One Fantastik Cat

Most cats have appetites conducive to self-feeders. After doubling her body weight in just four weeks, however, we learned that Millie is not one of them. Despite being fed two square meals a day, Millie behaves as if she is on the brink of starvation. It is not uncommon, for example, to open the pantry door and find the feline sitting on the middle shelf, gnawing a hole through a box of graham crackers. It is equally unsurprising to find her curled up inside the kitchen trash can, bloated with frozen peas and cantaloupe rinds. On a near-daily basis, I find remnants of hamburger buns under my bed, punctured bags of pretzels next to the litter box, and hairy sticks of butter lying in the middle of the bathroom floor.

Not surprisingly, Millie struggles with her weight. Every few months, the cat's obesity begins to inhibit her quality of life, plus her breath begins to stink. When this does, my husband takes matters into his own hands and puts the poor cat on a tough love diet. My role in this kitty weight loss plan involves sitting at the kitchen table with a squirt bottle and waiting for the cat to either pry open a kitchen cabinet with her paw, or push a bagged or boxed food item off of a pantry shelf. When she does, that's my cue to fire off a single squirt of water in the direction of her rear end. Usually, this causes the cat to waddle off, unless of course, she is really hungry, in which case she barks out a disgruntled "meow" and continues about her business as if I wasn't there.

Yesterday was the first day of Millie's new diet. A few hours after I broke the sad news to the cat, she came walking into my bedroom soaking wet.
"Who squirted Millie?" I called out.
"I did!" Camber replied. My daughter went on to explain that she caught the cat inside a Costco-sized bag of tortilla chips.
"Next time, let me do the squirting please," I said.
I was drying off the cat with a bath towel when I noticed that the animal smelled citrus fresh.
"Hey Camber," I called out again, "What did you spray Millie with?"

The answer was sitting on my kitchen counter. Next to the water bottle was a spray bottle of Fantastik all-purpose cleaner.

Yellow Card

Camber's kindergarten teacher's discipline system is very simple: if you behave, you get a green card for the day and if you don't, you get a yellow. One can earn a dreaded yellow card by committing any of the following infractions:
* Not listening
* Not cooperating
* Not doing one's work
* Not staying in one's seat

I for one am very glad that I am not in kindergarten because some of these rules are very hard to follow...for some people anyway.

The day that my husband and I knew was coming came earlier than we expected. I knew something was up yesterday when Camber came flying off the school bus and straight into my arms.
"What's wrong?" I asked her.
"I think I know," said Kellen right away.
"Mind your own business," I told him.
"Camber got a yellow card!!!" sang Cortlen.

Camber started to cry.

"It's a good thing that I got a million green cards at preschool today," continued Cortlen.
"Me too," chirped Kellen.
"You don't have green cards at preschool," I reminded the star students, "And I'm not kidding about minding your own business."

I had to wait for the perfect angels--with their zillion green cards between them--to be distracted by a squirrel who was stuck in a storm drain to get the scoop about what happened at school that day. The details are little fuzzy, but from what I can gather, it involved a box of jumbo crayons, some snatching, and two lonely nostrils.

Of course I was not happy about the yellow card, so I made Camber write an apology note to her teacher. I figured that that, plus having to spend the rest of the afternoon being not so tactfully reminded of one's mistake by two heavenly creatures was punishment enough.

First Day of School

I had a dream about how my daughter's first day of kindergarten would go. The bus driver would have to pry her off my leg and drag her onto the vehicle kicking and screaming because she didn't want to leave me. She would be crying hysterically as the bus pulled away, her face plastered against the bus window. I would be so emotionally spent from the experience that I would go home and eat an entire package of slightly stale store-bought cinnamon rolls. As my daughter returned home after a whole 2 1/2 hours at school, she would step off the bus and come running into my arms.

My dream came true, with a few minor exceptions. Camber woke up at the crack of dawn and immediately put on one of her adorable muumuus. To make her outfit extra attractive, she hiked her socks up to mid-calf and applied a temporary tattoo to her left bicep. At 6:30am, she asked "How much longer?" for the first time. By 6:40am, she had asked that question 10 more times. At 8 a.m., I opened the garage door and announced that it was time to walk to the bus stop. Before I could put my shoes on, Camber was half way down the street.
"Wait for me!" I shouted. No response.

At the bus stop, we were joined by three other kindergartners and their families. Everyone was taking pictures. Camber told me to put my camera away. When I refused, she turned her back every time I tried to take a picture.

When the bus pulled up, all of the other moms hugged their kindergartners and began to cry.
"I'm going to miss you Mommy!" wailed the children.
I reached for my kindergartner, but she was running full speed...away from me.
"I want a hug!" I wailed. "Please!"
"I've got stuff to do," said the kindergartner, as she climbed into the bus.
"Good-bye! Good-bye!" I waved as the bus pulled away. The kindergartner jammed her Princess backpack up against the bus window, blocking my view of her tears.

I was waiting, arms outstretched, when the bus returned with my loving child a few hours later.
"What are you doing here?" asked the kindergartner as she stepped off the bus.
"I'm here to meet you!" I responded, ignoring the rudeness.
"Don't come tomorrow," was the reply. "I want to walk home all by myself."

The five going on fifteen year-old then proceeded to march down the street. The trees hurried to move out of her way.

"How did it go?" asked my husband when he came home from work.
"She was pretty much devastated to leave me," I replied. "But with time, I think she'll be okay."