Jeremy and Oswald have a "chat"

My husband is a big ol' softie when it comes to animals. He wanted to be a veterinarian, until he assisted the local vet with the spaying of a cat. When he nearly passed out, he figured he'd explore a different career avenue and discovered a passion for languages. He studied four languages in high school, won some award they never gave anyone else before in the history of our Alma Mater, and enlisted in the army as a translator, Russian.  Years later, that gift for languages turned into a gift for programming computers and an ability to be able to move from one language to another with little difficulty. So I shouldn't have been too surprised that his natural curiosity, combined with his interest in languages and communication led to his laying on the floor with Oswald attempting a bunny conversation.

"I've always wondered why Rabbits wiggle their nose," I said off-offhandedly while watching Oswald run through his 'obstacle course.'  Oswald has a preferred path through the living room that he takes over and over: behind the step ladder, under the entertainment center door that is never closed, hop up on the couch, get gently pushed off said couch, leap side ways as if something spooked him, run up two steps, hop back down two steps, repeat until tired.  I didn't notice Jeremy typing on the computer. He's always typing on the computer. It just didn't register in my mind.
"It says here that wiggling is a form of communication," he started to read from a page on the net, "

"Most rabbits at rest will be wiggling their noses. Rabbits don't need to do this to smell things, and they don't necessarily do it in time with their breathing, and they sometimes stop completely. So why do they do it at all? A rabbit's nose is like a thermometer for how interested it is in what's being observed. The faster the wiggling, the more attentive or agitated the rabbit is. Nose wiggle signaling is generally only used by rabbits that are already moderately relaxed.

A fast wiggle doesn't necessarily mean a rabbit is upset. It may just signal interest in something being witnessed, or some passing thought. A slowly wiggling nose indicates a calm rabbit. Rabbits usually use nose wiggling to indicate fine gradations in their mood. If you start moving around or doing something odd, that nose will start moving faster, and the rabbit may also turn its ears to focus more upon you. If a rabbit is considering fleeing, though, it will usually stop wiggling its nose completely.

One way to help calm a rabbit is to do the equivalent of whispering "there, there, it's all right" using slow nose wiggling. Of course, humans can't really wiggle their noses properly (OK, maybe you can), but rabbits will understand if you just use your upper lip. If you roll your upper lip under your top teeth and back again, this looks much like a rabbit nose wiggle. It's especially effective if you happen to have a mustache. On the other hand, some folks can actually wiggle their noses enough for the rabbit to recognize it. Experiment to see what your rabbit responds to."

Knowing Jeremy as I do, my first thought was, oh no. He's going to have to try this. So it was no surprise that within minutes, my husband was on the floor, facing Oswald making strange facial contortions in attempt to engage the rabbit's attention.  Oswald hopped off. Jeremy changed locations with the rabbit, laid on his belly again, attempted to face Oswald and tried again. Oswald stood up on his hind legs, sniffed the air, and then hopped away.  After several attempts Jeremy pushed up from the floor and said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to practice that and try again some other time. Apparently my nose wiggling skills aren't up to par." He wandered off to the kitchen for a snack. Oswald, completely unimpressed, decided to hop back into his cage and give himself a bath.

So much for rabbit/human communications.  For now.

Is that a euphemism for...?

We were wandering through the garden section of the mega-monster-warehouse-hardware store looking for humus/manure mix, mulch, and garden soil. Wearing bored, resigned expressions, Jeremy and Joshua were taking turns dutifully pushing the flat bed cart. Ruth and Hannah tagged behind whining and complaining. I lead the merry parade up and down the aisles of dirt, mulch and plants effectively tuning out my family, concentrating instead on what I needed.

After a bit, my ears focused the catty noises my daughters were making at one another and their words became more discernible.
"You are a blooming flower," Hannah chanted in a sing song voice, hands demonstrating the way a flower blooms.
"Stooooooop it!" Ruth demanded.
"You" she paused pointedly, "Are a blooming flower." Hannah repeated the motion.  I figured she was talking about all the pots and planters full of marigolds, petunias, and inpatients that were surrounding us to either side.  I also figured it was the repetitious phrase and the sing-songy voice that was making Ruthie crazy. Hannah has "twerp" down to a "T."
"Knock. It. OFF!" Ruth said with clenched teeth.
"Yooooou are a bloooooooooooooooming flower," Hannah tilted her head to one side, swung it to the other with a great flourish, gesturing with her hands again.
"I mean it Hannah. I swear, when you're going through puberty, I'm gonna call you a blooming flower and see how YOU like it." Ruthie pouted.

