Kittens

The neighborhood cats all know I'm a sucker for a mother and kittens. This latest brood moved in under our front steps a few weeks ago. The mother cat was starving. I already have enough cats, thanks, but here was this pitiful creature and her two adorable kittens. Of course, I made the classic mistake: I fed her.

And so, now we have kittens. I spend much of the day obsessing over those cats. Should I feed them more? My Love points out that if I do that, they won't hunt. If they don't hunt, they'll be dependent upon me. Since they aren't really my cats, that would be bad.

There are also reproductive issues to consider. It is bad enough having 3 cats on my front door-step. I'd hate to see that number multiply. Tribbles are cute, but there is a limit. I've found a place that can do the deed for me, and now I just have to get up the courage to put the little darlings in a kitty carrier and take them to the surgeon.

Maybe there's a reason my cats all hate me.

(Sad update: the kittens vanished on 8/27/08. The Momma cat is very upset.)

Update #2: the Momma cat was taken on 8/28/08. My kids saw the folks get her, so I was pretty sure it was the same folks who had the kittens.

After a rough day, and the kids upset, I decided to walk around the neighborhood. I'd seen the folks head up the street after they saw me, so I was pretty sure they lived up there, and there wasn't too far to go. It only took about 10 minutes for me to find Momma cat, scratching at a garage and to hear frantic mewing from inside. I looked around and someone drove up. I approached the man and said that the Momma cat was upset because his family had taken her babies and put them in the garage.

He became a bit annoyed and said, "That's my cat."

I pointed out that she'd been living at my house for several weeks, and that his kids had taken the kittens off my porch yesterday. I said that it was fine, they might even be his cats, but that I just wanted to make sure they weren't going to the pound or to be euthanized. "No, we got her from the pound and then she got pregnant."

I realized later this probably wasn't true because our local shelters won't release an un-fixed animal, but I wasn't there to argue, just to make sure they would be cared for. At this point, a little girl came up and said, "Daddy, is that the kitty's owner?" He told her to shut up. I said that I would not have complained if they wanted them, just that I would like to know before someone comes onto my property.

He asked where I lived and at that point I got a bit testy. I told him and said, "If you can't find it, ask your children where they got the cats from. Believe me, they know." Then I asked him to put Momma in with the kittens because she was still nursing. He said, "She's been with them."

At this point I did get angry with the lying. "No, she wasn't. She cried for them all night long last night -- on my doorstep."

I took a deep breath and just asked him to take care of them.

They probably ARE his cats. Part of me is glad they have a home, and the little girl looked like she'd be good with kittens. Knowing that the neighbors are watching, maybe he'll take better care of them. I do miss their companionship, though.

Mechanical Abilities

My precious daughter has just proven that she has an advanced mechanical aptitude. In other words: she can now defeat any and all child-safety devices--at 3 years of age.

Life has reached a new and more terrifying level of adventure. Her brothers are shocked and horrified, as if the universe has become more dangerous and their fragile baby sister doesn't stand a chance. My husband shrugged and pointed out that they survived.

I didn't remind him of the many trips to the ER, or the time the middle child decided to drink citronella oil. He climbed a tiki lamp to get the oil out. He is still part monkey.

The boys started on computers at 9 months old. The girl decided she'd rather smash the computer (which she did spectacularly) than play on it, and has only recently become addicted to webkinz, so I'd hoped for a little more time before entering this phase.

I now have one starting community college, one in his junior year in high school...and a preschooler. Today I spent a good chunk of the day with them, buying shoes for males, and was reminded of one very important thing: I am among the most blessed of women.

As a homeschool Mom, I do a lot of talking about educational styles, learning difficulties, and behavioral issues. I have to admit that I find myself judging other Moms occasionally...thinking, "well, I wouldn't do it that way." However, I've come to one conclusion when it comes to kids: God knows what He's doing. He seems to give the right kids to the right parents.

Some will surely point out that genetics plays a part, but I've known a good number of adopted children as well...and I firmly believe that each and every one is with the right parents. (Yes, I know there are abusive parents out there...there's a verse in the Bible about a millstone being tied around the neck of someone who hurts a child and then the offender being thrown into the sea. I'm ignoring the evil ones.)

I've watched strong-willed parents teach strong-willed children how to survive without being beaten up by the universe. I've watched sensitive parents teach fragile flowers to thrive. Switch the children and all would be lost...and yet, somehow, the right kids get with the right parents.

