Last Night: Epilog

Subtitle: Feline Puberty

When we left the “Cat and Foot” saga, I ran for the couch and left Mrs. eSquared on her own with the cat. Yes, I admit it was cowardly, but running away is a perfectly viable defensive maneuver. It has worked well in the past.

So… back to the problem. The cat has taught himself a new trick; oddly enough, this trick has a name: Feline Masturbation. Yes, this has been confirmed by several dubious internet sources. Here’s one:

Masturbation is a difficult problem to deal with in cats. It is a normal behavior and it is probably pleasurable. This combination makes it hard to discourage. It is not really unusual for neutered cats to learn to masturbate and it may be possible for them to produce some fluid.

In a few cats, this can become (or possibly starts out as) an obsessive/compulsive disorder. If this is a really persistent problem rather than an occasional one, it would be a good idea to ask your vet if there is a behaviorist in your area who you can work with to help resolve the problem. In this case medications for obsessive/compulsive disorders may be helpful. As far as I know, these are the only cats in which medication is likely to help.

Mike Richards, DVM
http://www.vetinfo.com/cmale.html#Masturbation

The brat is about 3 years old now. I don’t know how old that is in cat years, but he sure acts like a teenager. Like any normal teenager, he’s experimenting. I can imagine what’s going on in his little kitty head…

“Sleep… sleep… where’s that lady with the crunchies… sleep… “
“Poop… sleep… hey! You're not the lady with the crunchies! Sleep…”
“Sleep… what’s this… humm… mmm… oooh… that’s nice… That was fun… let’s do that again…”

(sigh) I miss those days... Good times.

Last Night...

Earplugs in tight; I am sleeping soundly. Until…

Poke. Poke. Poke on my hip.

I turn to Mrs. eSquared.

Mrs. E2: “Blah wahwah blah wah blah waah.”

Me: THWUK (I pull out one of my earplugs) “Whah?”

Mrs. E2: “There’s something wrong with the cat.”

I look at the cat… he looks back at me. I give him a couple of scritches, jam the plug back in my head and lay down. I mumble, “He’s fine.”

Drifting… drifting…

Poke. Poke. Poke… this time harder.

Mrs. E2: “Blah wahwah blah BLAH!”

Me: THWUK (I pull out one of my earplugs) “Whah?”

Mrs. E2: “He’s humping my LEG!”

Me: That’s ridiculous… he’s fixed… He has no idea… I trail off and look at the cat… he looks back at me as if to say, “Whaaaaat… I’m a cat.”

I have absolutely nothing to say to this, so I shove the plug back in my ear and try to go back to sleep.

Drifting… drifting…

POKE! POKE! POKE! I’m sure I’ll have a bruise.

I sit straight up fighting the urge to yell and THWUK, I pull out one of my earplugs.

Sure enough… the cat is humping my wife’s foot. I kind of felt sorry for him.

Both Mrs. eSquared and the cat look at me like I’m supposed to do something. I imagine…

Mrs. E2: “Make him stop… I’m trying to sleep!”

Cat: “Would you make her shut up and stop moving her foot… I’m busy!”

Without a word, I took my pillow and went and slept on the couch.

Last Night: Preface

There are two reasons I wear earplugs to bed. First, Mrs. eSquared likes to go to sleep with lullaby movie. The Terminator, for instance, or most any movie with a dramatic soundtrack, lots of screaming and copious gunfire and explosions.

Me… not so much. So, I use earplugs. This is the “official” story.

The “unofficial” story: Because of her pregnancy, hormones, acid-reflux and many other horrors only known to mothers, Mrs. eSquared sleeps on her back, propped by many pillows to elevate her upper body.

This position has turned her once dainty and cute “sleeping-sounds” into inhuman, lumberjack snoring that defies simile or explanation. It doesn’t sound like a jackhammer, though it feels like one – behind the eyes. It’s not quite a ripsaw… (actually, I don’t know what a ripsaw sounds like, or if there is such a thing… it just sounds good) but you get my point.

This is the second reason I wear earplugs at night. Because it helps me sleep, I’m sure everyone who knows me, or comes in contact with me during the day – any day, is appreciative.

Stay tuned

Our Latest Look...

This one we took in February 07. Both Mrs. eSquared and the Radiologist gushed cute sayings and then said she looks like me. I think she looks like W.C. Fields.

Either way... I don't think it's a complement... for either of us.

Our First Peek...

We had our first look at Baby Pink in November 2006 at Evergreen Hospital in Kirkland.

Ten Years Later…

I was gutting my way through Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane’s abysmal 2005 remake of The Producers. I loved Gene Wilder and Zero Icanneverrememberhislastname in the 1968 original, when Mrs. eSquared walked up to me with her lips pursed, and her eyebrows knitted together. She thrust a white plastic stick at me and stared.

