Something’s amiss

Posted by S.

Strange things are happening. Something is in the air. Hubby woke up at 6 a.m. and announced: “Let’s get up.” He made lunch at 10 a.m. He handed out our after-dinner vitamins at 4 p.m.

I know that our internal clocks are off a bit due to the daylight savings time switch two weeks ago. But this is a little worrisome. Perhaps tomorrow we will go to bed at 3 p.m. and wake up at 1 a.m. for dinner.

With this schedule, it seems anything is possible.

Family vacations and procreation

Posted by Shoshana

I think there’s something in the water, or maybe in the air, but there is something aligned, for sure that is causing people I know to procreate left or right. Perhaps they are taking more family vacations that make them realize that they want more of the blissful happy, drawn-out days of quality, unadulterated family time.

I, too, have had such yearnings. Thankfully, my body is outfitted with protective armor that greatly fights off the opportunity to procreate, whatever that means. But as I am realizing that the boys are growing up and will soon be going to kindergarten, I wonder when I will really start wishing for another kid that can grace us with his or her cuteness. They grow up fast, as I am told, and as I am witnessing, and there was a point to this post. I just forgot it.

A not-so-typical day at IKEA

Posted by A.

IKEA catalog parody by Aubrey Clayton

For the past week, we thought our son might be getting a little brother or sister. Turns out it was nothing more than a scare. I would be totally relieved if I weren’t so surprisingly disappointed.

I always thought I only wanted one child, so it’s funny that I feel like I lost something or someone — someone that never even existed!

We returned yesterday from a family vacation. Just the three of us (no fourth , afterall). We went to the zoo, the beach, the park, IKEA. All the typical stuff.

But really there was nothing typical about our vacation. I mean, when you think about it, on a day to day basis, we spend more time at work than with our families. Spending a full week with my husband and son was actually pretty atypical. I loved every minute of it. Also noteworthy, the Swedish meatballs.

Perhaps next time we will have another family member to bring along. Well, maybe in a couple years.

The truth about cars and marriage

Posted by A.

It was a peaceful Friday evening and we were pushing our son in his swing when my husband turned to me and asked, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

The question was posed with little emotion attached, so I knew he wasn’t angry. I also knew exactly what he was calmly alluding to.

You see, on Friday afternoon I accidentally crashed his car. Well, “crashed” is a little harsh. More accurately, I  “tapped” it into another car as I was slowly backing out of a parking space at the car dealership. There was absolutely no damage to the other car, and my husband’s bumper only suffered a tiny, weensy, minuscule, barely even noticeable scratch.

And so I breathed a sigh of relief — I thought I was free and clear. My husband was inside the car dealership at the time paying for servicing on my own car, which he was to drive home. He would never have to know that I, his loving and unbelievably clumsy wife, was the cause of the scratch. Besides, his bumper was by no means in perfect condition to begin with; most notably, there’s a splotch of green paint from one of his mural projects.

But fate had something different in mind. And by fate, I mean the nosy car salesperson with the big, fat, flapping mouth.

And so comes the evening and his question: “Is there something you want to tell me?”

I took a deep breath. I laughed nervously. I quickly pondered all possible answers before blurting out: “It wasn’t my fault! He came out of nowhere. He wasn’t looking where he was going. I think he wanted me to hit him … I’m so sorry …”

He laughed. “So when were you going to tell me?” he asked.

And that’s when the real truth came out: “Well, I wasn’t.”

We are always told that the key to a succesful marriage is communication. And it’s a rule I try to live by.  But if the truth isn’t hurting anyone, isn’t it sometimes better to avoid it in leu of possible conflict?

Maybe. Or maybe not.

While it sounds good in theory, it’s really just circular reasoning. It’s not taking into account the intervening variables, in this case a nosy car salesperson. With variables such as this one, the truth will invariably come out, raising even more serious questions about your partner’s honesty and faithfulness.

The conversation about scratching my husband’s car wasn’t an easy one. But not telling the truth could have done more damage than the accident itself.

“So what other secrets are you keeping from me?” he asked, half-joking, half not.

Oh boy, here we go.

“How much time have you got?”

People are into Cars

Posted by Shoshana

I think a lot of our site traffic comes from searches for Disney and Cars and Boys. Interesting. I find it remarkable, actually.

