Domino and Her Kittens .. Lessons Learned

Our kitten had kittens the other night.  I realize this sounds weird. I shall elaborate.

A little stray black kitten that "adopted" us back in early December, ended up pregnant, so we discovered 4 weeks ago. She was so tiny, it was hardly possible that she could be pregnant, but nature has a funny way of proving you wrong. Lo and behold, five tiny beings were added to our household 4 nights ago. We have now gone into the realm of "mommy knows best".

When Domino went into labor, she hopped onto our bed & trusted us throughout the experience. After she had rested a few hours with her newborn kittens, we moved her & her babies into another room, into the comfort of a blanket lined basket. Domino decided, much to the chagrin of my loving boyfriend, that she should move her babies under the bed. Initially we didn't realize it was her decision. As with all groups of small children, there is always the rouge wanderer, and as it was the kitten that had been attempting to go explore since birth, we thought that the kitten had wandered off under the bed. Nope! Domino felt safer with all her children hidden under that bed. I slid a blanket onto the floor under the bed yesterday & she happily moved them onto it. We baby-gated the doorway so our other animals can't get in the room, and now she comes and goes as she sees fit when her babies are sleeping. Earlier today I watched the kittens under the bed ... a small pile of little squirming beings that randomly threw tiny legs upward and mewed ... cutest, best entertainment ever!

Regardless of what we think is best for Domino's kittens, most of which stems from our narcissistic need to view and play with them, Domino knows what is best for her family. Mommies always do. We, the viewing public, may not agree with it because of our own thoughts and wants, but who are we to argue? Soon, very soon, the kittens will open their eyes, gain control of their limbs, and go off exploring throughout the house. Their mother's ideas of safety will no longer be part of the equation. Yet during the time of their tiny, blind-eyed childhood, her protection is the difference between their life and death .. so to speak.

Kittens and humans are definitely different in timelines and needs, but the basis is very similar. Children need their mommies & the love, support, & nourishment, in both philosophical and physical areas, that their mothers give them, until those same children are mature enough to leave the nest. Regardless of what anyone else thinks those kids should have or experience, their mother's love & protection is necessary for a child's success in life going forward. It may be considered far-reaching in some cases, but society should keep that fact in mind. Not everything is about what other people think should or should not be.

Thoughts for pondering.

~ The Girl In The Little Black Dress

Snow Days Thoughts

I'm a southern girl, born & raised in the south. As a child, we would normally get at least one serious snow per year. As I grew older, the snow became less and less. Getting a foot and a half in a day, plus sleet, well, the last time that happened was a decade ago! Talk about a city shut down ... AND they're calling for temps near 70 degrees in 3 to 4 days from now! Hello schizophrenic weather!

Regardless, I've had a ball with this "throwback to childhood".  Sledding with friends, popcorn & hot beverages, laughing at our pets in the snow, throwing snow at your sweetheart just to get their goat ... fun times!!! Bonus, watching the winter Olympics in a snow storm is way more exciting. :)

Stay safe & warm, my friends. These are the moments in life that can never be traded. Treasure them!

~ The Girl In The Little Black Dress

Muddled Lessons and A Frog

I was asked to write a narrative about an experience in my life that had taught me an unexpected life lesson.  While the particular lesson in this story didn't truly become "learned" until I had kids of my own, I hope you enjoy the tale from my childhood ....

The life lessons that we teach our children are, sometimes, crystal clear for their meaning and worth, but sometimes those lessons come across about as clear as swamp water. We as parents attempt to teach these lessons purposefully through both words and examples in our own behaviors, we ultimately teach them unintentionally through that which we ourselves say and do on a daily basis, and, upon occasion, we impart lessons through sheer unadulterated accident. The “accidental” lessons tend to have the most muddled meaning to a child initially, even though we may have thought ourselves clear as day.
In the summer of 1976 I was a headstrong, precocious, tomboy of a five year old.  I was not a bad child, and I did listen to and respect my parents, but I had my own ideas about doing things and tended to be fiercely independent, which tended to drive my parents nuts.  At that time we lived in a quiet little neighborhood near the local college on a cul-de-sac street called Nottingham Drive. Things were not as they are today. It was normal to be outside playing with friends from sunup to sundown, and even at five, although I was not allowed to roam about completely alone, I could walk across the street or down the a few houses to a friend's home without worry. I had learned to look both ways, then look both ways again, before crossing the street. I knew that riding my bicycle on the side of the road was okay on our street, but that big wheels were only allowed to be ridden on the sidewalk, as cars will see bikes in their way but not necessarily a low-to-the-ground big wheel. Hopscotch was a favorite game, but the boards were only to be drawn on the sidewalks and driveways, never in the middle of the road. Playing games in the middle of the road was forbidden. I loved animals, but I should only pet and play with the domesticated ones that belonged to people as pets, not the wild birds, squirrels, racoons or rabbits that fascinated me completely, and under no circumstance was I ever to touch a dead wild animal. Period.
One morning I was playing with the twin boys that lived a couple doors down my street.  We had decided to go on a quest, and although I remember putting together a backpack and utilizing a walking stick I do not remember what we were looking for on our so-called quest that particular day.  What I do remember vividly is finding the frog.  It was a rather large frog that had, unfortunately, been flattened by some unsuspecting driver smack in the middle of the road between our houses.  Talk about a dilemma!  We discussed the grave situation at hand, and decided that the best thing to do would be to bury the frog right where it lay in the middle of the street. We were not allowed to touch it to move it, as touching dead animals was forbidden, and it was bigger than our sandbox shovels could handle picking up, even though initially we did attempt that option.  This was not playing in the road.  A proper burial for the poor animal was no game in our minds.  Many bucketfuls of sand from our sandboxes later, the frog was properly covered. That mound of sand that could have rivaled sacred Indian burial mounds. We stood around the grave site, solemnly holding stems of leaves, clover and honeysuckle so as to properly give the frog his final send off.  Just as we were beginning to place our offerings on the grave mound, I heard a yell that made me jump out of my skin. “Shannon Recole Wightman! Get out of that road and in this house NOW!”  Uh oh.  “Just wait till your father gets home!” Even worse. I searched my mind to attempt to figure out what I had done that was so wrong it would deserve the full name yell and the father threat, which filled me with dread as I hid in my room for the final hours until he arrived.
After what seemed like forever, my father opened the door to my room and sat down on my bed, belt in hand. “Do you understand why you're being punished?” he asked. “You're old enough to know better than to play in the middle of a street.”  I was playing?  No I was not. We were conducting a solemn ritual of death, not playing!  I my mind, I knew I was right and this punishment was grossly unfair.  As my father spanked me I began to cry, “But Daddy!  I didn't touch the dead animal!” He finished, hugged me with what I now know to be suppressed laughter that shook him, and walked out my bedroom door.
In the mind of a child, what is considered “playing”, and what is considered an important, solemn event tend to be very different than what constitutes these in the mind of a grown up. Many times when my children were young, I thought back to that episode in my own life in an effort to make the parallel lessons clear to them.  New lesson: if you can't dig a hole to place something in, it is not buried, therefore, do not conduct burials in the middle of a road, even though you may not have touched the dead frog.

~ The Girl In the Little Black Dress