Pets

Sirius is ready to hibernate.

Sirius has the right idea. Baby, it’s cold outside, and I plan to stay in.

Yesterday, our grass was green and my children were outside playing, wearing light jackets and sneakers. Before the sun set, we dutifully scoured the yard to pick up anything that shouldn’t be there. Mostly that meant picking up random dog toys, balls, sticks, and socks. Lots and lots of socks. (I don’t know why my kids feel the compulsion to remove their socks as soon as they get outside, and I don’t have the energy to ask. Honestly, I don’t think they even know.)

This morning I woke up to a dusting of snow on the ground. But the warnings had been given, and as the day progressed, the snow continued to fall. My little area of the world is now covered in white.

The snow as of earlier this afternoon.

I have a love/ hate relationship with winter. I do enjoy the coziness of a nice warm house with snow falling outside while cookies bake in the oven. It is fun to watch the little kids play in the snow, making snowmen and sledding down our hill. I also welcome any excuse to have another cup of coffee. But the joy is short lived. The kids spend less time outside than they do getting their gear on. Inevitably, a little one loses a mitten or a boot and comes in screaming with frozen fingers or toes. Snow ball fights end in hurt feelings and occasional bruises. Snowman wars end with dismembered snowfolks and whining children. And then when the outdoor fun is finished, they all come in and want hot cocoa. Do you know how big of a mess these kids can make with hot cocoa mix?

Already, I have piles of snowy boots, coats, mittens, and hats making puddles all over my house. The frantic search for matching mittens and boots has begun. Speaking of that, they lost one of MY boots! How do you lose one boot? And why the heck did they have mine?!? I spend a small fortune on winter gear every year. The only pile that comes close to my matchless mitten pile is my matchless sock pile. (In fairness, I seem to be the only person who cares if socks or mittens match, as the kids will wear anything that even comes close to fitting with no regard to color, style, size or texture. They torture me.)

Anyway, in an effort to make the best of the situation, we are starting our Christmas activities a little early. My tree won’t go up until after Thanksgiving, but the carols have been playing all day and now we are watching some of our favorite Christmas movies. Marie and SJ have begun to plan which cookies we should leave for Santa, even though there are no cookies in the house. My oven is warming- today is a good day to make brownies, I think. I’m determined to enjoy the winter, for now anyway. I have little ones that are full of excitement and wonder to enjoy it with.

Expect me to have cabin fever by February.

Princess enjoying her first snowfall.

Jimmy loves Boris.

If you came over to visit, you would notice that we have a lot of pets. I would totally buy a zoo if my husband would let me. For now, I am content begging him to buy me a farm – – just a little one. And of course, it would have to have a kennel and pond for our goldens. And I have to have chickens, maybe some goats, a dairy cow would be nice. But I digress.

Among our pets, we have a bale of turtles and a tortoise. Jimmy loves our tortoise. My guess is that if Jimmy had to pick his favorite animal, he wouldn’t have to think long before he answered with “Boris!”

Boris, our Russian Tortoise.

It is not unusual for me to remind Jimmy that he needs to leave Boris and his tank alone. Several times a day, I find Jimmy staring into Boris’s habitat, talking to him and telling him all sorts of important stories, most of which I can’t understand. But Boris and Jimmy have a relationship. They are friends, and who am I to keep a boy separated from his tortoise pal? Though I do remove the toys and other paraphernalia that Jimmy sneaks into the tank on an almost daily basis.

A friendship like theirs does have its challenges — mostly for me, though Jimmy would insist that I just don’t understand. Last weekend I wrote down some of the things I actually said during a Jimmy and Boris play date.

Boris is our resident vegetarian, which is good because at least someone here will eat their veggies.

Boris is our resident vegetarian, which is good because at least someone here will eat some veggies.

“No! Don’t lick Boris! Oh, yuck!”

“No! Don’t write on Boris!” I don’t even know where the pen came from. I don’t think I looked away for a second.

“No! Don’t kiss Boris. Oh gross. Ok, whatever, kiss him, I’ll take a picture.”

“No! Don’t take Boris’s grapes, those are his grapes.”

“No! Don’t eat Boris’s lettuce, you don’t even like lettuce!”

“Put him down. No, you can’t hold him. Be careful!”

‘No! Don’t pour your orange juice on Boris. That’s not nice.”

“No! Don’t poke Boris.”

“No, you can’t give him a hug. We don’t hug tortoises. Oh, that was a nice hug.”

Jimmy trying to kiss Boris.

“Here, I think Boris wants to go back in his tank now. Say “Goodbye, Boris.'”

Actually, Boris didn’t seem to want to return to his tank at all. He was fine and seemed to enjoy the crazy antics of the 2 year old that loves him. But I couldn’t take anymore. Jimmy keeps me busy. He is fun and inquisitive and a joy to be around, but that kid can get into mischief as fast as any I’ve ever seen. Wish me and my little Russian tortoise friend luck. We need it.