Friday, April 11, 2008

Lackadaisacal Blogging, Our Pregnant Cat and the Fischer Military Academy For Children...

It occurred to me yesterday, that I'm not doing such a hot job of keeping the blog updated. I am sure that my basic laziness has nothing, whatsoever, to do with it. I want you all to know that I blog *all the time* in my head (which hasn't exploded yet, despite a rich and sometimes confusing inner life.) What, you say? You want me to allow you a ring-side seat at the circus of my subconsciousness? Glad to have ya'... Afterall, what fun is a blog if all you can *see* is the crusty outer shell? Everyone knows that the gooey center is the best part of any candybar.
Strange things go through my brain. Which is probably why I blog in fits and starts. My internal editor is a weird little dude... which is probably the reason I still have friends, but you're all so far away now...and I must confess I occasionally hold *real* conversations with many of you, in which I imagine what you might say.

me: "hey, want to meet somewhere for coffee?"
you: "oh, yeah... which of 137 choice coffee destinations with safe, clean and kid-friendly surroundings, do you want to meet at? 129 of those serve organic scones and 68 of them are next to parks where children's eyes are not easily gouged by PLAY ground equipment. Oh my, so many choices... What to do?"

me: "we could meet for wine and cheese, instead."

you: "Great idea. Do you want to check out the new Wine Bar, or should we go to Lucia's or Beaujo's or The Riverside Cafe or just stop by Surdyk's and pick up one of several thousand choices and head on over to that great park? Hellooooo. Are you still there? Is something wrong?"

me: (sniffling) "I can't make it, I live in India."

you: "Gee, that's too bad. "

Call this the "Friday Stream of Consciousness Report"...

I'd like to introduce you all to our cat, Ellen Degeneres. Ellen does not seem to mind that I am ferociously allergic to cats. Nor does she deem it at all important that she is, in fact, not a member of our family. She thinks nothing of walking in our open door, loudly mewing for food and is not affected by the number of times we shoo her out. I remind her daily that we are a DOG family and that she is a STRAY cat, but she pays me no heed and I find her asleep on the porch chair most mornings.

When we moved into Palm Meadows, the kids noticed the cat and 3 kittens playing on our narrow strip of grass (can't call it a yard, that's for sure) alongside the house and decided to name her Ellen Degeneres...(which made me wonder if they'd been watching Lifetime: The Channel for Women whilst we slept, but I digress). I warned them...don't touch the cats, don't feed the cats, it's okay to watch them but they aren't pets...

It's not that I don't like cats. I had a cat that birthed kittens under the covers at the end of my bed one night when I was 5. I have known and admired a cat or two as an adult. But they give me hives and make my tongue there you have it.

The kids have listened well but Ellen hasn't. And she's taken a great liking to ME, of all people. I'd kept my word about not feeding her and for about a month she stopped coming around but it didn't last. And then, one day a couple of weeks ago, I happened to look out the window to see a very pregnant Ellen struggling to upend our garbage can...and I thought of the leftover day-too-old-to-eat shrimp in our fridge and I caved. Now Bob is accusing me of midwifing the cat but, hey, NO pregnant woman should have to stuggle that much for a meal!
I'm thinking of bringing her to the vet to get her spayed after this litter...then maybe those over-sexed stray Tom's will leave her alone... She's not my cat, though. I swear.

On to another subject that's occupying my mind space these days...

Homeschooling! (Trumpet Blaring.) Yes, it's true, my conversion to Crunchiness is complete. I am a Homebirth Midwife student, I didn't circumcise my son, I drink raw milk (but not here), I do weird food things, like soak my grains and have seizures at the mention of High Fructose Corn Syrup, I breastfed both my children into adulthood (ok, not really, but you'd think by that by the reactions of *some* who saw me nursing my three year old,) I know how to make tinctures, salves and potions... the list goes on but I won't bore you with the details. No need to worry though, I still like to shop for shoes, really love expensive leather handbags, get my legs waxed and and my feet pedicured, beg Bob to carry home "People" magazine from his U.S. work trips, enjoy fine wine, like to cook with fancy-schmancy ingredients and continue to wear lipstick and mascara on a regular basis. I think it just goes to show you that labels suck...
I'm also a "to each her own" kind of gal. Which means that my way is the right way but if you want to do it *your* way...

No, no, no. I'm kidding. What it really means is that I used to have Hippies for parents and the apple doesn't fall as far from the tree as it thought it flung itself. Which in turn means, I do it my way and YOU do it yours and "judge not, lest you be judged" and all those harbingers of Peace and Tranquility in the World. And I'm still a really nice person and we still get to be friends and I promise never to badger you (unless you voted for Georgie, Porgie, Bushie, of course...then all bets are off.)

And what it really means is that we're going to be Homeschooling. Which was always *something I was interested in but never imagined myself doing* (which, consequently, is pretty much how any of it happened). Sometimes, cracking that door, leads you down a surprising, maybe, to...India.

The kids are on summer break now but check back for more "Homeschooling Fun" and perhaps I can help by answering the varied and sundry questions about whether I'll go more insane than I already am, whether my children will develop anti-social twitches or begin muttering to imaginary schoolmates (oops, they already do that...cross that off the list!) and last but not least, "how they'll learn anything if they don't go to school."

If you've made it this far...

Thanks for tuning in!
The Fischers in India

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