Sunday, March 24, 2013

Happy Veinticinco de Michael!

Michael turned 25 today.  We celebrated with family, friends and two days of tacos.

FUN STORY: My two and half year old niece, Eavan, recently learned how to lock doors, just grew tall enough to reach doorknobs on her own, and is simultaneously in a hiding people's things phase.  When our families were over for dinner on Saturday night, she thought it would be hilarious to hide my dad's reading glasses inside our bedroom. And to make them extra difficult to find, she locked them inside the room.  In most houses this probably wouldn't be an issue, but we didn't even know that door locked and apparently don't own any keys that open it. We also keep our windows locked so there wasn't an easy way in. Twenty or so minutes of trying every key we could find/jimmying the lock, and one unreturned phone call to our landlord later meant calling a locksmith.  So long story short, we have a new doorknob, and once the locksmith finally got the door open, we all saw my dad's glasses sitting on the foot of our bed. She is mischievous that one.  Luckily, she is also really cute.  And it's already a fun memory.

The rest of the weekend was mostly spent watching March Madness, and relaxing around the house.  But we also went for a run today, so that evens out all the food and leisurely activities, right?

Happy birthday Michael! You are loved.  Grateful for you and the opportunity to celebrate your life.

(For a different glimpse of the birthday, check out my first two Vine videos. The first one I like to call "Locksmith Adventures," the second "Birthday Food and Basketball.")

Saturday, March 2, 2013


During the summer after second grade, my neighbor's cat had kittens. I wouldn't say I was friends with Gaylen, but we were the same age, so I don't think his mom thought it was weird that I spent so much time in their garage with those tiny kitties that summer. When it came time to give them away, I knew exactly which one I wanted and I pleaded with my parents to take her home. I'm positive that I was so annoying about it that they gave in just to shut me up.

They let me name her, and her stripes and spunk led me to "Tigger." I'm not sure if I knew at that point in my life that Tigger from Winnie the Pooh was actually a boy, or that I didn't care, but Tigger the girl it was.

Tig has been a part of my life for most of the years that I can remember, so it was extra tough to say goodbye today. Even though I haven't lived at home in years, she's still my cat and I will be forever grateful for the almost 21 years of joy, comfort and the occasional strife she brought into my life.

This cat always knew when I was sad. Whether it was a mean kid on the playground in elementary school, fights with friends in junior high, fights with my parents in high school (those were tough years), or breakups with boyfriends, Tig could sense whenever I was sad and come find me. She wasn't always the sweetest of cats, which is why I think this was one of my favorite things about her. When I was sad she wouldn't meow incessantly, or unexpectedly swat at my hands mid-pet, she would just sit, cuddle and let me cry.

Some of my other favorite Tig-isms:

  • Tig rarely wanted to cuddle, except at night, when she wanted to snuggle up next to you, preferably under the covers. Which was great, until the crack of dawn. When she woke up, she thought you should be awake too. Not because she was hungry, but because she was displeased that you weren't up to play with her or let her outside of the room. So what would she do? Bat at the curtains. With increasing intensity, until you got so annoyed that you got out of bed, grabbed her in anger, dropped her in the hallway and slammed the door shut to keep her out. This solved the problem for about 15 minutes until she realized she still wanted your company.  Then she would sit outside the door and meow, again with increasing intensity, until she got what she wanted. You were up.
  • She really liked to be pet, but only on her own terms. Never on her tail and NEVER on her belly. She would lean in hard to the spots she really wanted you to hit. And purr like an angry motor. Until she was done, and you always knew when this happened because she bit, hissed, or swatted at you and then ran away. But she always came back for more.
  • She preferred to drink water out of the sink or bathtub. If you made a move in the general direction of the bathroom, she would bolt past you and hop in the tub, meowing expectantly until you turned on the faucet.
  • She would always come running when she heard me come into the house. She definitely wanted attention, but I think she also wanted to stick it to the dogs who were stuck behind the gate, keeping them in the kitchen/family room.
  • Her meow got CRAZY LOUD as she got older. She turned into a surly but lovable old lady, who wanted to heard, no matter where you were in the house.

Tig, you lived a good, long life, and I'm so glad you were a part of mine. Also, I'm not trying to call you old, but when you were born, we measured you in lengths of VHS tapes because DVDs didn't exist yet.

I love you friend. Rest in peace.

P.S. Did you notice the backwards American flag painted on my face? Apparently in 1992 I didn't understand how mirrors worked. :)