Jeremy goggled. Joshua giggled. And I stood there staring at Hannah, pondering where on earth she got this one. Realizing she achieved her goal: tormenting her sister while effectively grabbing our attention and half of the customers milling about, Hannah repeated her mantra for added effect. "You are a bloooooooooooooooooming flower." She did her stinker grin, giggled, especially when Jeremy unconvincingly said, "Knock it off." Joshua snorted.

"Weeeeellll," Ruth said pointedly to Joshua, "How would YOU like to be called a blooming flower."
He blushed, looked at the ground, kicked at an imaginary pebble and shook his head. "I don't think she'd call me that. I'm a guy. I don't really...have...a...um...blooming...uh, flower." My head was reeling. I really didn't want to have any part of 'the talk' in the middle of the mega-monster-warehouse-hardware store garden center. Oh great, now do I have to explain what Joshua meant by that to my girls?  Where do these kids get this stuff?

I quickly paid while the young, teen-aged, male clerk studiously pretended he didn't hear those last two remarks. Jeremy suddenly found peat moss very interesting. And a few customers behind me in line seemed to have a problem with all of the flower pollen, having coughing fits at the same time. Hannah, delighted with her results, beamed.
"OOHhh!!!" Ruth, now leading our crew, stomped off towards the car, Hannah tailing directly behind.
"You are a bloooooooming flower...."

Ah, Young Love

The sixth grade science curriculum includes a three day, two night camping trip at the end of the year.  I sat at the parents' meeting a few weeks ago listening to the rules, regulations, packing list, and activities planned for the trip. On the last night of their stay at Camp, they have a dance.

Joshua has been actively pursued by a very cute, very musically talented, girl, who can also hula dance with poi. I'm pretty sure it's the last part that caught The Boy's attention. After all, what full-blooded male doesn't want a female who can do a pretty amazing hula.  A week before Camp, Joshua came home in a tizzy. She asked him to escort her to the dance.

"I can't dance! I can't dance! What am I going to say to her? I don't want to hurt her feelings and say no, but I can't dance!" He paced around the living room watching his feet, arms waving dramatically about his head.
"Come here," standing in front of him. "Put your hands on my waist. Now I'm going to put my hands on your shoulders. Now sway. This is how sixth graders dance with each other. And if you're feeling really adventurous, you can turn circles while you sway." I led him around in a 360 degree turn.
Blushing crimson, Joshua dropped his hands and said, "Oh. Ok." And then sauntered off, pretending nothing happened. The next day he announced he told her yes, he'd go to the dance with her.

Yesterday, Josh returned from Camp and it was all I could do to not blurt out how it all turned out with this girl and the dance. The conversation eventually steered itself in that direction.
"So did you dance with her?"
"Yeah, well, no, not really." He said.
"Aaaaaaannnnndd??"
"I started to dance with her, but I really don't know how, so I stopped."
"Um, did you just walk away?"
"Yeah, something like that."
I cringed thinking about how that must have felt for this girl who is crushing on him. And I certainly hope he gave some explanation or excuse to her for stopping the dance. All I could picture is him dropping his hands from her shoulders, turning around and walking away. Believe me, he'd do something like.  My neanderthal son still has a lot to learn about girls.

Apparently Rabbits don't like Math...even though they Multiply...

     After spending his first year of life cooped up in a cage in a barn, Oswald thinks he's living the high-life.  I let the rabbit run around the yard once in awhile, since we have a small fenced in space. Under close supervision, he also enjoys a few hours exploring the house too. He's mastered hopping up two steps, sniffed every square inch of the living room and kitchen, and figured out how to jump on and off and on and off and on and off the couch, again and again, and uh, again. (Apparently this is great bunny entertainment). So far, we've had very little problems with allowing the rabbit some freedom. Our electrical cords are still in tact. He hasn't chewed anything to bits. And, normally, he contains his waste to his cage or the litter box. However, yesterday, Ozzy was a naughty bunny.

Ruthie was sitting under the tiny tree in our backyard doing her math homework.  The last thing she expected was a big fuzz ball to come and flop down on her math book. He sprawled over both pages, and sniffed at Ruthie. Giggling, she said, "Oswald, NO! I'm trying to see my math problems!"  Just as quick, her laughter turned into a cry of distress. Turning from weeding my flower bed, I asked, "What happened?"

"Oswald peed on my math book. He PEED on it. Oswald! Why did you pee on my math book?"

Oswald, looking mighty pleased with himself, and unwilling to move his lump of fluff off of her book, declined giving a reason.  Maybe he knew Ruthie hates math. Maybe he was trying to do her a favor. Most likely though, it was because math books are made of paper and Oswald has a serious paper fetish. Peeing on the math book was the most logical way to claim it as his.

