Drop everything and go out and buy the FURminator right now.
A long time ago I was standing in line at Petco when I was intrigued by the video of the FURminator they had playing near the check stands. At the time, while impressed by the device as shown on the video, I was not as impressed by the $39.99 price tag and I promptly checked out with the bag of kittie food and only the bag of kittie food. Sure I like the idea of a shedding tool that would rid my house of the baby Bartleby's rolling all over the place. And sure I'd love to not have to look at my curtains every morning, as the morning sun shines through them, and be reminded that I need to brush them.
Yes.
Brush my curtains.
And then there's the copious amounts of fur left on our furniture, the same fur that during certain times of the year leaves my husband looking red and puffy as though he just had a crying jag while watching Beaches over a pint of Chunky Monkey.
But there's the skeptic in me that knows better than to believe every little video I see while standing in line at the pet store. And I'd be pissed to spend $40 on something that did no better than the cheaper brushes I have taking up space at home.
So what changed my mind?
I was reading Dooce and she mentioned having gotten the tool recently and loving it. Which reminded me of having seen it before. So I did a little internet research and found that there was in fact a whole ton of people who also liked the tool.
And it comes with a money back guarantee - so what the hell.
I went by Petco today, picked one up, and grabbed the feline for what had to have been one of the messiest brushings ever.
And I have to admit I was impressed with the first brush stroke when I lifted the brush to see a wad of fur that looked like the product of a mauling. And then I brushed again and again and again and kept coming back with more fluffs of fur balls.
Bartleby on the other hand wasn't quite sure what to think of it. Mostly I think he was confused that I was touching him given his demotion in the family food chain since we brought Zach home. But once he got over that he seemed to vacillate between being super hyper excited that I was touching him and being slightly turned on.
I tried to ignore him as I was too damned excited to be pulling SO MUCH FUR from him.
Fur that would not end up in the corners of my house. Fur that would not end up smeared all over my curtains. Fur that I would not have to brush from our couch cushions before guests come over.
And I think this is well worth the $39.99 and the scratch marks all over my forearms from a crazed and aroused feline.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream...
As I was wiping the sleep out of Zach's eyes this morning I was suddenly hit with a memory from childhood I hadn't thought of since, well, probably childhood. One of the many great things I'm finding about motherhood is that it brings back so many memories of your own from when you were little.
When I was young, I'm guessing about 5 or so, my mother used to warn me that if I didn't go to sleep the Sandman wouldn't come. In all the naiveté of a 5 year old I would dutifully obey because I didn't want the Sandman NOT to come. I had no idea who this Sandman guy was, or why it was that he made a business out of delivering sand to children while they slept, but that didn't matter. My mother would deliver the line in such a way that it made it clear to me that I surely did in fact want the man to come.
Note to self - it's all in how you deliver the line to your kid to get them to buy into whatever crap you are giving them.
So my mom would turn out the light after we said our prayers together, kiss me goodnight, and leave the room. And I would lie there trying to picture this Sandman, and he was always HUGE with a sack slung over one shoulder. He was also redheaded with a big bushy beard, and wore clothes like he was something out of J.R.R. Tolkien book. With his sack in tow he would leap in my window, nimbly sprinkle sand into each corner of my eyes, and then out the window he would disappear on to the next child's house.
Why on earth I pictured things this way is beyond me. But I look forward to sharing the same fun with Zach when he's older.
And somehow figure out how to explain to him that while the Sandman is allowed in his bedroom at night, if he actually SEES a man (other than his dad) in his room at night that he should react by kicking that man in the balls and asking questions later.
If it turns out to be the Sandman, then we'll just deal with that when the time comes.
When I was young, I'm guessing about 5 or so, my mother used to warn me that if I didn't go to sleep the Sandman wouldn't come. In all the naiveté of a 5 year old I would dutifully obey because I didn't want the Sandman NOT to come. I had no idea who this Sandman guy was, or why it was that he made a business out of delivering sand to children while they slept, but that didn't matter. My mother would deliver the line in such a way that it made it clear to me that I surely did in fact want the man to come.
Note to self - it's all in how you deliver the line to your kid to get them to buy into whatever crap you are giving them.
So my mom would turn out the light after we said our prayers together, kiss me goodnight, and leave the room. And I would lie there trying to picture this Sandman, and he was always HUGE with a sack slung over one shoulder. He was also redheaded with a big bushy beard, and wore clothes like he was something out of J.R.R. Tolkien book. With his sack in tow he would leap in my window, nimbly sprinkle sand into each corner of my eyes, and then out the window he would disappear on to the next child's house.
Why on earth I pictured things this way is beyond me. But I look forward to sharing the same fun with Zach when he's older.
And somehow figure out how to explain to him that while the Sandman is allowed in his bedroom at night, if he actually SEES a man (other than his dad) in his room at night that he should react by kicking that man in the balls and asking questions later.
If it turns out to be the Sandman, then we'll just deal with that when the time comes.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Bathroom vs. Blogger
A miracle has happened.
Sensing that Zach was on the verge of nap time, I put him on his playmat so I could go peel an orange and top off my water in preparation for his mid afternoon nap. His mid afternoon nap typically occurs around 5pm and lasts for maybe an hour where I hang out with him on my lap. I either read or catch up on some Tivo - but the bottom line is that he naps ON me. Not near me. Not in another room. He has to be on me. This is something that became abundantly clear the day we came home from the hospital - our baby is one of those babies that needs to be in constant contact with a living breathing person in order to be content enough to sleep.
