Cat-tagious

Snooper was dead and I thought it was all my fault. Every day when I was around eight years old, I was supposed to go check on our pet rabbit that lived out in a hutch in our backyard. And every day Snooper would greet me enthusiastically because I'd bring him some vegetables. But then one day, Snooper laid on his side and flies buzzed around him. He didn't move. I knew something was terribly wrong.

My mom did her best to convince me that it wasn't my fault, that Snooper was an old rabbit and time for him to go, but I still thought I did something wrong. That feeling stuck with me for months until it finally faded.

I never forgot it, though, and decades later my family got a new rabbit after our Guinea pigs died. He was only a baby bunny with mostly white fur except around his eyes and on his back. Our girls named him Dragonlily because of the black fur on his back looked like a dragon with its wings spread. 

That was six years ago now. Since, Dragonlily went from living in our house in a big cage at night to an outside hutch. During the days, unless it was raining, we had an open pen area for him to roam around. We didn't really play with him like a dog or a cat, but he was still a beloved family pet. We ran a fun (and safe) science experiment with him (and one of our Guinea pigs) that failed, and I even wrote a fun story about them -- The Adventures of Sweetheart and Dragonlily: Part 1.

But recently one morning my wife Amy noticed that Dragonlily wasn't feeling good, which was rare, and only hours after his first visit to the vet that same day where they didn't really find anything but gave us antibiotics to give him, he was dead. This time I didn't think it was anything we did. He just got sick and died, quickly. 

We've had our share of pets die over the years, and it's always sad. From two cats and a dog before we had children, to the pets since kids -- fish, Guinea pigs, and now our sweet rabbit. Each time our kids grieved and we grieved as a family. The circle of life and death understood incrementally as our kids got older. 

Our dog Jenny that we had adopted right before the pandemic lockdown is now seven and healthy. We still call her our puppy even though she was already four when we adopted her. And if you were a fan of Modern Family like we were, Amy and girls tease me that Jenny is my Stella, Jay's French Bulldog dog from the sitcom, because she's the one I care about the most. Which isn't true. Mostly. 

But our youngest Bryce has wanted a cat more than anything for months now. And I have not. Amy didn't at first either, and neither did our oldest Beatrice, but Amy has since gotten on board and Beatrice has been on the fence. 

But for me at first? No way. Amy's cats were fine when we were first dating and living together, but over the years, the scratching up of things and stinky litter boxes were a lot. Also, growing up my sister would always bring stray cats home and the few we kept were a lot. One of those was a Persian we named Fluffy that we had to shave every six months because her hair would get so matted, which caused her to howl. And one of the cats we had that my sister didn't bring home was a cross-eyed Siamese who would be lovey one minute and then growl and hiss and pounce on my head the next. 

No way. No stinky, howly, scratchy, or pouncy cats. Ever again. In fact, the only cat thing I was willing to indulge in with Bryce were funny cat videos. Bryce worked on us (and me) for months, but I wasn't budging. However, just like we did when we adopted a dog, Amy had Bryce do research about cat care and costs and to put a budget together. Our family joke was that Dad wanted Bryce to write a series of essays about why we should adopt a cat and that Bryce should put together a business plan in order to convince me that she could adopt and care for a cat. 

And I did. Until a series of events began that changed the trajectory of my cat angst. For example, Amy and I had gone to an event that had a raffle and we were one of the winners. Out of all the prizes being given away, we won the cat bed and cat accessories prize. Ugh. I also found myself watching more funny cat videos without the kids. Good God. And then our pet rabbit died, leaving us one less pet to take care of.

So, it was meant to be that one day Mom and Bryce went out to the animal shelters and brought home sweet 15-week old Winston. Mercy me, he's cat-tagious. And he's staying in Bryce's room. Forever. 

Because what happens in the middle of the night with a cat and a Christmas tree? Maybe I need to put up some "Hang in there" cat posters around the house. Sigh.

