Kidnapping a Cat is a Gift from God???

Seriously.  My decade daughter kills me.  She is hilarious.  And always full of so much hope!

She was out exploring the other day.  We live in a village and they can still do things like take off into the wilds on their bikes and chase their dreams.  Get in a little trouble.  And seek out adventures.

So that is exactly what she and her BFF were doing…Out on bikes, exploring farmlands, soaring past forests, playing at the school playground, and then stopping at the local soda shop for a cold drink.

It’s like a storybook.

And she is living it.

As everyone knows—storybooks also have happy endings.

Unless you write Adelyne’s (my decade daughter).

Here’s what happened…

Ring-ring.

My phone rang.

“Hi, Adelyne!”  (I obviously know what number she has).

“Hi, Momma!”  And then she continues.  By the mere tone in her voice, I definitely know Something.Is.Up!

“Momma!  We are at the noclegi and this itty bitty cat came up to us.  It’s about 5 weeks old, and it’s so skinny and it needs help!”

“Adelyne!  Stop touching the cat.  Does it have bugs all over it?  Fleas?”

Believe me…I have dealt with 3 dogs that had fleas.  It was not something I wanted my daughter coming home with.

“No, Momma…It doesn’t have fleas. It’s so sweet and all alone.  It needs our help!  Please, Momma!  Can I bring it home?!”

“Adelyne, we are NOT going to keep a cat…”

“Momma, we don’t have to keep it.  I can take care of it while making Lost Kitten posters, hanging them up everywhere…”

I am SUCH a sucker for ALL animals.

“Okay, Adelyne…but we are making posters for it and finding it a home.”

“Okay, Momma.”

Sure enough, before long, the girls show up with a kitten in their arms.

Except it wasn’t a kitten.

It was a full-grown cat.

Beautiful.

Black.

Sleek.

Fat.

And just cuddled up in their arms—completely tame.  Not a wild cat.

And purring.

“See, Mom?!  See the kitten?!”

I stare.

Blankly.

“Where’s the kitten?”

“This is it!”

“Adelyne—that’s not a kitten!  That’s a cat,” I begin stroking its head.

Adelyne and her BFF looking quizzically at the kitten/cat, “But see how skinny it is, Momma?!”

I poke at the belly of the cat and my finger bounces back.  Yep.  Plenty of fat.

“Adelyne, that cat is not skinny.  It’s clean.  It’s fat.  And it is super friendly.  This is probably some poor girl’s cat.  She’s probably at home right now wondering where her precious family pet went.”

And to exaggerate my point, I emphasized, “She’s probably CRYING!”

The two “decade” girls look at each other with WIDE eyes—astonished that their rescue is NOT a rescue but a kidnapping, and then they say,

“But we thought this cat was a gift from God!”

I burst out laughing…

A gift from God?

A kidnapped black cat.

Yes.  This is my life.

Needless to say, they walked the cat back towards the soda shack (noclegi) when I got another phone call, “Mom! Mom!”

“Yes…” I say wondering, “WHAT IN THE WORLD IS NEXT?!”

“The cat jumped out of our arms and climbed a TREE and now the branch is breaking!”

“Adelyne, YOU ARE NOT TO CLIMB THE TREE TO GET THE CAT!”

“But the branch is BREAKING!”

“ADELYNE MARGUERITE…”

Everyone knows it is NOT a good thing when your momma uses TWO NAMES.

“Um, yes, Momma?”

“A cat that can climb up—can climb down.  Get your bike (which they had to stash somewhere so that they could bring the kidnapped cat home) and come home.”

“But the poor cat…”

“Will survive!”  I finish.

A gift from God?

A kidnapped black cat.

From a local soda shop.

I am dying, my friends.

But aren’t we ALL like that sometimes—hopeful for something that crosses our paths, sometimes distorting the truth of what we think we see?

I know I am.

Therefore, I will end with this great reminder,

“Keep our eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfecter of our faith…”  Hebrews 12:2

 

How to live with the toddler tornado season of your life.

Yesterday started and ended in a tornado.  If we had a storm cellar, I may have hidden down there.  I don’t have twins, but I have toddler-like twin tornadoes that swirl through my home daily—and I just can’t keep up.

