Friday

Friday afternoon is such a relaxing time, even when I know the weekend is going to be anything but. It's the calm before the storm, a time when we probably don't really have to do anything.

I have found a new reason to love Fridays this year: no homework. Homework is a big thing in second grade (we mainly ignored it in first grade). It comes home in the kids' backpacks on Mondays and is due four days later. That means that Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons are stressful, because the boos have not quite gotten into the homework rhythm yet. A lot of screaming goes on.

But not on Fridays. Actually, a lot of screaming occurs on Fridays, too, but it's just garden variety screaming. For example, just a little while ago Kid B was screaming because I wouldn't let him move his marble and then jump over another marble (in Chinese Checkers). "Yes, I CAN do it, Mom!" he screamed at me. So I said fine, you play that way, but I'm not going to play anymore, and I got up. Note that this is not one of the options during homework time.

Boos decided to go next door and play with our neighbor, who is apparently more lax about the rules of Chinese Checkers. Yay, time to myself.

I would dearly love to lie down on my bed and take a nap, but I think I need to stay in the picture until the kids go to bed. I've come down with a sort of mild cold, which was not what I needed right now, but I'm still functional. Just tired. Oh, and our big black cat Pie Bear has decided to use up another one of his lives by getting injured, so we're dealing with that now.

He didn't want to eat on Tuesday, and when the kids came home and carried him to the sofa to watch TV with them, he was dopey and meowing. I also thought he was walking badly. Assuming he was having another diabetic episode, we rushed him off to the vet. But although his blood sugar was high (421 or so), it wasn't really high enough to cause all his symptoms. Fortunately, one of the vet techs noticed blood on his black fur, something I'd missed completely. They shaved his chest and discovered a gaping wound. No idea how he got it. The vet techs thought he'd probably walked into a sharp stick, but the vet rolled her eyes at that idea. "Something bit him," was her assessment, even though it didn't look like a bite. We'll never know.

So now Pie is home again, on antibiotics twice a day, of course his daily dose of insulin, pain medication as needed, and hot compresses to keep the wound from scabbing over. The time we have put into caring for that cat! Here he is in his garage box, looking distinctly unimpressed by the attention. Of course the cat door to the outside is locked and we have to do litter box maintenance (and Pie's "output" is so very very smelly).

But then I think about the people in the horrible Valley Fire, so many of whom have lost their cats (not as easy to scoop up and put in a car as a dog). Think how it would feel to know that your pet had burned up in a fire. So it's probably not worth complaining about one's cat being alive. Despite all the bother, I do love him so.