Grateful For Being Human

 "...one day I feel I'm on top of the world
And the next it's falling in on me
I can get back on
I can get back on..."

–Rush, Far Cry

Sometimes I wish I was an algorithm. One that would quickly learn from its mistakes, adapt, and improve, all without monsoon emotional swings. Without attaching conspiratorial outcomes to change. Without second-guessing its decisions. Without feeling buried under the weight of circumstance. Without feeling momentarily hopeless because things break. 

But I'm not an artificially intelligent "it". I'm a sometimes intelligent human being whose synapses fire, and misfire, as regularly as the sun and moon rise. One day I feel I'm on top of the world and the next it's falling in on me. 

Everybody can feel that way, I know. But when it's you in that moment, especially when it's falling in on you, you feel like you're the only one in the world, the one you were once on top of. This complicates things being a parent of older kids, teen daughters who are more self-aware than there were as kids. They struggle even more because their brains and bodies are developing rapidly and their synaptic firing is like a rollercoaster ride the dives from the upper atmosphere to the center of the earth, then back again. 

And when things are fairly smooth for us the parents, it's easier to help them with the relationship struggles. their study struggles, their body development struggles (especially being females), and all the other things we remember from our own teen worlds. 

When things aren't very smooth, we still have to figure out how to deal and adapt ourselves in order to help them. We're supposed to be the adults in the room, and when things are seemingly rapid-fire change and circumstance, it can be a momentarily overwhelming ordeal just dealing with the ordinary and things that break. 

Our daughter Bryce's bike broke (which was my wife Amy's), which is a bummer because she's the only one willing to ride her bike to school at least once per week, which helps us with the transportation. It was under warranty and we got most of the money back for it, but now have to find a new bike that will definitely be more expensive. 

We had new flooring put in last year that included our staircase. But the very top one started to break and my wife Amy slipped and fell straight down the second one breaking it. She was bruised and sore but thankfully okay otherwise. That's when I checked the other stairs and noticed a few more were loose. That overwhelmed me as a safety problem for our family, although I know we'll get it all fixed.

Even with my default "no" setting, Amy and I were going to attempt to fix our trailer hitch connection on our SUV, and while we got a better understanding of how things work and connect on our car, with discovered that the main brake lights didn't work. The upper third brake light still worked and all the other lights worked, but not the main brake lights. We had no idea how long they'd been out, and immediately we ruled out the fuses and then narrowed it down to the light bulbs and the brake lock switch. But since the latter was above our pay grade, I was banking on the fact it was the bulbs. It was. Thank goodness.

All of these things – our daughter's bike breaking, the stairs breaking under Amy's poor butt, our car's brake lights breaking – combined with the fact that the work year's been tough and now my business has merged with another company (ultimately a great thing) – and all my synaptic misfiring commenced. "One day I feel I'm on top of the world and the next it's falling in on me. I can get back on, I can get back on."

And I do get back on. In the end, I really don't wish I was an algorithm. I wouldn't trade my ability to feel emotions and experience all that life brings for being artificially intelligent in a million years. No, this Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for being human – a fallible human who can feel buried under the weight of transitory circumstances. I'm grateful for a loving wife and partner, and two amazing daughters. I'm grateful for all my family and friends, my current employees and my new colleagues. I'm grateful for our health and our home. I'm grateful for my community, my state, my country, my world (no matter where it's burning). I'm even grateful that things break (sometimes). 

I'm also grateful for empathy, and this Thanksgiving, blessings to those living in war zones, in poverty, on the streets, with mental illness, with physical illness, with anything that compromises health and safety.

Turning No Into The Flow

I'm the "no" dad. Literally. My default setting is to say no when our kids ask for things (which in my defense, aren't always realistic or the best timing). It's no when my wife suggests we can fix something when I think we can't (without thinking about it). It's no when she suggests we can do a house project ourselves as well. 

I have mellowed somewhat on the "no's", but overall it's still my go-to answer. I am definitely the "no" dad.

"Dad, can you get me something at McDonald's?"