After a moment I recognized the stick as a home pregnancy test; the first home pregnancy test we’ve needed in our relationship. I looked cautiously from the symbols on the test to her eyes… back and forth. She was waiting for my response… that was clear. There was just one problem. I couldn’t read the test thingy. Horizontal lines… vertical lines… pluses… minuses… I knew it said something important and from the look on Mrs. eSquared’s face, really important. I just had no idea what it was.

Finally, I deduced that if the test was negative, and everything was normal, we wouldn’t be having this… silent, coded conversation. So I guessed.

We’re having a baby? I said…

Indeed we are. I can’t wait to meet her.

The Beginning

Around Valentine’s Day, Avi posted this meme on his blog. I thought it was a fun one, and timely, so I bookmarked it and filed it off in the “remember for later” pile.

I think it is most appropriate for the re-dedication of this blog to fatherhood, specifically, my fatherhood. I still get a little clinchy when I use that level of directness. So… without further adieu… the Beginning.

Where/how did you meet?
Mrs. eSquared and I met when we both worked at a hotel in Bothell. We became fast friends, and stayed so for eighteen months. Then, I just knew… knew I wanted more; knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

How long have you known each other?
We met in April of 1992. Fifteen years… wow.

How long after you met did you start dating?
Like I mentioned above, we were friends about a year and a half.

How long did you date before you were engaged?
Again, about fourteen months, give or take.

How long was your engagement?
I surprised her on Memorial Day, in Richards Park in Eugene Oregon. We were married in December. So we were engaged for seven months.

How long have you been married?
As of last December, we’ve been married eleven years.

What is your anniversary?
December 16th 1995

How many people came to your wedding reception?
Around 150, I think. It’s still a blur. Even now, eleven years later, we meet people (I think for the first time) and Mrs. E2 says “No… they were at our wedding… they gave us the (whatever).”

What kind of cake did you serve?
The cake… our one glitch. A long story, but we had an old family friend make it… supposedly a master pastry chef, from Austria or something like that. To be delicate, it sucked top to bottom, raspberry filling to marzipan icing. Sucked.

Where was your wedding?
We were married in the Chapel on the Northwest College (now Northwest University).

What did you serve for your meal?
We had an early afternoon wedding… we served salads and sandwich platters. Neither of which we had time to eat. We went through Taco Bell on our way to the Bed and Breakfast.

How many people were there in your bridal party?
Three-a-piece

Are you still friends with them all?
Yup. Though some are in different states, and we don’t talk that much.

Did you or your spouse cry during the ceremony?
Yes, both of us.

Most special moment of your wedding day?
The whole day was the best of my life (so far). If I had to pick… it would be seeing how beautiful Mrs. eSquared was and looking into her eyes.

Any funny moments?
Yeah… when we were holding hands at the alter, I was holding hers ridiculously high… chest high. I don’t know why.

Any big disasters?
Other than the cake…. None.

Where did you go on your honeymoon?
Cabo san Lucas

How long were you gone?
6 days

If you were to do your wedding over, what would you change?
The cake.

What side of the bed do you sleep on?
Generally… I sleep on the right. But recently, with the pregnancy, we trade occasionally.

What size is your bed?
Queen

Greatest strength as a couple?
Humor and communication…

Greatest challenge as a couple?
Communication.

What is your song?
We don’t really have one. Mrs. eSquared might disagree with me… but I can’t think of one. We have movies.

What did you dance your first dance to?
The Oompa song (danced with Mrs. eSquared’s second grade class. It was a hoot.

What kind of flowers did you have at your wedding?
One of my fondest memories about our wedding. My favorite flower has always been the stargazer lily. Because it’s my favorite, Mrs. eSquared chose it as the focus of our wedding flora.

Are your wedding bands engraved? What do they say?
My ring is engraved with the ever-romantic: 14K FG

My beautiful wife

T. S. Elliot

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

Eavesdropping…

Anytime more then six months ago…

Mrs. eSquared: [coming through the door with lots of bags from the mall] “Hi babe…”

Me: [although initially panicked, I realize Mrs. E2 only borrows clothes from the shops. She’ll return them all within three weeks, and check-out another bunch] “Hey pal. Whatchagotthere?

Mrs. E2: “Oh… a little of this, and a little of that.”

Me: [turning back to the Xbox game I currently SUCK at] “Ah, that’s cool. DIE YOU S.O.B.”

About 15 minutes pass…

Mrs. E2 [modeling her latest black turtle-neck, or black slacks] “Well… what do you think?

