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Posts Tagged ‘parenting’

I finally had to brush poor Vito the Cat, little Vinnie’s large, black brother.

He has had dreadlocks that have been driving him insane.

So, I snuck up on him in the living room, and began trying to separate and pull the dreaded dreads out.

Vito was not happy, and he made it clear.  Bobby was watching, and making growling sounds, with the occasional holler.

The whole ordeal took over an hour, with Tomas coming out halfway through to help.

I soothed everyone, then committed the ultimate sin.

Pulled out the vacuum.  Bedlam.

I am, as of this post, the most despised mother EVER.

Pop an exedrin, guzzle some milk, and leave everyone alone for a while.

All will be forgiven, in time.  Or not.

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Yes, Bobby, it is. It all started out innocently enough, a little treat for Bobby the Crow, Bullet the Rabbit, and Vinnie and Vito, the cats. The Mafia Brothers, those two.

There was good reason behind it – bad parenting. Give each one their particular version of a Pop-Tart, so that Tomas could write without the brothers jumping on him every five minutes, and so that I could write without feeling guilty that I was not spending hours petting and playing, as much as I would like to.

Now, The Treat has become mandatory. It started out in the early evening, and has progressed to every ten minutes. I stop writing to go out and throw something together for the humans to eat (gasp!), and I have Vinnie winding around my legs, always fun until someone loses an eye, Bobby on his lower perch, where he can observe kitchen activities, glaring and pounding on it, and the Bullet down the hallway in my bathroom smacking his plate against the wall.

Vito sitting at Tomas’s feet, chirping and raising his big black self up to stick a claw in Tomas’s leg.

Okay.

Quick.

Bobby – give him a peanut.

Run to the cat food cupboard and grab a handful of the junk food dry (cat version of Cap’n Crunch), sprinkle some for Vinnie in his little sushi dish, sprint down the hall and leave the rest of the junk dry on the floor for Vito, hop over the bathroom door barrier and give Bullet a fast buffet of nuts, Quaker Oats, and bannana chips, then race back to the kitchen to check our food.

Bobby has finished his peanut and is glaring again, Vinnie has finished his sprinkles and is underfoot, and I am hearing a rather ominous sizzling on the stove.

And this is just the quickie, before everybody gets their last true meal and we call it a night.

Monsters. I have created four monsters, and in the process am losing both mind and body coordination.

I am so whipped. I am so owned. I am a slave, yet still cling to the idea that they belong to me.

I wish I could say at least they are not demanding an iPod or an X-box or whatever, but I am certain the digital peanut is being invented as I sleep.

Well, kids, enjoy it while it lasts, because things are going to change in 2008.

OH yes they are.

And to all a good night.

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I know I have never finished the first post on the story of how Tomas and I became the parents of a crow, it may just have to go into the memoir section of my web page. Bobby has lived with us for six years, and every day he is up to something new to drive me insane with love or a desire to strangle him. And Tomas, being “The Dad”, never wanted children because deep down, he always knew music would come first. We both knew we would not be good parents to a human, albeit for different reasons.

HOWEVER, as I write this, Bobby is cawing like a madman, I think he is trying to find his girlfriend, and Tomas is wrestling with a difficult cue. But he loves the Bob, and luckily he can tune him out, and Bobby has no interest in marching into the studio and demanding attention.

With all of the disagreements we have, The Bob and I are both in agreement on one issue:

We despise Ann Coulter.

This does not make us unique, but I have an extra added bonus. Ann Coulter looks like my sister Shannon Mahan, and uses her blond leggy sex appeal in exactly the same way as Shannon, whom I am also less than fond of. But I have to kind of feel sorry for my sister, because all of my personal feelings about her aside, she is in with the majority of Americans who abhor this administration. AND SHE LOOKS LIKE ANN COULTER!!!
That is just the Universe being mean to my sister, but the bad devil side of me gets a bit of a kick out of it sometimes. Poor Shannon. How do you reconcile finding something funny, but feeling bad about it? Chocolate?

However, this is not about Shannon, again, our relationship will be covered in memoirs, down the line. I have some great memories of her, and often wonder what happened to her to cause her to be a certain way later in life. A certain way that, from my perspective, was unkind. I have my own responsibilities in our break from each other, which I chose to do, and I will be owning up to them. I will not do a hatchet job on my sister, as much as my anger at her wants me to.

This post is about Bobby the Crow and how politically proactive he is. I was changing his papers the other day, and happened upon a picture of dear old Annie Coltie, she was speaking somewhere, the L.A. times reported, “to wild applause”. Gee, do you think it was her legs and hair, or her putrid spew that was causing such enthusiasm? Go fellas!
Everyone knows that most men (and this is not a bash, even they admit it) hear very little of what women say when they are flashing you with whatever “come-hither” ammo they have at their disposal, and Lord knows, Annie the Republican Stick Chick has LOTS to work with. Very pretty, very smart, very hateful, and very wily.
She is not special, either, and she has every right to laugh at us. But someday, poor Ann Coulter will have cellulite, saggy breasts, crows feet, (sorry Bobby, it’s just an expression, your feet are cute) all of the swell stuff that happens when we get OLD!
Ann will have enough money to plastic surgery away much of this, but then she will look weird, as everybody does when they try too hard to stay young.

I have nothing against a little here, a little there, to make one’s self feel better, but when a person relies on her beauty to get the attention he or she needs, they usually go too far, and just look odd, sometimes kind of scary.

I have the sense that Ann Coulter is smart enough to know that if she wants to keep this nonsense up, she has to stay beautiful, and she will most likely go overboard with the plastic surgery. Then what she says will be in the spotlight, not her body and her hair. She will fade into the sunset, and be forgotten before the finale, where she gets to talk to her particular brand of Jesus.

I probably won’t live long enough to see it, but……let the silly twit enjoy her time. In the big picture, she is as meaningless as Paris Hilton.

SO, speaking of silly twits, here is how Bobby and I are proactive in our beliefs. I put the picture in the paper of Ann Coulter down right where he poops the most, and enjoy watching her image slowly fade away under a pile of bird shit.

Totally petty, totally silly, but dammit, I make myself laugh.
And to quote Craig Ferguson, “If it makes me laugh, that’s half the battle.”

Bobby D., Political Crow.

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