In a few short months, I will be 40.  Did you read that correctly?  FORTY!

That’s like the beginning of Phase 2 of life.  And I feel great and look so forward to it.

But there is this thing.  Having a baby at 30 versus 40 is a new ballgame.  It’s like the NBA Stars in their prime versus the Dancing Grannies that move and kick at all rhythms, even though they are suppose to be kicking together.

I am kicking at my own rhythm and the toddlers are not kicking with the nearly 40-year-old me.

And when I feel worn down, I look the tornadoes in their faces and realize that, although I am in the eye of their storm, too quickly this storm will pass—and I will miss the mess!

I feel as if I failed miserably raising my first daughter who is now 9 (my toddler-like-twin tornadoes are respectively 1 & 1/2 and 3).  I feel like I pushed her too hard, disciplined her too much, and expected her to grow too quickly.

Perhaps I feel as if I had to prove to the world that I was a fantastic 1st time mom?  Perhaps I had to feel as if I had the world’s greatest daughter?  Perhaps I just had too many expectations for myself in my mind—even though everyone around me told me to Stop.  Enjoy.  Love.  Care.  Laugh.  Don’t stress.  And Just be.

But I didn’t heed any of their advice.  Before I knew it, my daughter was no longer the tornado toddler, and I miss every naked moment when she was running around in nothing but pink cowboy boots or singing and skating in flour skating rinks on the kitchen floor.

I miss the days when she invited the dogs to sit at the table to eat with us.

And I miss the days when she told me I was greater than Santa and any present he may bring.

Therefore, although I am nearly 10 years past the birth of my oldest — and far more feeling 40 than 30 — technically “nearly” the middle-aged mom of toddlers — I am TRYING … OH TRYING SO HARD — to get it right this time.

If you feel as if your life is a toddler tornado zone—remember me.  And remember how I already miss the toddler tornado moments because I have already seen one child exit the zone and have come out on the other side.  Oh how I wish that I could relive every moment with her in that tornado again.

I would actually throw open that cellar door and run out into the storm with her and say, “OH!  Look!  It’s snowing inside again, is it?!”  And simply vacuum up the baby powder that dusted her doll house and carpet later.

Because, after all, how much longer will she truly believe that it snows inside?

But my other 2, my toddlers, are still there—living every moment of that beautiful snowball of imagination.  Yesterday reminded me how glorious their brilliant imaginations are—and I intend, in my aging and wiser years, to soak it up this time.

And not rush it out.

I hope you throw open the storm cellar and run into the tornado with your toddlers.  May snow grace their bedrooms and monsters be slayed in the halls.

May little Batman briefs and diapers with tutus grace your living rooms…

And may crumbs tumble onto your floors.

Because the toddler storm will end and your house will seem far too clean and quiet—and you will wonder where time went.

Seize the day, my toddler mom friends.  Which means—you will hardly get to eat, sit, shower, or breathe—but seize the day in toddler imaginations, mess, and a good ol’ squeeze them tight and watch them squeal sort of day.

Enjoy your storms.

I do!

***

Here is my Facebook post from yesterday where I was inspired to enjoy the tornado versus get myself upset over the newfound work before me:

i walk up the stairs during maxwell and josephine’s nap time —this is what i find:

max in the hallway in his batman pajamas, hello kitty pink ballerina shoes, and gold princess gloves—wielding a pop-gun “sword” shouting, “I am fighting the monsters, mom!”

to which i think—is josephine sleeping? 

so i walk into their room — where i find:

josephine trapped in her bed, standing up, , wearing a ballerina skirt and superman baseball hat shouting “UP! UP!”

i don’t stop there—i look around the room === this is what i see:

fish and turtle food everywhere.

every clean sheet that was once (only a mere hour earlier) tucked away waiting for the future use—strewn about the floor covered in fish food and turtle food.

but at least max is keeping our house free of monsters, right?  wink emoticon

hope your day is made up of the most beautiful of memories. i know mine is! 

AND THEN THIS HAPPENED:

and the night ended with baby powder all over the floor—because, you know, it snowed 😉 haha!  #whenthemessendsiwillmissit