"No."

"Honey, we can fix the garbage disposal ourselves, you know."

"No, I don't know.

Actually, we did fix the garbage disposal ourselves and we have done a lot of house projects ourselves over the years. Most recently, we landscaped our backyard again for the third time since we bought the house 17 years ago (and for me, the last time -- it was back-breaking work).  

But I've always put up some resistance to those things that are out of my comfort zone. Which is ironic, because that's the way I've learned and grown over the years, doing things outside my comfort zone, personally and professionally. Saying no, then caving in to growth. 

My wife Amy, on the other hand, is the "yes" mom, and truly believes anything and everything is possible,  even when in the end, it's not. But just the belief that anything and everything is possible ultimately makes the impossible possible, even if it turns out another way, like someone else has to fix something, not us. 

I call that being in the "flow", something she's damn good at. We meditate together nearly everyday and that's been helpful to getting me more in the flow, it just takes me a lot more energy to overcome the no. 

And with our daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, Amy is the super "yes" mom for sure, and they always go to her first. She's always willing to work it out for them when they want do go somewhere, any and every day, even when it's not convenient and frustrating for her. 

As I write this, it makes me feel like I'm the bad guy, or more accurately poetic, the bad dad. But that's not fair to me, because I am a good dad, and I do ultimately say yes a lot more these days, and Amy and I always coordinate the drop-offs and pick-ups of our kids wherever they are and need to go. I've been known to be spontaneous and take them for a treat after school without them asking. 

Plus, as I already mentioned, Amy and I do a lot of home projects together that do work out without having to outsource them because she truly believes anything and everything is possible (just more cursing and sweating from me). She is the yin to my yang; the airbrushed blue sky to my storm-cloud rainbows; and that's why I love her so much. 

But even Amy's yeses know that sometimes nos are necessary, a parenting imperative in fact, and we compromise on those more serious kid no's when they come up. So, while the all-purpose no may be my default setting, I am working on it. You've heard of turning a frown upside down? Well, I'm working on turning the non-serious no into the flow and letting it all go. Can I do it? Maybe (at least that's not a no). 

To Understand the Differences

It's not badge of honor, that's for damn sure. No child who becomes an adult looks back fondly on growing up with divisive divorce, or domestic violence, or sexual assault, or abuse, neglect, or violence of any kind. And yet, too many of us have had those traumatic experiences early in our lives (and later, too). And many of us, like my wife and I, have pledged that nothing like that would ever happen to our children. 

Growing up Generation X in the 1970's, it eventually became a social media badge of honor decades later to be proud of the fact that we never wore helmets when riding our bikes. And the fact that we stayed out past dusk without any adult supervision. And the fact that we never talked about something bad that happened to us back in those days. I didn't talk about it until I was in my early 20's. 

Again, we've pledged that nothing like that would ever happen to our children, and while we don't have control over what happens to them outside of our house, we do inside our house. So, it's hard to hear from them when they talk about some of the things some their friends go through inside their own homes. 

We empathize and talk about it with our kids, that we don't always know exactly what's happening with people, but the fact is that divorce is real, and domestic violence is real, and abuse and neglect are real, and how the ensuing stress and mental health issues are quite real.

But when more kids are willing to share the trauma they're experiencing at a much early age, or attempt to share as best they can, the new normal perception is the experienced trauma, even if it's just a subset of friends. Our kids care about their friends, but what we don't want is for them to feel bad because they haven't had the same traumatic experiences. 

In fact, while they should listen and be empathetic with friends who have experienced trauma, or are experiencing it, we encourage them to be grateful for the fact that they are not. To be grateful that they have a supportive and loving family that communicates with each other, free from judgment and shame, which in turn can help them be better friends to those who do struggle.

Even a supportive and loving family won't negate the teen angst, heartbreak, and seemingly traumatic issues our kids have struggled with, and will continue to grapple with, into adulthood. But we do want them to understand the differences we work hard to ensure they do and don't experience, and how they can help others along the way.