I never let it bother me because 1) it's pretty damn cuddly and nice, 2) you eventually learn how to get things done and 3) I figured he'd grow out of it at least by the time he turned 30.
And besides, my philosophy about parenting is to not make a big deal out of things. Eventually you'll either figure it out, or it will work itself out. And by getting all antsy and anxious about something only stresses your kid out and in turn they become more obnoxious and difficult to deal with.
Where was I?
Rereading my rambling...
Oh ok.
So I saw Zach was getting a little heavy in the lids so I put him down to go peel an orange and came back to this:
I'd been noticing since his 3 month growth spurt that he'd been sleeping a lot deeper, which is typical. But I was still pretty surprised when I came into the living room expecting a cuddling session and nap time and this is what I came across.
And now I don't know what to do with myself.
My internal dialog went something like this:
Ohmygod
OHMYGOD
Don't make a sound...back up out of the room quietly and maybe he'll stay that way.
Wait...but we don't want to tip toe around a sleeping baby or he'll never learn to sleep through noises.
Ok...walk casually out of the room like you meant to go in there and then turn around and leave. Like there's nothing unusual. Juuuuuuusssst checking the living room to make sure it's still there.
(in kitchen)
Ohmygod
OHMYGODHE'SASLEEP
and not on me!
I can get something done now!
(looking around)
What needs doing?
Seriously.
What needs doing??
Oh for the love of...have I been unable to do things freely for so long that I no longer have an ongoing list of things to do?
Although I suppose this also means that I am pretty damn efficient at running this house regardless of having a 17lb weight strapped to me most of the time.
This is crazy. Like KUH-razy.
(looking around more, hoping something will leap out at me)
I could clean the bathroom...
Ok, something other than cleaning the bathroom...
I could tile the other bathroom floor.
Let's not get in over our head here Mary. He COULD wake up in 5 minutes.
But what if he doesn't? What if he sleeps for an hour and we just wasted an hour standing dumbfounded in the middle of kitchen going over a list of all the things we could be doing in our head instead of actually DOING something.
When did 'I' become a 'we'?
And there it is. The first time I'm left to my own devices in three months and it only takes me 5 minutes before I've split personalities and had a fight with myself.
Ok, this is stupid. DO SOMETHING.
And then I sat down and decided to blog about it.
Because what better way to procrastinate on cleaning your bathroom than to blog. Screw you bathroom, I've got more important things to do.
Sensing that Zach was on the verge of nap time, I put him on his playmat so I could go peel an orange and top off my water in preparation for his mid afternoon nap. His mid afternoon nap typically occurs around 5pm and lasts for maybe an hour where I hang out with him on my lap. I either read or catch up on some Tivo - but the bottom line is that he naps ON me. Not near me. Not in another room. He has to be on me. This is something that became abundantly clear the day we came home from the hospital - our baby is one of those babies that needs to be in constant contact with a living breathing person in order to be content enough to sleep.
I never let it bother me because 1) it's pretty damn cuddly and nice, 2) you eventually learn how to get things done and 3) I figured he'd grow out of it at least by the time he turned 30.
And besides, my philosophy about parenting is to not make a big deal out of things. Eventually you'll either figure it out, or it will work itself out. And by getting all antsy and anxious about something only stresses your kid out and in turn they become more obnoxious and difficult to deal with.
Where was I?
Rereading my rambling...
Oh ok.
So I saw Zach was getting a little heavy in the lids so I put him down to go peel an orange and came back to this:
I'd been noticing since his 3 month growth spurt that he'd been sleeping a lot deeper, which is typical. But I was still pretty surprised when I came into the living room expecting a cuddling session and nap time and this is what I came across.
And now I don't know what to do with myself.
My internal dialog went something like this:
Ohmygod
OHMYGOD
Don't make a sound...back up out of the room quietly and maybe he'll stay that way.
Wait...but we don't want to tip toe around a sleeping baby or he'll never learn to sleep through noises.
Ok...walk casually out of the room like you meant to go in there and then turn around and leave. Like there's nothing unusual. Juuuuuuusssst checking the living room to make sure it's still there.
(in kitchen)
Ohmygod
OHMYGODHE'SASLEEP
and not on me!
I can get something done now!
(looking around)
What needs doing?
Seriously.
What needs doing??
Oh for the love of...have I been unable to do things freely for so long that I no longer have an ongoing list of things to do?
Although I suppose this also means that I am pretty damn efficient at running this house regardless of having a 17lb weight strapped to me most of the time.
This is crazy. Like KUH-razy.
(looking around more, hoping something will leap out at me)
I could clean the bathroom...
Ok, something other than cleaning the bathroom...
I could tile the other bathroom floor.
Let's not get in over our head here Mary. He COULD wake up in 5 minutes.
But what if he doesn't? What if he sleeps for an hour and we just wasted an hour standing dumbfounded in the middle of kitchen going over a list of all the things we could be doing in our head instead of actually DOING something.
When did 'I' become a 'we'?
And there it is. The first time I'm left to my own devices in three months and it only takes me 5 minutes before I've split personalities and had a fight with myself.
Ok, this is stupid. DO SOMETHING.
And then I sat down and decided to blog about it.
Because what better way to procrastinate on cleaning your bathroom than to blog. Screw you bathroom, I've got more important things to do.
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