Cats and Kittens

I have come to the conclusion that a major difference between men and women has to do with cats and kittens. Women love babies. They love everything about them...the smell, the soft fatty spots, the tiny fingers and toes. We love to kiss them and snuggle them. Men like looking at babies. They will hold them carefully, do the Daddy thing, (we all have that picture of Daddy sleeping on the couch with the baby on his chest). But they really don’t get the parenting thing until the kid starts toddling and can actually play.

My husband was great with the babies. With the third, I worked nights so he was feeding, bathing and reading the nighttime story. And he was good at it. But he really started to shine as a parent when they could toss balls or run around the yard. The kids' favorite game was pretending to run out of the yard towards the street and Daddy would run after them. We thought this was a great game. We never actually let them run into the street and oncoming traffic. Yes, we were great parents.

I’m not saying that I was better with the babies and that he was better with the older kids. We were a team, each stepping in to take over for the other when needed. But as I’ve grown older I sometimes look at these adult children and I really miss the babies. I miss the kisses beneath the ear, the giggles emitted from deep in the belly. I miss blowing on the belly. I miss holding the baby so close that the baby fine hairs tickle my nose as I take in the scent that if it could be bottled would make someone billions.

Maybe it’s because it was easy. Feed, wash, sleep, and again. No major decisions, no, 'where should I go to college,' 'what should I study,' 'who should I date?' No 'what car should I buy,' 'where should I live,' 'how do you get over a broken heart?'

Maybe it’s the one good thing about getting older. You remember the past with rose colored glasses. The struggles of the kitten years are romanticized, as if glancing at the memories through densely placed clouds.

But men seem to shine in the cat years. Perhaps it’s that logical mind compared to the quixotic point of view. Whatever it is, it works.

And maybe that’s why God gave us grandkids, because as we get older we need that infusion of baby powder and innocence. We get the kitten years, but luckily there are others out there that will deal with the cat years!!!

Dogone

So the kids are grown and out on their own. You have the freedom to be having sex anywhere you want and anytime you want, but you notice a noise at the foot of the bed. It’s the dog, the one that your youngest child convinced you to get when the former family pet died. Your daughter was eighteen at the time and heading off to college, but you’d always had a dog and this one was the cutest thing. You get the dog and a year later your baby’s off to college but the dog is still there. Now you have the vet bills and the boarding bills (because you want to travel) and you have to walk, feed, and play with the dog. Don’t get me wrong, we love our dog. In fact if my husband had to choose between the dog and some members of the family (me included) the dog would be the hands down winner.

A year ago when our daughter got her own place, I suggested she take the dog to live with her. After all it was her that wanted the dog initially. You would have thought I had murdered someone. My husband wouldn’t speak to me for days. But I’m the one home with the dog day in and day out. I’m the one that makes all the plans for boarding and grooming and I’m the one the dog hates when he gets a shot or I leave him at the kennel. And, honestly, the dog is kind of neurotic. When we leave him at the kennel, it takes a couple weeks for him to become socialized back into the group. We finally reached an agreement that when we travel one of the kids takes the dog to their home so he isn’t left at the kennel. The way I figure if I travel enough they’ll have him as much as I do. See win, win.

I'm Fifty!

I think there is a freedom that comes with the simple statement “I’m fifty”. I have used it over and over the last year. When I forget something, I excuse myself with, “Well I am over fifty”. When my Mom tries to tell me I shouldn’t drive alone from Florida to Ohio I say, “I’m fifty; I can do what I want”. When the Doctor says I have to work on that last twenty pounds I say, “Get real, I’m over fifty”.

It has become the basis of everything I can or can’t or will or won’t do.

I have to admit at this time of my life there is no period I would go back and relive. No age in my past that calls for me to experience again the moments leading up to this wonderful freedom.
I loved each and every one of those phases of my life, but for the first time I feel the ability to put myself to the forefront. No longer do the scrapes and bruises of crying children come first and foremost. They are adults now, out on their own perusing their dreams. They struggle through the tumultuous adult years that I look back on fondly, but am elated that chapter of my life is over.

But those kids look at me differently now also. Maybe it was because all those years I spent trying to set a good example. Maybe it was that being a parent consumed so much of our time that we couldn’t just be ourselves. When my husband and I travel now, and we do go whenever we get a chance, my kids ask if we might be home soon. “Maybe, maybe not.” They think we’re crazy. Who are these people that took over our parents? The parents, who for all our younger years put a hundred and fifty percent into raising their children. Who took us to every dance class, music class, and sporting event? Who dropped everything for dentist, doctor, orthodontist and speech therapists? Who planned every summer, winter, and school vacation so that the family could spend time together? Where are they? They ask. I’ll tell you. They turned fifty and decided it was time to find the people we lost when we became parents. Again let me reiterate. We loved being parents and all the craziness that includes. But everyone loses just a little of themselves when their lives are consumed with running the lives of others.

So the kids think we’re crazy. They think their father has a strange sense of humor. They don’t realize that it’s hard to be funny when you have to discipline a fourteen year old girl for sneaking out to the beach at two o’clock in the morning. Or a son for skipping school. Or another daughter for trying the old, "I’m staying at a girlfriend’s house" only to have the girl’s mother call to talk to her daughter that’s staying at your house. Hmmmmmm… Were we born yesterday? So yeah, your Dad’s always been funny. And yes, your Mother has always been a bit of a free spirit. These are two of the things that initially attracted them to each other. But those things were gathered up and put into a special chest in the attic. They lay up there just waiting for that magical time when we could pull them out and say, “Ah I remember you.”

So we travel. We go to concerts. We kayak and parasail. We golf, we write, we read. Yes, we work. But that’s different to. We work for us. For the big payoff, retirement. The years ahead where we can relax and enjoy the fruits of our labors. But in the meantime, we’re fifty, so we can have all the fun we want.