Posted in Uncategorized

When it’s time to go

When it’s almost time to go, they’re going to remember you as a kitten. They’ll remember the little pet shop in the building underneath your manager’s office. They’ll remember finding you, a little stripey furball, and how they felt better holding you in the palms of their hands after having just quit their job.

They’ll remember your un-proportionately big ears and your clumsy kitten walk.

They’ll remember how you used to somehow jump on the roof of the house as a kitten, and how they’d panic, trying to get you down.

They’ll remember when you got out of the house and were lost for a week. How they put up signs with your picture on them, and how someone had found you and gave you back.

IMG_4320They’re going to remember that horrible week when you got into some kind of accident, how they nursed you back to health. How they layed with you for hours, stroking your fur, and cleaning up after you. How ultimately, you had to have surgery, but they had it done, so you could come back home.   IMG_4392

When it’s almost time to go, they’ll remember how you always slept at the foot of their bed, every night.

They’ll remember how you loved living in the woods, how you’d watch the critters running around (and sometimes catch them, too!).

When it’s almost time to go, you won’t feel like climbing up onto your favorite perch, and watch the birds pecking at insects. You won’t feel like batting the little plastic seal from the top of the milk jug around the kitchen anymore.

When it’s almost time to go, they’ll say sorry when they poke you with the little needle. Then they’ll scratch your chin really nice, and you’ll feel like purring, forgetting all about how much you hate shots.

They’ll have to prick your ears when it’s almost time to go, and it will hurt. But they will reward you with belly rubs and more treats than you ever got before. You’ll feel poorly, but they’ll get down on the floor and let you snuggle in their lap, even if it means they overcook their dinner.

When it’s almost time to go, you might fall asleep at the foot of the bed, but then change over to the little cushion they put on the floor for you, to make it easier on your tired legs.

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When it’s almost time to go, they’ll buy food for you, and you’ll try to eat it, but you just won’t feel much like eating. You’ll feel really thirsty, and they’ll give you plenty of water, but it will never be enough.

When it’s almost time to go, they’ll go outside with you so you can feel the sun on your fur and the grass on your paws. They won’t feel upset if your come inside with dirty paws.IMG_2681

The birds will squwak and try to scare you away, but you won’t even notice.IMG_2684

They’ll let the little one give you a hug, when they usually don’t let her near you. They’ll tell her to give you as many treats as you would like, too. IMG_2666

When it’s almost time to go, they’re going to try to act normal, but you’ll know something isn’t the same. Your mama will cry more than she usually does, but you won’t realize her tears are for you.IMG_3378

When it’s time, they’ll put you in the car and drive you to the doctor. They’ll tell you you’re a good boy, and that it isn’t fair.

They’ll tell you it’s not your fault. They will tell you they are sorry, and they will cry.

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They will thank you for being their friend.

When it’s time to go.

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Posted in CG, Uncategorized

Not Anyone’s Princess

Baby CG and I are enjoying an easy Sunday morning, watching Disney’s Aladdin on cable, no doubt the effect of dear Robin William’s death last Monday. Well, I am watching Aladdin, and CG is sleeping in her swing. 

I was ten years old when Disney’s Little Mermaid came out, and oh, how I loved Ariel and her undersea adventures. I learned all of her songs and tried to sound just like her. Aladdin was the first movie I watched in theatre more than once. The Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, Pocahontas–it didn’t matter that I was getting older. The magic of the Disney movie didn’t fade for me. I loved the colorful animation and the songs… Never once in my memory do I remember wanting to be a princess. My parents never called me their princess, either. Brat, yes. Princess, no. 

On my first visit to Downtown Disney in 2008, I noticed their little “princess factory” shop, or whatever it is called. A little girl sat in a salon chair near the shop window, waiting as she was transformed into one of the Disney princesses. Her hair was being slicked back into a high bun and sprinkled with glitter. I wondered to myself what that indulgence was costing her parents and thanked the stars that I had a son. I greet numerous princesses at my door every Halloween. It is not difficult to find clothing screen-printed with “princess” across the rear end or the chest. If I wanted, I could have a license plate cover bejeweled and adorned with the word Princess. It seems that everyone wants to be a princess these days.

