first baby

Zuki's not doing well.  He is my guy, my friend, my feline.  I got him nearly 12 years ago after he was dumped at a vet's office in Vancouver, Washington where I was living and teaching.  One of the parents of my kids worked at the office and happened to mention it, and I was wanting a pet, though knew it might be a sketchy decision with my kind of wanderlust.  His full name is Godzuki, named by the son of a man I dated.  The seven year old was obsessed with Godzilla at the time, but of course that wasn't gonna fly.  "How about Godzuki?  That's Godzilla's son's name."  Godzuki.  Zuki.  I liked it.

Zuki and I lived in two different apartments in Washington.  When I moved back to New York, my brother flew out to take the cross country trip with Zuki and me.  Zuki has camped in a state forrest in Idaho, Montana, driven by the geysers of Yellowstone, and crossed the Badlands.  He met my college roommate in Minnesota, and my cousin in Michigan.  He didn't like all that traveling, but as my little dude, he had to get used to it.

For a year we lived with my dad in New York.  My dad was not a cat person, but Zuki is a man's man and wanted to be buds.  My dad started calling him "Zuki Up My Ass."  My dad would complain, but I caught him working with Zuki snuggled up on his lap many times.

Zuki and I moved to Vermont and lived in two different apartments over the course of the next few years. Then I met my husband, from Massachusetts, and we made a final move here.  He couldn't be happier about his retirement home.  Zuki has had 6 acres to roam around, cool hiding spaces under barns,  and plenty of birds, mice and chipmunks to hunt.  He adjusted well (though it took some time) when we got a golden retriever puppy, Annie.  Though let's be very clear here: Zuki is definitely the boss.


I thought Annie would be the favored pet for Cassidy, but Zuki has been more patient by far.  As a small baby, Zuki would walk right over her to lay on my stomach while I fed Cassidy a bottle.  He is so patient with her screaming and squealing at him, blowing kisses, laying her head on his body for a snuggle, and sometimes he even stretches his nose out to kiss her.  Cassidy is so happy and excited to see Zuki, like every time is the first time she'd ever seen him before.  She is just crazy nuts about him.


He really is the coolest cat ever.  And my heart is breaking to see him slowing down.  He's on a daily dose of prednesone for asthma and now has a mysterious ailment to his hind legs so that he walks wobbly and can't jump like he used to.  He's 12.  He's a senior.  We nearly lost him a few years ago after he threw a clot.  After he fully recovered from what most cats don't survive, I think I figured he was immortal.


Cassidy probably won't understand when Zuki finally passes.  Because I am her mother, my heart will break twice.

He's still with us for now and who knows?  It could be a few months, it could be five years.  My vet told me it could be a 9-1-1 anytime.  All I know is that he's been my traveling buddy, my companion and witness to my stories for all of these years.  I wish he could stay forever.

ticks while I'm away

I've been working all day on Sundays; Cassidy stays with her dad.  One time I came home in the late afternoon and found Chris pushing her around in a wheel barrow.  I think it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen.  Another late afternoon (this past weekend) she was splashing around a little kiddie pool I'd bought last year and forgot about, a bright colorful beach umbrella tilted against the sun.  He takes her hiking in the kelty backpack we recently scored at a second hand shop, and she helped him plant potatoes with her little plastic gardening tools (a minor mishap or two when she dug up the potatoes he'd just planted, but she sort of got the idea).  I also tutor in the afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursdays; again, she hangs with dad, and takes her second nap of the day (I wish this would last forever) while he works out in the barn, monitor on the workbench.

Today was the first day I'd left her all day with a babysitter.  Not just one babysitter, but when I found out Chris was going to be late home from work, I got a second sitter to relieve the first one.  Fortunately the bakery is a one minute ride up the street, so I came home for the transition.  My sister in law was with her until 230, then our high schooler came after school for the next two hours.  I came home for the in between with my dirty white apron still on, which might have been a mistake because my heart broke as I tried to make a graceful exit, Cassidy chanting Mama! Mama! Mama!


We were up to our ears in whoopie pies, muffins and cupcakes.  I got home a little after five and I could hear Cassidy was just waking up when I got home, Chris coaxing her out of her stupor.  She didn't sleep long and came downstairs whiny and needy.  We had no idea why she was screaming and complaining, whining and crying but when she went into the living room and pointed at the tv, I was right there with her.  We don't let her watch tv every day, in fact, we don't let her watch much of anything aside from the Old School Sesame Street DVD's I bought for her entertainment as much as my own.  Watching them for the first time my memory was so jarred into childhood I had to call my sister: "Remember that one with the two girls and the dollhouse?  The two little dolls, two little beds, two little spoons, two sleepy heads?  And then the cat came and busted in the dollhouse?  Oh my God, do you remember that?"


