Onto Something Else

Jake has been a rather constant presence in my thoughts for the past couple of weeks, and after watching the Animal Control website like a hawk, I am now rather convinced that he is dead. As I believe I said earlier, this is actually a comforting thought to me. To know that he is not cold and hungry is something to take comfort in. His pen has been put up, and his dog bed and food bowls now occupy a place in the garage. I'm not ready to permanently get rid of that stuff yet. That's for later. I still have to call our wonderful vet to let him know. When Elle died Dr. McKee made a donation in her name to a local animal charity, and also sent us a sympathy card. I don't know if this is standard behavior, but it showed his -- and Elle's -- humanity. And since he took good care of Jake, I think this last call to him is fitting.

But onto other things.

Two funny comments escaped Annemarie's mouth over Christmas break. The first occurred when a relative headed for the backdoor of my grandparents' home with a cigarette dangling from his lips. This sort of act (ie, smoking) is sort of taboo to my rather Puritanical grandparents, so most everyone noticed it. Including Annemarie. You should have *seen* the look on her face as she turned to me and half hissed, half whispered, in utter health-conscious horror, "DID YOU SEE THAT MAN? (this is her second cousin, someone she's seen possibly three times before) HE HAD A SMOKING CHEMICAL IN HIS MOUTH!"

And another funny moment occurred when Annemarie reunited with her cousins, people she sees only about two to three times a year, but whom she talks about almost constantly. Our three nieces and one nephew are the cat's meow to Annemarie, and she takes great pleasure in receiving gifts that are like the ones they recieve, particularly matching clothes, so that she can emulate them as closely as possible. This, as you might imagine, has both its upsides and its downsides.

When together, they spend almost all of their time pretending something, and some sort of girly dress up ritual is almost always involved. On this particular night Annemarie and her cousins emerged from one of the bedrooms wearing their pajamas, and smelling strongly of a various blend of perfumes applied so heavily that pajama cuffs looked noticeably moist. As they all stood together showing off their jewelry -- and their overpowering smell -- I noticed how cute Annemarie looked among them. For while everyone else (ages 7 and up) was wearing two piece, shirt and pants pajamas, my Annemarie stood there among them in a set of pink, zip up the front footie pajamas, totally unaware of how young they made her look. The fact that she was oblivious was the icing on the cake. I wanted to weep motherly sap and shake her by the shoulders, begging her to stay this perfect little age, to be five forever, where she is still so unaware of so much. It was a delightful little display. And stinky, too. Very stinky.

Did I just dote on her adorable innocence? About 30 minutes later, when things got too quiet for my comfort, I found her and her cousins sitting on a bed, the three cousins engaged in their individual video games that they recieved for Christmas, with a disgusted, stinky, footie-jammied Annemarie sitting in the middle of them, her five year old job of applying lipstick displayed in a bright pink stain that was closer to nostril than lip. She was 100% pissed off that she was less than cool because she was less than video-gamed. "Why don't you ever get me video games, mu-THER?" she hissed my way as I entered the room.

Uh, excuse me, child? You're in footie jammies. You don't get to talk like that.