Curbing the Bluto-Bloat

Beatrice said I sounded like Popeye. The Sailor Man. The old cartoon from the 1930's that I watched in syndication growing up in the 1970's. Popeye the pipe-smoking protagonist who loved his sweetheart Olive Oyl and protected her against his nemesis Bluto, the bully who was constantly trying to take her away. Popeye was always the underdog until he ate his supercharged superhero food: a can of spinach. 

Yes, kids. Eat your spinach so you can grow up to be big and strong...I didn't think either of our kids had ever watched Popeye. 

"Do you know who Popeye is, Beatrice?" I asked her. 

"He's a pirate," she said. "You sounded like a pirate."

I got so tickled I nearly spit up. I thought that was the funniest thing I had ever heard. Both our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, laughed because they realized why I laughed.

I caught my breath and said, "Nope, not a pirate. A sailor. Literally, 'Popeye the Sailor Man'. Toot-toot. That was the theme of the old cartoon." I say it for them. 

"They both sailed the seas, Dad," Bryce said.

I snorted laughter. "True, but Popeye was a sailor, not a pirate. Now, do you know what made Popeye big a strong?"

I waited. It was now clear they didn't really know the Popeye cartoon, but I wouldn't stop this comedy train.

"Fish?" Beatrice said.

"And beans," Bryce added.

Another round of laughter between the three of us.

"What? Sailors eat fish," Beatrice said.

"And wouldn't you have cans of beans on a boat?" Bryce said.

I couldn't stop laughing. It was just so funny to me. So sweet and honest. 

"Oh my, kids. That's so funny. No, Popeye would eat a can of spinach, get big and strong, handle the bad guy, Bluto, and save the girl, Olive Oyl."

"Spinach?" Beatrice said.

"Are you mansplaining Popeye, Dad?" Bryce said.

More laughter. The whole thing just kept cracking us up. I love these kids! It's since become an ongoing joke for us, what Popeye eats to get super-powered strong and fight the bully Bluto, instead of spinach. For example, I'll ask what everyone wants for dinner, and I'll hear the kids call out:

"Fish and beans!"

Goodness, we need more of this levity today. In a world filled with bullies and worse, sometimes I don't think there's enough supercharged spinach, fish, or beans in the world to curb the Bluto-bloat. 

But our kids give us hope that there is. And laughter, too. Toot-toot. 

Like Kids All Over Again

It's like we have little kids all over again. I mean, we've already had many different dog toys upstairs and downstairs for our dog Jenny since we adopted her four years ago. But now with our new cat, Winston, there's crap everywhere. 

Literally crap. Because one of the big differences between cats and dogs is that with cats, you don't have to buy a bunch of expensive cat toys. You can simply give them paper bags, ripped paper, twisty ties, water bottle caps, strings, and so much more, and they will go bananas playing with them all. In fact, Winston is especially fond of twisty ties. Jenny, not so much. She sticks to her favorite stuffy toys like squirrel, turkey, red bone, blue bone, clam, and candy cane. 

Jenny won't play with Winston's trash toys, but Winston will play with Jenny's stuffys, and that sometimes doesn't play well with Jenny. It's like watching an old Warner Brothers cartoon with Ralph Wolf and Sam Sheepdog clocking in for work, with Ralph trying to capture sheep, and Sam thwarting Ralph at every turn. 

Jenny will chase Winston and bark at him when she wants to put him in his place, but most of the time they get along. And like a little kid, Winston is all over the place -- he's up on shelves, the table, the counters, the kitchen sink. Everywhere; literally the kitchen sink. I just caught him trying to climb one of our window screens again, too. 

Sigh. The grand parenting positive irony here is that our teen kids, Beatrice and Bryce, are relatively neat, keeping their rooms clean, especially Bryce, which we're grateful for (we've taught them well). And Bryce is the one taking care of Winston, at least when they're not at school, cleaning his litter box and making sure he's fed. Part of her allowance comes from keeping both Winston and Jenny fed and ensuring they have fresh water. 

However, we warned Bryce that the cat would keep them up at night, and sure enough, that's what happened. So, now Bryce shoves him outside at night, along with his litter box into the upstairs hallway, and the cat is a free range roamer in the wee hours of the morning. Beatrice is relatively safe all around, because Jenny always sleeps with us, and she's easy, and we close the door to our sun room that leads to Bea's room, so Winston can't get in there and cause a ruckus. Another irony here: we wake up to relative calm and no destruction that we can see. It's only after we're with Winston when he bounces off the walls. 