So I put on a little Sesame street and sat with her on the couch, though she had no interest in snuggling with me.  She pushed me away like "you think I'm gonna snuggle you now after leaving me all day?"   Ouch.   Still, I sat with my hand draped over her head, and played with her hair.  She let me, after all.


And then an unmistakable bump.  I've felt them on Annie about a thousand times and every time, even with the dog, go into a slight panic and call for Chris.  This time I was no different, and yet it was very different.  "CHRIS!!!! she's got a TICK on her HEAD!!!!"


I jumped up and ran into the bathroom for bacitracin and a tweezer.  Chris came over with a magnifying glass.  "It's too big for a deer tick," my husband said.  "Are you sure?  Are you sure?  Should we save it and have it tested?  Oh my God!"


I hate ticks more than anything, except for maybe leeches.  Ticks on my daughters head?  Nothing I could have done, but I still felt like the worst mother that I wasn't here to flick it off immediately.  Not that I would have, or even could have, prevented anything, anything at all.  


I know I can't be with her every single minute of every single day.  I know I can't protect her from every single thing that comes her way.  I know I can't soothe every hurt, cry and whine.  I know I can't stop the bumps and scrapes and falls. 
But Oh My God, do I want to.

Home Momma

A long time ago imagining a future that included having children, I think I remember myself adamantly saying that I would be a working mother; of course I would be a working mother.  I grew up with working role models; my mother with her nine to five job, my stepmother an executive editor.  Women could do it all.  Of course I would work.


Boy did that change.  I worked with children for nearly twenty years before I had my own (not my plan, but so life goes), and who better to raise my own child than me?  I couldn't even imagine going to work and leaving my baby.  And with the cost of day care, who could afford it anyway when half my paycheck would go to someone else?  By the time I had Cassidy, I didn't give a crap about being some kind of wonder woman.  I wanted to stay home and be mommy, full time.


I don't regret one second of this.  The first months were bliss.  Eat, sleep, lay around a coo; what could be better?  I had time to read books, clean the bathroom, gaze at my daughter  and marvel at her tiny toes and eyelashes.  I was there when she smiled, laughed, and rolled over for the first time.  I was there for tummy time and the bewilderment of her first bite of rice cereal.  I witnessed her rock, crawl, pull herself up, take steps.  I have been the primary one to bathe, feed, change, rock, sing, and play with her.  And it has been awesome.


It's a crime that most women don't have the luxury of this choice, and it's a shame that I had to lose a parent in order to have the option.  It's ironic that what's allowed me to be with my daughter on one income is the small inheritance from my dad.  Having just about exhausted this resource, I'm trickling back into the work force slowly, and, I'll admit it, not unhappily.


Being with Cassidy all the time is a full time job, and not.  I dreaded her walking, thinking that I would have to have an eagle eye on her at all times, but that hasn't been the case.  We are reasonably child proofed, so there are definitely times I leave her in her playroom while I clean the kitchen or straighten the living room or fold laundry, etc.  I peek in at her looking at books, or banging on her drum, or making her stuffed animals kiss one another with an enthusiastic "Buh!"  I'll talk on the phone and she'll toddle around, looking out the windows or squealing at the cat who's sleeping on a chair in the dining room.


My sister in law came over the other day.  I left Cassidy with her for awhile and went out to do some errands.  When I got back, she said "My God, how do you get anything done?" and, "Sorry I left you with such a mess!"  There were books and toys all over the floor of the playroom.  It almost made me feel guilty.  I imagined them, full on playing, the hour and a half I was gone.  I could see the trail of what they'd done - read books, built with blocks, shaken maracas, maybe had a few cheerios (or were those from yesterday?).  I do those things with my daughter, but not constantly.  I do those things with my daughter, but oftentimes she does them herself while I am doing other things, myself.


I'm working part time now, doing several different things.  I wait tables all day on Sundays, I tutor a couple times a week for a couple hours, and I've started baking for a friend with a cafe in her old bakery barn up the street.  I'm usually happy to be out in the world, away from the house, being productive in a way that results in cash in my pocket or a beautiful cupcake (and cash in my pocket).  When I get home, I can't wait to be with Cassidy.  I don't mean I can't wait to put away dishes while she hangs out in her playroom, I mean I can't wait to get in her face and sing silly songs, ask her what sound does a lion make?  a rooster?  a pig? and giggle our heads off.


My husband gets the heroes welcome every day.  As soon as he pulls in the driveway, Cassidy is screaming Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!  like she hasn't seen him in weeks.  They have a photo worthy reunion every single day.  Me?  I'm not gone long enough for her to miss me that much, except for the one day a week I waitress all day.  And when Chris told me that last Sunday at his parents house walking in the fields, for twenty minutes Cassidy yelled "Mama! Mama! Mama!" as if I were going to walk out of the woods at any moment, I couldn't help it; it made me feel pretty good.

if I could save time in a bottle

Yesterday I'd heard over the monitor that Cassidy had woken from her nap, so I went in her room to get her.  
"Hey, cookie!! You ready to get up?"
"No!"
"No?  Are you sure you don't want to go downstairs?"
"No!"
Hm.  This was new.  "Alright, then I'll come back in a few minutes."


