Signs of the times

We had a visitor at Guides tonight.Abandoning her home despite being unwell, she came to teach the girls some Makaton. And they listened.

I've come to the conclusion we are all fairly rubbish Guiders. Our girls mostly come from the same Brownie Packs. In Brownies, they sit, silently, as the leaders talk. They come running to do the leaders' bidding. And they listen.

And then they move up to Guides, and they seem to be under the impression that as long as they avoid direct eye contact with an adult, that adult will remain unaware of the fact they are talking to a friend, sharing iPod earphones, chewing gum, and doing any one of the hundred things which are clearly more important than actually listening to the leaders.

But tonight, they were silent. Stage one Makaton mostly memorised, a dozen extra animals just for fun, songs and I Spy, with our non-verbal Guide in her element checking the other girs' signs and generally making sure everyone knew she already knew what our visitor was teaching.

And the girls listened. Mostly. They stopped chatting and whispering long enough to learn, they stayed silent long enough to practice, they actually managed to look at our visitor and do the things she asked them to do. It was great.

And then R left, and the meeting descended into complete and utter chaos. But then, considering the girls spent the rest of the meeting blindfolded and feeding each other yoghurt, I'm not convinced it could ever have been anything but chaotic.

Thanks, R; they really appreciated it! And so did we.
Tia

Doing the right thing

Little Fish has taken to checking up before she does all sorts of things.
Grabbing a box of pens, taking off the lid and about to throw it on the floor, she pauses, looks up at me and asks "Am I doing the right thing?"

Emptying the magnetic letters onto the floor and stirring them into a soup with a stack of photographs, just before adding the prune juice she stops, looks up, and asks again.

I'd love to say this is wonderful, and that on being asked to decide what the right thing might be, or told that it quite definitely is not the right thing to do, that she then stops instantly. Alas, she's still a four year old girl, and after several "OK, Mummy I do the right thing" we still get the "I am NOT wanting to do the right thing." But hey, I can sympathise with that. And somehow, a small child who can tell me she is choosing to do the wrong thing is somehow less infuriating than a child who appears to have no idea why it might not be a good idea to rip up the books, flood the bathroom, and stab her knees with pens until they bleed. I can work with that.

She's making strides, growing. I love it. I could post something about how we might be coming out of this pit of tantrums and temper, except that as I write this, she's sitting in the bathroom screaming at our carer. The right thing to do would be to go and intervene, but it turns out I am not wanting to do the right thing.

Grolly turns one this week. Little Fish decided she needed a Birthday Cake. And a party - a cat party. What does a cat party involve, I hear you ask? Ham and pate and lots of singing apparently. A chocolate sponge cake and a candle, and we had to thank her for having a Birthday.

I took the opportunity to ask Little Fish what she'd like for her own Birthday later this month. "Ummmm, we can invite Grannie and Grandad acos we 'ave not seen them for a long time*, and we 'ave a Cake and candles and we sing and that is all." All? No party? Nope. No presents? Nope. No other food? "We can go to a dinner shop?" Perhaps we can. I might just have to provide a present despite her not wanting one, but I hope she doesn't feel short-changed later by the lack of a party. Unlikely, as she's been adamant about not attending any of her friends' parties for the last six months. I'll not push it; cake and Grandparents and possibly a dinner shop sounds pretty good to me.

Meanwhile, Grolly had a very nice party, even if Goway ate all the ham. Both Grolly and Gotcha think the best gift ever was yesterday's cat hole, even if they haven't quite got the hang of rain yet.

*that'll be since last Sunday, when we had lunch with them!

Just Because

So, today , as I cleaned the third cat turd from the bathtub in as many days, I decided that things really couldn't carry on as they are. No, we didn't rehome the cats; I went to the petshop for a catflap to fit our current cat hole. They didn't have an exact fit, so I settled for a large cat/small dog flap, stocked up on a few other essentials, arranged a second mortgage to pay for it all, and left the house.

