Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Good Day Sunshine!!
I confess - I am a child-skipper. Whenever I'm reading a blog and someone goes off into paragraphs of glee about their kid(s), I skip down, tune out, phase away. My friend Moyra got me hooked on dooce.com and I get a kick out of it and read it every day, but when the author does her monthly letter to her three-year-old daughter? I'm gone.
Don't get me wrong, I love kids. Someone else's kids. I am a kick-ass babysitter, mostly because I (nearly) always tell the truth to kids so long as it won't scar them for life. Kids are quick - they know when you're lying or hiding something and they lose respect if they catch you at it.
Good thing I don't usually get caught.
I'm crazy about Moyra's boys, enjoy hearing about Melissa and Alizia's kids, and am literally tickled purple (I don't do pink) by my cousin Julie's loony threesome. If (when) my sister and Marcy have kids, I'll be the most fabulous aunt you have ever seen. If nothing else, they'll always have music and laughter with me.
I love the Christmas postcards and e-mails I get from far-flung friends with pictures of their kids and updates on their schenanigans so I can keep tabs on what's going where and who's doing what. But I have zero interest in having children of my own and while I understand the all-consuming obsession parents have for them - especially the first one or if there's an only - I'm an eye-roller when it comes to epic odes to their latest poop or hour-long conversations on breast-feeding or artificial insemination or the cuteness of baby clothes (these are examples of ACTUAL CONVERSATIONS I've had the dubious pleasure of sitting on the cusp of.) Oi Vey.
I also never coo.
All of which makes me have to laugh at myself when I go off about my cats. Because I have a double X chromosome, genetics has instill a latent mothering syndrome in my DNA and it rears it's ugly head when it comes to my cats. This may be somewhat of a cliche, but I think I avoid being a punchline by refusing to refer to myself as their mother (I do not give birth to cats - my life may be many things, but it hasn't become an alien movie yet.) And as my sister has one more cat than I - two if you count Feaghan as my mother's cat - she holds the crown as reigning Crazy Cat Lady allowing me to escape that cliche as well.
After yesterday's post, I figured y'all were free of any feline ra-ra-rees for at least another week, but this morning's montage could not be resisted. Every morning the sun rises over the metallic peaks of New York City and shines a bright light directly into my bedroom and kitchen. Usually this is greeted with an ARGH from me, especially if Baxter has knocked aside the super dark shade and curtain in the night, thus allowing the morning sun to shine right onto my face. But this morning's wonderfully Spring weather was a joy and had me repeatedly smacking the snooze button and rolling deeper into my covers as the cool air and tempting sun wafted through the open bedroom window. It all was too much for Hollis who I found fully seduced and rutching around in the window seat in convulsions of pleasure, rollicking in the sunbeams with all the passion of a sun worshipper's unholy devotion. And so I share her with you.
Simple joys, simple pleasures.