See, when the boys were little, we vowed not to get them into Thomas and Friends because of how much a single train costs ($19.99). Our nephew had pretty much every train ever invented, costing his parents a small fortune. We did not want to go down that road. So instead, we indulged them in characters from the Cars movie.

They love Lightning McQueen. He is by far their favorite. But they pretty much love any car that has racing tires and eyes. They don’t even want Hotwheels anymore because the cars don’t have eyes, even though some of those Hotwheels are pretty cool looking. (I am also partial to those cars because I grew up loving them and playing with them as much as my Barbies.)

But I am simply amazed at the marketing capability of Disney/Pixar on this movie. I am sure they have made multiple times more profits from all the paraphernalia that has been created to support this movie. My boys have Cars clothes, backpacks, books, balls and blankets. They, in a way, have been branded.

I know it could be worse. They could be really into Sponge Bob, who is really scary if you sit and pay attention to what is going on. But boys will be boys, and boys love cars.

My dad’s Feral Cat Society

Posted by A.

“Forty-thousand cats are put to sleep each year in Clark County alone …”

Harold Goldsmith and Mitten, our house cat who lived to be 24.

There are several interesting stories I could dedicate to my father, Harold Goldsmith. There is the story of his service to the state of Israel as a soldier in the Yom Kippur War in the 1970s. There is the story of his efforts to teach the Moapa Indian Tribe self sufficiency by building greenhouses on their reservation in the 1980s for farming tomatoes and cucumbers.

But the story I want to focus on today is more of a current event. It’s a tale (or a tail, if you will) about my dad’s dedication to a colony of feral cats.

Runtie the feral cat.

My dad owns a piece of land on an industrial site on the northeast side of Las Vegas near Nellis Airforce base, which he uses for his business Automated Fertilizing Systems. The half-acre property  is tucked off the main road, hidden quietly behind a gate.

Over the years, he has built up quite a following of stray cats on his land. Every morning he drives across town to his land to feed what he calls his “pride.” He has grown quite fond of the cats, naming each one (Runtie, Kushie, Haley, Sye, Mushy Muddy …) and slowly gaining their trust.

Most of the cats sleep under more than 200 feet by 12 feet wide scaffold that’s piled up in the neighboring yard. But when it’s time to eat, they know they can turn to my dad. His relationship with the cats is strong, even though he says it’s a relationship based on food.

Feral cats Runtie, Sye and Mushy Muddy hang out on my dad's land.

“Feral cats are wild. They don’t typically have any contact with human beings at all,” says dad, who spends about $40 a week to feed the cats. “Once they understand you’re feeding them they completely change their attitude. They don’t trust most human beings, but they trust me enough to let me walk around near them.”
Unfortunately the plight of feral cats, (the offspring of wild, abandoned or lost cats) is dire in Las Vegas. And as his colony of cats grew from two to 20, my dad knew he had to take action.

“Forty-thousand cats are put to sleep each year in Clark County alone because they’re feral and they get caught,” explains my dad. “ They overpopulate, and then they’re executed. You have to spay and neuter them and stop the population explosion.”

Kushie the feral cat.

Dad turned to the animal sanctuary Heaven Can Wait to have the cats spayed and neutered. Earlier this year he caught 15 of the cats in the cages provided by Heaven Can Wait, a record number for one person.
Now his pride of feral cats is a registered colony on record with Clark County, meaning they are considered feral cats that are being taken care of legally. After they are spayed and neutered, their ears are nicked on the left side, a signal to animal control that these cats are being cared for.

“I love these cats,” says my dad. “When they’re missing I get worried. They’re very intelligent and can live completely independent of people and still survive. But if they get used to people, they’re great pets. They’re very loyal.”

Feral cat Haley is the Alpha cat of the bunch.

My father wasn’t always a cat person. He had dogs as pets until he lived in Las Vegas. In fact, it was my older brother, Micah, and me who brought home our first family cat, Mitten. She followed us home from school when I was in the first grade (and I use the term “followed” loosely).
Today, my parents have two cats, I have three cats, Micah has four cats and my younger brother, Jonathan, has two. Mitten passed away a few years ago — she lived to be 24!

The biggest question my dad faces now is what to do once he retires.

“How can I sell it?” he says of his land. “I would have to sell it on the contingency that you would have to come out and take care of the cats. Not many people want to do that.

“I may have to dedicate the back half of my property as a cat sanctuary.”