It's Better Not to Know About the Corn

So, as we all know, the best thing to do with your kids if they're sick is to take them to the doctor, and the best thing to do before that, if you've got some time to kill is to go to the petstore and get freaked out about what's in dogfood.

I did this rather successfully the other day. I went to my favorite pet supply store, Jefferson Feed, and said to the lady behind the counter, "My dog is developing a sensitive stomach. The vet doesn't see anything wrong with her, and I'm wondering if it's her food."
"Ah," she said. "You need to talk to the dogfood specialist."
This took me aback. There is a dogfood specialist, like a person who specializes in dog FOOD? A person who just hangs around the dog food aisle and waits to share knowledge?
AND THERE WAS! Hanging around the dogfood aisle was this guy! Who specializes in dog food! And he was waiting to share knowledge! Which he did. And now I kind of wish he hadn't.

"What are you feeding her right now?" he asked.
"(Insert name of generic dogfood)"I said
He smiled. "Let's take a look at the ingredients in that, shall we?"

The first ingredient was corn, the nutritional benefits of which, for a dog, are debatable. He said it's basically cheap filler. I think the two ingredients that really got me though were the second ingredient "chicken by-product meal" and the fifith ingredient "animal fat."  He explained that chicken by-product meal is anything that isn't deemed fit for human consumption - beaks, feet, undeveloped eggs, and possibly that red thingy on top of a chicken's head. "Animal fat" could come from the fat of any animal from anywhere. This could be slaughterhouse waste, or even restuarant grease.

I imagined my dog eating a bowl full of chicken beaks with corn and McDonald's grease dressing.

I gulped. "Um...what do you recommend?"

He brought me over to another aisle where there were bags of dogfood, with flowers and chunks of meat floating around on them. He suggested one that I now can not tell you the name of, because I don't remember, but I can tell you that the first ingredient was lamb, which is processed in such a way that he garunteed me that my dog will not be eating the lamb's hooves or wool, but actual lamb meat. It has 15 ingredients in it instead of 50 and none of them include corn, or corn by-product, or the vegetable-formerly-known-as-corn.

Miraculously, it worked. Lily is happy and her tummy is no longer upset. Mine is, though, when I think about eating chicken feet, and knowing that it's probably a good idea to look at all the labels on processed food, both for humans and beloved beasts alike. Health awareness and carefully reading labels! No! It upsets my stomach!

Adjusting takes more than good cheese

Last night, though the beds haven't been moved in yet, the kids and I spent our first the night in the new house. We camped out on the living room floor, and watched "Shrek" on Michelle's portable TV. Then when that was over, and it was 10 at night but we were too excited too sleep, we watched "Up," the only other movie we had available. It was oddly appropriate, at least it was for me, because I have mixed feelings about letting my old house go, and "Up" is a movie about an old man who eventually lets his old house go. Weird.


In fact, I'm having a hard time writing this post because of all of the mixed feelings. Writing about a move that involves so many mixed emotions is similar to writing about alcohol when I've had too many mixed drinks. It's disorienting.


And how are the kids? They're disoriented too. Even Lily is thrown off. I brought her over there with us the other night and she ran circles in the empty living room until she exhausted herself and curled up on Claire's lap. Then, well rested, she got up and did the same thing again. She only relaxed when she ate a piece of Swiss cheese that fell off of my sandwich. Dogs are strange people. For more information on dogs adjusting to moves, read this bit of genius:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/11/dogs-dont-understand-basic-concepts.html


Unfortunately for the rest of us, eating cheese off the floor doesn't solve everything. It's going to take time. At some point, one of the girls teared up, thinking about the old house, and Christopher mentioned a friend that he's afraid he'll never see again. I thought of the Planetarium. Luling might not have much, but it's got a great planetarium and I've been taking my kids there since they were toddlers. We've seen so many specials on the stars that are visible through different seasons, that we've memorized some of their names. The kids know how to find the star Arcturus by making an arc from the handle of the Big Dipper, and then "spiking to Spica." We'd find them in our backyard on clear nights.

Then I remembered that our new neighborhood had a sky too! So I proposed that we go outside and take a look at it. We stepped into our new driveway to check out how many stars we could see. There's less light pollution there, and it was a clear so we could see clusters of stars. Claire pointed to Venus, shining brighter than the moon.


