Wednesday, March 12, 2008

One hour to get stuff done.

Immediately after refusing to eat half her lunch, Cora demanded pop. I ignored her, trying to get some work done. Then the pretty eyes, pulling of my hand and correct diction came out, "Pop-cown Pease" She said.

"Okay," Mom said. "But not NOW, in ONE HOUR." then in a moment of inspiration, "when the timer goes off." I went to the fridge, removed her handy timer, set it for one hour, and then magnetized it to a metal piece out of her reach. Last time mom said that, she pressed buttons on the stupid thing until it went off, turning a half hour into thirty minutes. First, she crabbed a bit. Then she brought me her paints. I whetted them and handed her paint brushes. Then she brought me colored pencils (mine) which i took away. Then she played happily with her paints for a bit.

At least I thought that was what she was doing. Sometime between doing that and staring outside, she decided to exit the house. This was not something I was worried about. Our French door is not a very cooperative slider, and its usually barred at the bottom with a wood board. A short while later, Cora brought me a handful of snow, and informed me rather gravely "Zar-ya out thide."

"Outside." I corrected absently. "out thide." she repeated.

Huh? My mind went, and i stood up and walked over to peer at the French doors. They were OPEN! Wow! Our little girl is so strong! My Cat is probably half way to Tahiti.

First, I try and close the door. This doesn't work. Evidently she wanted to take her paint brushes outside with her, and somehow dropped all of them into the slide ridges. I had to lift the door to unwedge the stupid brushes, while blocking the door, and darting furtive glances for my unfortunately tortie cat. Tortoise patterned cats have a natural spring and fall camouflage pattern. The last brush unjammed, I slid the door closed leaving the small child and visible kitty (Bombay) on one side.

Second, I do a quick 360 of the yard. No visible cat. Under the porch! I think. Last time the stupid cat got out, she was hiding under the porch. I try and crouch.

At six months gestation, crouch is not a word to describe how one gets ones face within a few inches of the ground to peer under a two foot tall structure. It gets my face about three and a half feet above the ground. However, standing back up, kneeling, then basically face planting into a snowbank gave me a great view. Just as i finish scanning the dark of under the porch for Zarya, my eyes catch a fleeting tail. I am back on my hands and knees just in time to see the cat wind its way through the six foot privacy fence by the garage.

Zarya I call. It pauses as I try and stumble back to my feet. Then it takes off again, just a little faster. Who can blame it? its spring! Its been sprung by that lotion obsessed small being, and the TRASH is so enticing smelling. This baby sits like a giant basketball right under my skin. As I waddle/bolt to the gate, I step on some exposed earth and realize I'm barefoot as mud squishes between my toes. Then Cora calls from behind as I try and jiggle the rusty bolt free. She is out on the deck again, and Bombay is peering around the corner.

I must have screamed, because Cora started to giggle, Bombay shrunk back into the house, and Zarya was staring toward me as i stumbled over the gate ledge. Fortunately, she stayed still long enough for me to scruff her. I dragged her up to my stooped form, cradled her under one arm, and muttering as many (non English) swearwords as I could give vent to. Cora gladly accompanied me back into the house too.

So much for working hard for an hour. The timer went off ten minutes later. I made the aforementioned popcorn, and Cora ate all of six pieces before collapsing on the couch. I made certain to close the screen. Its a little stickier than the french doors. I locked them both, and dropped the timber.

Tomorrow will be an exciting day. If my predictions hold true, Cora will figure out child safety locks, the locks on the French doors, and probably basic trig functions. Thats going to prove troublesome. I haven't used trig since high school.

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