Me: [pausing the hopelessness that is the game I’m playing] “Oh… nice.”

Mrs. E2: [her face falling into a frown] “You hate it.”

Me: [in my high and defensive Mrs. E2 has learned not to trust] “No… they’re fine… really.”

We spend the next ten minutes convincing her that she shouldn’t take the slacks back… which she takes back anyway in a couple of weeks.

Now… let’s turn the tables a bit.

Anytime more then six months ago…

Me: [coming through the door with a bag from the mall] “Hi babe…”

Mrs. eSquared: [panicked] “Hey pal. Whatchagotthere?

Me: “Oh… a little of this, and a little of that.”

Mrs. eSquared: [turning back to the book she is currently studying] “Hummm.”


Me: [taking a moment to inhale the sweet smell of new electronic equipment as I open the box - tittering with excitement] “Well… what do you think?

Mrs. eSquared: [applying the memorized equations and algorithms she learned to calculate an item’s cost by the size and color of the box ] “Oh… nice.”

Me: [my face falling into a frown] “You hate it.”

Mrs. eSquared: [transparent in her apathy] “No… they’re fine… really.”

She spends the next ten minutes convincing me that I should take the thing back.


… and the tables come full circle.

Anytime in the last six months…

Mrs. eSquared: [coming through the door with lots of bags from the mall] “Hi babe…”

Me: [although initially panicked, I realize Mrs. E2 only borrows clothes from the shops. She’ll return them all within three weeks, and check-out another bunch] “Hey pal. Whatchagotthere?

Mrs. E2: “Oh… a little of this, and a little of that.”

Me: [turning back to the Xbox game I currently SUCK at] “Ah, that’s cool. DIE YOU S.O.B.”

About 15 minutes pass…

Mrs. E2 [parading the baby clothes she just got] “Well… what do you think?

Me: [pausing the hopelessness that is the game I’m playing, and growing dizzy looking at all the little suits, oneziez, shorts, pants, shirts and hats (yes, hats) arranged on the table] “Oh… that one has a cute carrot on it… nice.”

Mrs. E2: [her face falling into a frown] “You hate them.”

Me: [in my high and defensive Mrs. E2 has learned not to trust] “No… they’re fine… really.”

We spend the next ten minutes convincing her that we will never need to wash baby clothes. We’ll simply use them once, and throw them out. We’ve run out of room to store them… now, we’ve filled garbage sacks (clean ones) with all the clothes our egglet has.

Names & Labels… Labels & Names…

Baby Pink arrived the other day. No, not in that way… she is still snug inside Mrs. eSquared. What I mean is, anyone who looks can see her. Even some distance away, it’s evident that she has arrived, kicking, nudging, elbowing and bumping.

Mrs. E2 was determined to hide Baby Pink at her place of employment until the New Year. Fortunately, she has the last couple of weeks of 2006 off. Once Mrs. E2 was done working for the year, *WHAP* she got big.

She went back to work this week with an obvious change from the last time her colleagues saw her. Why do people (women especially) get all excited when they see a pregnant woman? Is pregnancy a special initiation into a club that men and women that haven’t experienced childbirth just aren’t invited to?

You know you’ve seen it… some lady losing it when she sees a pregnant woman: someone in the line at the bank, coffee place or supermarket; a complete stranger.

First, the questions:

Secret Club Member: (screeching as she hunkers down and runs over with her hand out to touch the belly) “Oooohhhaaaaahhhheeeeeehh… Look what you’ve been up to!”

Unwitting Pregnant Woman: “Wha!”

SCM: (sporting wide eyes and a crazed smile) “When aaaaaaaare yoooooou duuuuue?”

UPW: (a bit dazed, and taken aback with a strange woman touching her belly) “April,” she squeaks.

SCM: (rubbing UPW’s belly in circles and lowering her voice for the illusion of confidence) “Do you know what it is yet?”

UPW: (resisting the urge to say “human,” or “none or your business.”) “We’re having a girl,” as she narrows her eyes.

SCM: (feeling the excitement of another potential club member) “Ahhh… what’s her name?

UPW: (concealing the urge to break her hand off at the wrist) “Well… we like Jada.”

SCM: (her smile cascades into a frown and she knits here eyebrows together) “Humpfgh. That’s an interesting name.”

(Long, silent pause)

SCM: (puffing out a breath) “I once knew a crack-whore named Jada. What other names have you thought of?”

There are many amazing things about such interchanges, primarily, the complete lack of interest in the woman herself. If the ‘conversation’ is allowed to continue, the Secret Club Member glazes over and regales the Unwitting Pregnant Woman with tales of how wonderful pregnancy is, or how awful her 46 hours of labor were.

WTF?!?