"That's a planet," she told me.
"How can you tell?" I asked.
"It's not twinkling, and it's where Venus should be."
"Oh...maybe it's Venus then."
"Venus lives here too!" Emma exclaimed.
"Hooray!" I said. "All of the stars and planets from Luling also live here!"
"Hooway!" yelled Christopher, who still does not pronounce "r"s.
"They live everywhere, Mom." Claire said, flatly.
"Well, yes, but isn't it nice to know for sure?"


She supposed it was. And knowing so did make us feel better. Then we got too cold and went back inside to watch "Up."


There have been times that I've wanted to lift up my house in Luling and just move it closer to people I love. Or maybe drop it smack down in the middle of New Orleans so I could be close to the artistic hubbub of things, without having to change houses. That was before my divorce. Now selling the house is part of my divorce grieving cycle, if there is such a thing. I'm renting a new house that I haven't inherited or struggled to fix, a place that I'm not going to look around and see ghosts of people I've lost. Of course that doesn't mean that I won't suffer AT ALL at my new place. I'm sure the suffering will continue, and all of the cheese on all of the floors of the world won't make up for it. But it's different somehow, and I can't exactly explain why. I just know that it has to do with the divorce.


The house is going to a good family, a guy, his wife, and 2 year old daughter. They want to fix it up and everything, and I'm eager to see what he does with it. We'll be seeing it from time to time because I've vowed to take the kids to visit their friends on the street. My sister lives close, so we'll have a good excuse. Besides, we need to get to the planetarium occasionally. There are more stars to see in Mandeville, but we know their names because we learned about them in a dark room in a Luling library.

Dishes in the oven

I've been getting the house ready to sell, which is not so easy when it's full of critters. The top two things that are vital to selling a house are 1) get rid of clutter and 2) get rid of critters and/or all signs of critters. Right now the critter count is up to three (not counting the kids): the dog, the cat and the bunny. I'm supposed to get rid of all signs of them, which is near impossible because the little beasts practically put up flags. Every time Dog has pees on the carpet she announces to the world, "I own this house. If you have any questions, please come to me." The problem with this is that, though generous with urine, she doesn't pay the mortgage or fix anything around the house. So she and I sat down this morning after our walk and we talked this out.

"Look," I said to her, taking a seat at the table. She sat across from me, a her Chiuaua face looking solemn on her Boston Terrier body. My dog is a pretty black and white mix of everything yappy. "I know you like living here and I consider you...well, like family..."
Dog's head jerked into the direction of a fly buzzing to our right. I cleared my throat to get her attention.
"Be that as it may," I continued, "I would really appreciate it if you didn't pee on the carpet anymore. You are technically housebroken, you know. So I know that you know what you're doing."
In reply, she began to bite her butt.
"Exactly! See! That's the problem!" I cried, elated that I was getting my point across. "Now, just bite that butt completely off, and we don't have a problem anymore! Wait..." Dog hopped onto the floor. "Wait, we're not done here! You didn't bite it completely off! You better not pee on anything!" She trotted off in search of something to pee on. "I'm serious!" I yelled after her, and I swore I could hear she and my son laughing together somewhere in the house.
"She tried to housebreak me too!" he giggled, and the dog laughed so hard she wet herself.

So that's how I'm taking care of the no-sign-of-critter rule. Decluttering is coming along much better. I've given away things, I've sold other things, and whatever things that I have not sold or given away I have stuffed in places that no one will look. Like this morning when I put dirty dishes in the oven.

Now, before you judge me, understand that the dishes were overflowing in the sink, everyone was getting ready for school, I was still in my pajamas, and we had 15 minutes before we had to leave. It was either that or the trunk of my car, which honestly, I've done before. Not with dirty dishes, but with laundry and toys or other apparatus that I've found and said, "This goes to something...but what is it? Is it important? Should I throw it away?"
"That's the rabbit, Mom," my daughter tells me.
I hold the fluffy critter closer to my face, examinging it. "But do we use it for anything?"
"Yes," she assures me. "Don't put it in the trunk."

So the rabbit is not in my car, but I've stuffed other things in there in a rush before someone comes to look at the house - paper work, old clothes, old skates. Things that I looked at and thought, "I'll go through all of this later. Right now I just need it out of the way." And so I drive around with it. This is not entirely due to tiredess. Some of it is just plain I-don't-want-to-do-it-ness. When I come home from work I want to change into pajamas, spend time with the kids, catch up with someone on the phone, write, or read. This THIS is why there are dishes in my oven! Darn it, I'm just not the decluttering type by nature.

Or I could just blame it on the dog. It's all her fault.