Plus, when both our kids are at school, we work from home, and it's a battle of wits and wills to keep our friggin' cat as chilled out as possible so we can work. Which is impossible, because he's a cat, and he's everywhere all at once, until he naps. Not quite a kitten anymore, but definitely a young, curious, meddling cat. This morning while my wife Amy and I meditated, I could hear Winston in the kitchen sink rattling dishes looking for food, which he won't find since we now keep our kitchen cleaner than ever, and we always kept it clean pre-cat. 

Squirt bottles and cat treats help, but mercy me, Winston's a handful. A lovingly sweet handful, like a young grandson climbing up the counter to get into the cookie jar. Thankfully his big sister, Jenny, keeps him in line sometimes, but most of the time is entertained (and annoyed) like the rest of us. And she's especially excited when Winston spills his food bowl on the floor so she can get her share of cat eats. Or, cat poop if we don't keep the litter box clean. Gross!

Reminds me of the quote from Ghostbusters, “Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!” Yep, just like kids all over again.

Snack Prescient

Through all the fiery evangelical rhetoric, there were snacks. My sister and I would sit impatiently on the pew next to my grandparents, our little tummies grumbling and looking forward to the post-church lunchtime at Bob's Big Boy, and then our grandmother would reach deep into her purse to pull out some candy. Usually mints, or sometimes Lifesavers (literally and figuratively), or other random candies, or gum, that probably had been in her purse for months. I realize that you don't eat gum, or are not supposed to, (and we were told if we did, it wouldn't digest for seven years, which wasn't true because you just pass it in your poop), but if that's all that Grandma had, we'd take it. Any of these snacks were a pleasant distraction from the endless hour spent in church each Sunday.

And then there was our mother, one who took "snacks on hand" to the next level. Case in point -- going to the movies. Mom had this magic bag, one that was seemingly bottomless that she'd fill with ziplocks full of popcorn, candy like M&Ms and Red Vines, and plastic bottles of soda and water. For like up to 10 people, including her grandchildren. In my experience, local theaters used to frown a lot more on patrons bringing in their own food and drink, because they wanted you to purchase their overpriced theater snacks, and my mom was super bold bringing in this overly stuffed bag of goodies. We'd roll our eyes and cringe, worried that we'd be ejected from the theater as soon as we purchased our movie tickets, but from what I remember, she usually pulled it off. And of course we were grateful to have all the yummies during the movie.

And then there's my wife Amy, mother to our children, Beatrice and Bryce, a snack visionary who I never really appreciated until recently. Raising children isn't easy, and Amy and I have done our best over the years. But Amy knew early on that kids get hungry and cranky, or "hangry", and so even tiny bags of oyster crackers saved from restaurants when we'd go out to eat clam chowder were lifesavers. Today, I always harp on my family now to never leave the house without your phone or your keys, but Amy argues to never leave the house without snacks or water. And just like my mother, Amy's bags over the years have also been seemingly bottomless, full of her own stuff like her wallet and phone and keys, snacks for the kids (and us), water for all of us, and lots and lots of love. 

And what about me? Well, I haven't been very good about having snacks at the ready over the years. There's been many times when I've picked our kids up from school or elsewhere and they've been hungry and/or thirsty, and I had brought none of those things with me. I'm sure there are dads that have done a much better job than me, dads who are prescient enough to cut off the hangries before they happen. 

Thankfully I've got Amy. We divide a conquer many things in our household, but hangry attacks are hers to preemptively strike with snacks. Plus, other than having hangry and moody teens in our house, we now have a new cat. A kitten to be exact named Winston that is Bryce's cat. And unlike our dog Jenny, who doesn't jump on our table, our kitchen counters, and other high shelves, Winston the cat does. Cats are wily adventurers that let nothing get in their way, even if that means knocking things off tables, counters, and shelves along the way. After researching cat behavior modification, spray bottles weren't recommended (although we use it strategically -- on the cat, not the kids), but positive reinforcement with clicks and treats were. So, Amy is now our resident B.F. Skinner protégé, carrying a little plastic container full of cat treats, positively reinforcing Winston to stay off where he doesn't belong. Also, by animal envy default, Jenny gets some of those treats, too. And I thought I spoiled Jenny too much. 

Snacks on hand can definitely help to curb negative behavior, and satiate the hangries, and that's why Amy follows in a long line of snack prescient Mamas and Nanas (and Daddies more prepared than me). And just in time for the holidays, where snacks abound. Amen.