I cringed when someone commented under one of my daughter’s pictures on Facebook that she was her “daddy’s princess.” I made it clear to my husband before she was born that she would not under any circumstances be referred to as a princess. I let the comment go because my friends don’t know that we don’t have a princess. Yes, she is beautiful. Yes, she is special to us. Yes, she is loved. Adored, even. But she is not our princess. We call her our little lady. We call her our sweetheart. Our sweet, little, cupcake. We never call her a princess. And that’s the thing. She is special… to us. She is our gift. 

I cannot buy-in to this princess concept that seems to have caught such great momentum since I became an adult. Seemingly everyone is a princess now. And what are princesses like in these movies? Ariel disobeys her father–the king–because she is 16 and “not a child.” Typical teenager. Great role model there. Cinderella was abused by her step-mother, so it’s no wonder she was so willing to run away with a man she barely knew. Not such a smart move there, Cinderelly. Sleeping Beauty–another one waiting for a man to save her. Entitled much? 

I know I say now I will not have a princess living in my house. Those will be my famous last words until my daughter wants to be a princess. And of course since I’ve said this, now I have sealed her fate and she will most definitely want her tiara and princess costumes. But I do not want my daughter growing up thinking she will be catered to like a little princess. I don’t want her waiting on a man to rescue her or do anything for her. I want to teach her how to check her oil and change a tire on her car. I want her to be able to identify the different tools in the toolbox and know how to use them. I don’t want her waiting for the gentleman to put his coat down over a puddle so she can cross the street. Hell no. Your pretty little feet are getting muddy and wet, sweetheart! Your shoes are just shoes. Get ’em wet. 

I am sure she will dance on her daddy’s feet. I am sure I will lace her braids with ribbons if she likes that sort of thing. We can have tea parties and paint our toenails with glittery polishes. We can have tea parties and pretend for a little while that we are princesses. But I will not refer to her as my little princess. I will not buy her a tee-shirt, or pencils, or lunch boxes labeling her as such. At the end of the day, she is a little girl like all the others. She is special to me, but not to the world. There will be other little girls who feel they are God’s gift to humanity and deserve a princess’ treatment and entourage, and whose parents support this. My daughter will not learn to have those expectations. At least she won’t learn those expectations from me. 

 

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Putting on the “Brave” Face

So I saw this in my Facebook feed this morning from Women’s Health. Page one says it is “brave” to go anywhere without makeup and it’s even more “ballsy” to show your face without makeup on Instagram.

Whaaaaat?

Brave? Seriously?

The worst part is, these celebs look just as pretty without their magic makeup as they do with it. Every one of them. What is Women’s Health trying to show us? Were they seriously trying to show regular women with regular lives and paychecks that these celebrity women are normal, too? Cause it doesn’t. If anything, it showed me how I–an average woman–does not measure up. Not even close.

I went out to the grocery store without makeup today and was worried about scaring young children. I guess that makes me brave? My son, bless his sweet heart, tells me constantly that I do not need makeup and that I look the same with it as I do without it. Glad to know my disguise isn’t working and I’m still recognizable in my painted face. Anyway, I am rarely willing to leave home without at least a little makeup, usually mascara as a minimum to give my eyes some contrast. I would never, ever allow a photo to be taken without enough makeup on to hide what I really look like… Unless I looked like some of the women in that Women’s Health article. Which I do not look anything like they do. And my goal in wearing makeup is seriously to disguise my real appearance. I don’t personally wear heavy cosmetics and keep it to neutrals. I don’t ever wear unnatural colors on my lips. But my goal is to look much better than my true self.

So come on WH — Rosie the Victoria’s Secret model? Jennifer Aniston? Megan Fox? These women are just not typical, and it doesn’t make me feel any better that they can not wear makeup in pictures and look normal and pretty and I cannot. And showing real women who look pretty without makeup won’t help, either. No. Because I don’t look pretty without makeup. I don’t care what my son says.

Is it any wonder women are so frigged up when they look in the mirror? I admit I am a total victim of this type of media. I get sucked in. I compare myself even though intellectually I should know better. But showing abnormally beautiful women without their makeup masks on isn’t “brave” or “ballsy.” It just isn’t. Brave is running into a dangerous situation without regard for yourself in order to save another life. Not wearing makeup is just, well, normal.