After Ruth shooed the rabbit away, he kept trying to hop back and nibble on the pages. The more she pushed him away, the more he insisted on having the text book for his own. As if in a fevered state, he started digging at the pages, hopping sideways, running in circles around the book, and then repeating the whole procedure in between Ruth shoving him away so she could clean off the pages. "Oswald, No! OSWALD! ARGH!" She moaned.

I began fussing at her for keeping the book on the ground. "Put it up on the patio table where he can't get to it." I said through clenched teeth. I was covered in mud, and virtually useless in the Oswald v. Ruth v. Math Book kung fu competition, though I did make a few decent blocks with my foot. I didn't think mud would be a welcome addition to the rabbit pee. I didn't want to have to groom it out of the bunny's long fur, so I couldn't pick him up at that moment. And I wasn't sure if I dared to make a break to the kitchen to wash up. Ozzy would surely take advantage of my momentary absence. "Go get a paper towel." I commanded. Ruth ran inside, grabbed the roll and began sopping up the urine.

"He also peed all over my homework paper."

"You'll have to re-copy it onto a new piece of paper."

"Oh Oswald. You caused me soooo much trouble." She spoke to the rabbit, who, no longer having a book to eat, decided to run a few more laps around the yard.

Ruth informed me that the principal will be sending me a bill. And, since I'm pretty sure Oswald won't be willing or able to cough up the $80, unsurprisingly, I will be purchasing a new math text book for the elementary school.

from one male to another...

"There's this girl at school, and she gets mad at me all the time for no good reason!" Joshua complained to his father one evening. "I try to tell her something, and it just makes her furious!"

"Well, uh, what exactly are you saying to her?" Jeremy asked.

"Well, she keeps saying she's gotta diet and stuff, 'cuz she's like fat and stuff, but she's not. She's thin.  In fact, I told her she was crazy to think she needed to diet. I told her she's skinny as a twig."

Jeremy goggled at The Boy in horrified amusement. "Um, son, see uh, when a female says she's fat, and you know she's not, 'skinny as a twig' is not a compliment.  Telling her she's thin might be ok. But usually just don't touch that subject with a ten foot pole. It's a losing argument. It will never end pretty. Trust me."

"But she is," Josh insisted. "Why would she be offended by being called 'skinny as a twig' ?"

"Because you're comparing her to a branch. That's why. A branch. Do you think a branch is attractive? Do you think any girl or woman wants to be told they look like a branch?"

"Oh."

And she made it aaaaaaaalll by herself (right?)

"Aaron made a Gorilla too," Hannah told Josh.
"Oh?" Joshua feigned interest. He always did have a soft spot for the littlest sister.
"Yeah. His Gorilla isn't very good," She said with disdain. "It's just on paper. You can just tell his mother drew the whole thing. All he did was color it."

"Hello, I'm I-mom*...

    ...it's great to be here again at Technology Challenged 101," I said with a huge sigh as I took my usual seat for the umpteenth week in a row.

"Uh-oh, " said our Fearless Geek, leader of the technological hopeless. "What did you do this time?"

"Same thing I did last year for my kid's talent show. Somehow, I didn't manage to record his act."

Gasps were heard from all around the circle. The petite, blue-haired, eighty-year old lady to my left wearing the fuchsia sweats and alligator bag patted my knee, as if to say, "It's ok, It'll be alright."

"I don't know how I did it this time. Last year I used my father's camera. It's an older digital, that used those tapes. Now everything is DVD or hard disk. The tape was corrupt or something. I got twenty seconds of his act and then it was all rainbow-like static. That, was not, my fault."

"We weren't talking about last year," FG gently reminded me to stay on track, "We're talking about this year."

"Oh, really. I don't know how. That's why I'm here. We bought the camera before Christmas. I used it correctly for the musical. I don't know what I did! Jeremy came home and said, 'How was the talent show, did you get it recorded?' And I said, 'Yes I did.' 'Cuz I was all proud of myself, yanno, and so he said..."

All eyes were staring at me, glazed over.  FG gazed at the ceiling searching for patience as if there might be an endless supply up there, or something. I cut off my sordid tale of video camera woe and got to the important part.

"Well, anyway, long story short, it wasn't there. Small clips here and there of stuff that no one wants to watch, but nothing longer than that."

"I-mom," FG gently chastised, "Did you confuse pause with record again?"

I blushed fourteen shades of crimson. "Uh. Um. Weeeeeelll. (maybe?)" I shrunk down in my chair.  FG sighed a loud, long sigh.  I truly was hopeless.


*i-mom = idiot mom
** Technologically Challenged 101 is a product of my imagination.  Otherwise, this entire story is true.