We came home, and I opened the catflap box to discover the instructions consisted solely of indecipherable little pictures. And a circle which I needed to cut out of the door. Our current cat hole is U-shaped; I'm not sure why a U-shaped flap needs a round hole, but hey ho, I have a saw and I'm not afraid to use it.

Unfortunately I'm not especially competent at using it either.And after a lot of huffing and puffing, and a fair bit of polystyrene blowing across the garden, I decided perhaps fitting cat flaps not my forte, and that I could probably live with a cat hole for a little longer. So, I left the hole unblocked and waited for the cats to discover it.

And they did. Grolly was the first; she went out, ran in circuits around the garden, sat down in the wet grass, rolled a few times to get thoroughly muddy, and then bounded in to sit on my lap (something she never does) to tell me all about it. Great. One cat hole, one wet and muddy cat, and now one wet and muddy lap too.

Gotcha went hunting next. And decided he really was a Forest Cat. A very happy, very stuck, Forest Cat.
Joy.

So after he'd cried for rescue, I scrambled up after him and tipped him out. Wondering as I did so why I was letting a cat not known for his ability to groom himself mix with moss, lichen, and mud. I'm still thinking on that one.

But, after their tree adventures, they both bounded around the garden for another twenty minutes, looking more like excited puppies than cats, sniffing everything, running back to check we were still around, then bounding around and over and under things again until the clank of dinner bowls indicated there might be better things inside.

The girls had a good time too.
Little Fish beetling in and out to report on progress and tell tales, Mog outside for a while and then inside to plot evil deeds.
And now both cats are sitting on the windowsill, watching the leaves blow around outside but no longer desperate to chase them. No signs of outdoor widdles either, but hopefully they'll discover this pleasure shortly.

Tia

Attack of the FluffMeister

You'll be glad to know we did in fact all wake up this morning. Some of us rather earlier than we might have chosen. And as I stepped out of my bedroom, my foot was grabbed by a Lion Gotcha-cat living up to his name in not quite the way we intended when we named him.Ow!
Tia

Do you promise?

Little Fish is into promises at the moment.

"Do you promise to pick me up from school, Mumma?"

"Do you promise you love me, Mummy?"

"Do you promise I will wake up in the morning?"

I don't like that last question...

So we had a talk about how God is looking after her and watching over her all night long, and that He will keep her safe. And she decided "I like God and Grandad, goodnight, Mummy."

And now she's all tucked up and asleep, and I'm all awake and worried that she might not wake up in the morning.
Tia

On the perils of children's playthings

From a feline perspective.

Tia

Round and round in circles

Mog's muscle spasms cause her pain and discomfort and mean she can't sit in a chair but has to lie down as her middle won't bend. Lying down causes increased risk of aspirating secretions and then increased risk of chest infections. Spasms are treated with diazepam. Diazepam relaxes the muscles, meaning fewer spasms, more floppiness, and more sleep. More sleep with more floppiness means less coughing and more secretions building up in the lungs. More secretions mean more chance of infection. They also mean more sleepiness. Solution? Remove the diazepam. But withdrawing the diazepam causes increased muscle tone, which causes further muscle spasms...

Having too many secretions and being doped to the eyeballs results in being sent home from school. Being sent home from school means having to walk with me to pick up Little Fish. It is sleeting. Being overly floppy means needing to be slightly reclined in order to not flop one's head down and obstruct. Which means inhaling sleet. Which means increased risk of chest infections. Etcetera.

So, in an attempt to control the totally uncontrollable, a friend and I have come up with a new concept. We'd like to suggest all ceilings should be coated in velcro. My choice would then be to throw all soft toys, odd socks, spare blankets, cats and other fluffy things up there thus giving me beautifully clear and shiny floors and the brief illusion of a clean house. She'd prefer to stick her children up there - which would also have the clean house effect going nicely.

I think it's a winner, how about you?
Tia