And so, the mechanically minded males in the family will no-doubt devise some new and insidious baby securing device to keep the little rug-rat out of the rat poison. This, I am sure, will only serve to encourage her to further develop her mechanical abilities.

Maybe she'll decide to be an engineer.

Thoughts on Fear

It's high time I started writing something for my blog.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about fear and faith. I've always thought that the two were mutually exclusive. I thought if I had more faith in...God, myself, etc., I wouldn't have as much fear in my life. This weekend, I learned exactly how wrong that kind of thinking was.

You see, I am afraid of heights. Any time I am above the ground, I get uncomfortable. I can get dizzy on a 2 foot high ladder. So, of course, my husband happens to be a pilot and he loves flying. This weekend, he offered me a chance to see a friend I hadn't seen in almost 15 years. All I had to do was go along on the 3 hour flight over the Cascade mountains. I have flown with him on many occasions, and I love flying over picturesque scenery...the Cascades being one of my favorites. The weekend looked perfect.

We loaded up the 3 year old princess, and made the uneventful trip. Had a great time and stayed every moment we could. The weather began to move in, and it was time for the return trip. Right after take off, we discovered that we had a great tail wind. Beautiful day, happy daughter, lots of laughter, everything was right with the world...and then bam. Or rather, sputter. The engine coughed. Just a tiny cough...could have had many causes. Except that our electrical system showed the alternator was no longer charging. With 2 1/2 hours left in our trip and a mountain range ahead of us, we had only the juice that was already in the battery.

My love immediately went into professional mode, diagnosing the problem, reviewing options. He had mapped out several alternative airports, but knew two very important details: we would most likely need parts, and most of the airports on our route wouldn't have them. With the weather moving in, wherever we stopped, we'd stay. Ideally, we would have turned around, but now that tail wind wasn't so much of a blessing. We'd be fighting it going back, and if something WAS wrong with the engine, we'd be in trouble.

He explained that we were fine, but he was going to have to turn off the radio to conserve power.

Thus began 2 1/2 hours of sheer terror for me. Since I tend to talk to God even on a good day, it seemed like having a 2 hour conversation with Him at that point was appropriate, and He seemed amenable. Even more so, He seemed eager to have me listen.

"You've been wanting to learn about fear."
"Not like this, I haven't! I've been wanting to conquer my fear."
"So, what do you do when you're afraid?"

I thought about that for quite a while. In my normal life, when I'm in a frightening situation, I tend to try and control everything. That plane, however, is not something I can control. I knew my husband has a reputation of being an exceptional pilot and very rational, so anything I suggested would probably not help the situation. In fact, I realized that the best thing I could do -- was to do nothing.

And that was when I finally started to understand faith. Faith didn't make my fear go away. Faith just helped me control the panic. All I had to do was to stay in the plane, keep quiet, not panic, and in 2 1/2 hours I would be sitting safely on the ground at our home airport.

Minor turbulence accompanied our entire flight. I sat with a death-grip on the overhead handle, much of the time with my eyes closed. I was reminded of something I read recently that life is like a railroad track -- one track is good things and one is bad things -- and both tracks are there all of the time. We can get stuck on one or the other. I was definitely stuck on a bad track at that moment.

As we climbed over the Cascades, I was reminded of how much I love to look at the mountains. In particular there was a lake I'd wanted to see again from the air, and I knew we had to be close. I pried open my eyes, determined to try to get some good out of the experience. There below me was the beautiful lake that I'd wanted to see, complete with tiny island in the middle. I glanced around. The scenery was breathtaking. Since enjoying the scenery wouldn't make any difference in whether I died in the next five minutes, I decided I might as well look around.

I didn't stop being afraid. I didn't stop watching the minute hand on the clock crawl forward, and I didn't stop having my very serious discussion with God...but I did start enjoying the journey.

That precious small voice in my head whispered, "Now. What else have you been letting fear keep you from?"

Once we were on the ground, I slowly began to recover. I asked my husband how I could ever get over my fear. He startled me by saying that he didn't think I ever would...but that fear was normal. "What you have done is master your fear. I watched you do it." He went on to tell me of people he knows who have fears...people like firemen.

Somehow, I'd always thought that other people didn't face the same paralyzing fears that I do. I wanted to enjoy the ride the way my daughter did -- laughing, staring out the window, and crying "weeee!" whenever we hit turbulence.

I asked a dear friend about fear. She wrote back: "Fear and Courage are inseparable."

What else is fear keeping me from?

Photo © Robert F. W. Whitlock