Milk, Cats, and Tears.

March 27th 2008 (Dad’s birthday)
No use crying over spilt milk. Everyone hears the phrase growing up whether it’s muttered when milk is acutally spilled or applied to some other seemingly life shattering circumstance that is totally not. I have truly cried over spilt milk. Really. Perhaps it was when I was so poor that milk was like gold to me and a true luxury item. Perhaps. I know that I’ve had distinct moments that involved spillage that led to tears falling from my eyes. My husband taught me how to shrug those things off. That’s one of his favorite words in IM chats. He uses asterisks to point out that he’s actually doing it – it’s an action: *shrug*

Anyhow, this evening, our cats got a little bit too excited. Oliver and Bonita were racing around the house as we watched TiVo’d episodes of Miss Guided. All of the sudden -- Crash! Boom! Super Crash!” – glass and chaos rained from the side of the living room. It sounded worse than it was. The cats had jumped through and around and over, but not quite over, some of the plants. Terra cotta pots came falling to the ground, dirt went flying, and a tropical plant lost its home. What a mess! The bamboo plant lost some of its rocks and all of its water as it lay helpless on the tile floor with its long limbs begging me to rearrange and transport it back to its comfortable place on the plant stool in front of the window. It was the very scene of a crime. A murder gone awry. Cat fun going-good-gone-bad.

Instead of being upset over something like this, the damage of glass pots and potential death of living plants, we shrugged it off. We laughed a little, turned on the lights, and began sifting through the debris. My husband never gets angry over such things. These are simple material possessions and can be replaced. No super harm done. It is his calm at all times in moments like this that make me stop and say to myself, “yes, he will be a good father.” There is no anger toward our silly cats who cannot be blamed for having such a gloriously good time—and they were. If cats emitted laughter as do little children on a playground, then, this is what we would have been hearing while the race was on around the living room and into the sunroom.

I spoke sternly to Bonita, the kitten whose upbringing is my responsibility, but I did not yell. After speaking sternly to her, explaining that her excitement and fun had gotten slightly out of hand, I hugged her and told her that we loved her. Like she understands. Sure. I am the teacher in a Peanuts TV cartoon. I am all Wah-Wah-Wah-Wah, but I imagine she understands. Maybe she hears something that sounds like an operatic chorus when I speak. Yes, let’s go with that.

It is my husband’s kind patience and lack of fiery anger that endears me to him so. Things may spill, things may crash, and things may fall apart at some point … but as long as we’re still standing with our limbs and appendages, too, and our love is intact--it is all so not important. And sometimes, we wear silly hats.