Growing Family

Kittens

When I was interning at an adoption agency, pre-kids, I loved poring over the hopeful adoptive profile books. If families waited longer than a year, they needed to update their profile. I remember observing a theme. Prospective parents had so much pent up desire to nurture. They were volunteering in the church children's program, in youth organizations, and school programs, and many seemed to have alot of pets. As they waited, they often accumulated more pets.

Listen people, I am pro-pets. Pets are fun. Pets are also lots of work.

Our foster care process is taking longer, and more work than we anticipated. My need to nurture seemed to blossom a bit. Recently The Captain went on a business trip to India and I used that window of opportunity (and reduced communication) to sign up to foster two kittens. 

The kittens are so cute! The kittens are so fun! The kids spent days playing with them. So cute! So adorable! Can't we keep them forever? Did I mention that they are really cute?

About two weeks ago something went wrong. One of the kittens has decided to boycott the litter box. He's routinely using my white living room curtains as one of his favorite dumping grounds. Behind the refrigerator is another favored location to do his business. I've started referring to it as "poop alley". Do you know how hard it is to pull a refrigerator out from the wall to clean behind it, only to have poop alley fill up again? Not fun, people, not fun.

Frequently the kitty uses the paper around the litter box as his dropbox. While I can live with that placement, he is still trying to "cover" the poop with...nothing. So he swipes his paws through it and then trots off...leaving some poo prints behind.

SO cute! So fun! So adorable. Awww. Ewwwwww.

I've read the internet advice that goes along the lines of "build each cat their own glass palace where they have multiple diamond studded litter boxes with absorbent emeralds that release songs when plopped on". I've done what I can, but with no lasting change.

They're still cute though. I mean, they really are.

 

Felt Seasons

For years in Sydney the weather and the seasons just didn't seem to sink up. Hot Christmas! So wrong, until the beach on Boxing day with a box of hot chips and a bag of fresh cherries just seemed like the most perfect thing. 

The weather here in Houston has finally transitioned from steam room to sweaters. Instinctively, I begin to anticipate the Easter holidays, and dream of hot cross buns, only to remember that the onset of autumn here in North America does not coincide with Easter. 

With the arrival of November, I look around for the magical Jacaranda blooms, and readjust to meager autumn foliage instead.

The approach to Christmas in Australia indicates a final frenzy of school activities and end of school year performances that should bottom out into the long summer and Christmas holidays, except that here in North America it doesn't. Instead, we wave the flag at the halfway point of the school year, pat each other on the back and say "we're going to make it."

Christmas has exploded like a ticker tape parade in all the local shops. Heck, Hobby Lobby has had Christmas going strong for months now. Halloween has passed and Thanksgiving is around the corner. This year we won't be up north with sawhorse board tables supporting the plates of 50+ cousins. Nor will we gather under twinkle lights in my friend's Sydney backyard, drinking wine with a table of friends that hail from all over the globe.

This year our little family will be gathered around our little table doing something new.

This is the life of a person straddling two continents, or hop scotching back and forth between them. The jarring disconnect fades into a new normal, and then that normal changes again. The weather doesn't match the seasons, doesn't match the holidays, doesn't match the school schedule...

But it's okay. November is the promise of summer and stone fruit in Sydney. Here in Houston persimmons hang like heavy jewels on my neighbors' trees. Here it is hot cider and cinnamon doughnuts. I've circled the day after Thanksgiving on the calendar, the date that I allow myself to get our Christmas tree. I practice delayed gratification in Houston and Australia. Some things stay the same, no matter where I am.