I make no secret of the fact that I am not a pet person. While
it is true that my husband and I are both dreadfully allergic to
cats and dogs, I am just not fond of four-legged creatures as a
general rule. I think part of the issue has to do with our family
being on the go. In order to maintain any semblance of a bathroom
schedule for Lassie, we would have to call in a lot of favors from
friends and family. I prefer to save acts of goodwill for when one
of our kids puts a screwdriver through his eye and someone needs to
watch the other kids as I jump in the ambulance.
True story, by the way.
For the record, I adore penguins. If God had put me in charge of
the Ark, there would be nothing but penguins and humans left on
earth. I would have jammed the ship full of them. I think it all
started with Chilly Willy, the cartoon penguin who hated being
cold. Living through Chicago winters for nearly 40 years, I can
totally see where Chilly was coming from. Our kind needs to
live on a beach. Drinking margaritas.
This summer, my youngest son, Joey, has been relentless in his
quest for a pet. Last week, he decided the best way to achieve this
feat was simply to capture his own. He ran up to me at a July 4th
party with a half-squished lightning bug between his fingers.
"MOMMY, look! This bug is Freddie. He doesn't even want to fly
away because he LOVES me. Just look!"
With that, Joey dropped the flatlined insect on the ground to
prove his point. Sure enough, Freddie did nothing to facilitate his
own escape. My husband, a trained paramedic, took one look and
"I think he's in D-fib."
Freddie was indeed carried home courtesy of a red Solo cup and
paper towel. The next day, Freddie was moved to far more posh
surroundings: a $4.09 net cage from Target.
As I kissed my youngest child while he slept in his bed last
night, I realized that there is something special about a boy and
But if the kid starts showing up with grasshoppers, I'm putting
my foot down.
As in *crunch*.
Marianne is mother of three sons and the wife of a southside Irish fireman. She has learned that sometimes you're just too dumb to know what makes you happy. She blogs regularly at We Band of Mothers (webandofmothers.com) and curses with even greater frequency. Her material is written for the imperfect, the imprudent, and the impatient mothers who know that all this stuff is really very funny if you just give it a minute.
See more of Marianne's stories here.
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