to write about my bike accident, but I don't really remember it."<br />
<br />
Me: "OK, well, I can help you with what happened and everything"<br />
<br />
H: (getting seriously exasperated) "But I'm not going to write about YOUR memory. It's supposed to be MY memory."<br />
<br />
Me: (big sigh) "OK, since you don't remember anything, why don't you write about another foolish decision?"<br />
<br />
H: (quite innocently) "I can't think of a bad decision or a foolish one that I've ever made"<br />
<br />
Me: "REALLY?!??!?!?!?! You've made it to almost 15 years and have NEVER made a bad decision"<br />
<br />
H: "Not that I can think of"<br />
<br />
After laughing at that statement, and giving a couple of very good suggestions that came to mind in about 3 seconds, he finally settled on a subject and began writing. There MAY have been some tears involved (his) and some yelling (me), but his paper got written and turned in on time. Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843285413075375279.post-72523926269792405532013-11-12T10:56:00.001-08:002013-11-12T10:56:48.179-08:00Oh dear lord....<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2O0M25xsf6CGclRHDTmhhtIZwp1IzqK51yB_bCdPFOmkeoDT1vEYgNDopMjgxcahLUu17flUTiuzJip1FUJgYQ79pvRfISKIhj4A638eOULwV9GmpEmvRU3Iy3n0N5gbdHz3wclohRI/s1600/Georgie+1+year+lounging+030513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2O0M25xsf6CGclRHDTmhhtIZwp1IzqK51yB_bCdPFOmkeoDT1vEYgNDopMjgxcahLUu17flUTiuzJip1FUJgYQ79pvRfISKIhj4A638eOULwV9GmpEmvRU3Iy3n0N5gbdHz3wclohRI/s320/Georgie+1+year+lounging+030513.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Georgie relaxing on Mama's bed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
OK - I don't really know what I was thinking about starting a blog, but I came up with the name of it so I'm just kinda going with it. The "Georgie" from the title is the youngest of my three cats. I rescued him in March 2012 when he was 2.5 weeks old. I question his intelligence on a daily basis. I don't actually let him drink tequila. He took a little nip out of my margarita one night when he was little. He leaves my tequila alone now..... <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My mom has been after me to start writing for a couple of years now so I thought I'd give it a try. I don't know if I'll write every day or not, nor do I know what exactly I'll write about. But it will probably be mostly childhood memories or stories about my son or the three cats or maybe a combination of all of the above. Or I could just vent about the stupid crap I see or hear on a daily basis. I'm almost positive there will be some cursing involved and probably some questionably inappropriate comments, but we'll see what happens....Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08399872840660547071noreply@blogger.com0