I went down the stairs, expecting her to protest, but she didn't.  I dawdled in the kitchen for ten minutes, pondering this new word she's recently discovered.  When I went back upstairs, I found her snuggling in her bed, amusing herself with Teddy Spaghetti and a frog bath toy she's been carrying around.
"Heyyyy!!! You ready for some lunch?  You wanna go downstairs with Mommy?"
"No!"
"No?  Are you SURE?"
She made no move to get up.
I sighed.  "Alright then... I'll leave you to it!"


I'd been dreading this, knowing it was coming.  She's been practicing yes's and no's, nodding and shaking her head, testing them out.  I first noticed a couple weeks ago during our bedtime routine when we talk about what we did that day.  "And then we went to the farm and saw the baby goats, remember?"  I watch the wheels turn and she smiles and nods.  Or, "I think it's time to change that diaper!"  Shaking of the head.  "No! No! No!" ... and that damn game of chasing her around the house to get her pants down and wipe her butt, and the fun of her writhing like it's a game while I try to hold her down.


Oh, where has my baby gone?


I went upstairs a third time.  There she was, content as can be.  "You wanna get up and go downstairs now?"
"No!"
"You don't want to come downstairs and have some lunch?  Then you can have a bub?"


That was it.  The bub did it.  My husband's word for bottle.  Her eyes lit and she pulled herself up for me to get her.


Though I did have some grief understanding the change that's coming, I also had a spark of pride when I left the room that first time, and secretly celebrated her growing independence and self construction.


There are worse ways to encounter "no," and believe me, I know they're coming.  And so departs the spirit of my ever agreeable, easily re-directed, sweet little baby girl.  Here come the no's and the tests and the need for firm limits and boundaries.  


Welcome the spirit of my independent, ever growing, funny little girl.  Sorry in advance for all the times I piss you off for not getting what you want.  And I forgive you in advance for your wailing and tantrums.


Somehow I feel like raising my fist and yelling out, "Let the games begin!"
Phew.

food

I'm sensing a shift in food consciousness.  It seems like there are more organic groceries available in mainstream shopping centers, and at least here in the country, many people I know have food shares from local farms and/or get produce and fruit from farmers markets or vegetable stands on the side of the road.  There's a strawberry farm up the mountain from us, aside from the small crop growing in our yard.  There's an apple orchard up the road where every year we gorge on fresh picked apples and blueberries.
I've been frequenting food co-ops and farmers markets for years, and it's good to see, in general, people shopping the parameters of the grocery store, making better choices about what to eat.  

I suppose one of the advantages of living in a rural town is the proximity of the good stuff.  It's a drive, but a few times a month I drive 30 minutes or so first to a phenomenal bakery in an otherwise sleepy town just for their bread.  All organic or locally hulled wheat and spelt, it is so worth the drive.  Just up the road from there is a family owned cow farm that sells their own cheeses, yogurts and milk as well as any cut of grass fed beef from couldn't get any more local cattle. There I sample cheeses, buy locally made yogurt flavored by locally made maple syrup.  I don't have to buy any beef, because we already have a freezer full from our own little bull.


We bought a cow some months ago.  It wasn't a very big one and older than would be considered veal, but we went in on it with our neighbor friend who volunteered to feed it organic corn the last couple months of his otherwise grass fed life.  It grew up just down the road from us.  I deliberately never went to meet it for fear my heart would hurt when it was slaughtered.  Now that it's meat from my freezer, I savor him with gratitude when we have a meal of the Best Beef I Have Ever Tasted.  Not only that, but the cost of him works out to about three dollars a pound.


My husband is upping the ante.  He'd been talking about getting pigs for a long time, despite my protests: But aren't pigs really smart and cool?  What if I love the pigs, how can I eat them?  How can I not get attached to animals living on our land that I am feeding and caring for?
Guess we'll find out the answers.  I reluctantly gave him my blessing, and it seemed like minutes later he had ordered a couple black baby pigs that were born in upstate New York.  They're still too young to leave their mama, but he and the same cow friend are going to pick them up in three weeks, one pig each, that will grow up in a pen out back.


On one hand, I'm really excited.  Cassidy is going to be in her glory with baby pigs to help care for and watch grow.  It will be a great lesson in feed and care, as she watches her father and I feed Hammy and Bacon.  On the other hand... then we'll eat them.  Hmph.  Even though I'll be keeping that in mind for the six months they'll be living here, I'm betting that I'll probably cry when they're on their way to the slaughter farm.  And I'm not sure how I'll explain it to Cassidy, their absence or the freezer suddenly full of pork, though she might not register the difference.


I'm hoping that next will come a few hens.  We'll have all the eggs we could ever want fresh from the back yard, and nobody gets hurt.