Ode To Mittens

       My cat is missing.  She has been gone now for quite some time, but I still find myself calling her name at the back door before bed each night.  I still catch my son walking to the shed after school each afternoon to check if any of her food has been eaten.  It seems silly maybe, to care so much about a missing cat when there's so much hatred and foul play in the world.  But I can't help it, she was mine.  A neighbor of mine found her as a small kitten wandering the woods behind their house.  She was no more than two pounds, her white and calico fur matted to her tiny body, her tail crooked halfway down from a break that healed incorrectly.  My neighbor brought her to me because she feared that her dogs would kill the poor little thing before she'd had a chance to grow into the cat that she was to become.  My son took to her instantly, carrying her around the house like a baby.  He fashioned a tiny bed for the kitten using his stuffed dog's toy bed and a blanket, and pushed it up against his own bed where he could reach his slight hand down at night and feel her warm fur.  Much to my amusement, he named the miniature cat Mittens, even though all of her legs and paws were white, much like she was NOT wearing mittens.  She slept in his room for the first few weeks, never having to use her own legs because he would carry her up and down the stairs to bed.  He fed her, played with her, and snuggled into her thick fur like she was his best friend in the whole world.  And she loved him too, playfully chasing his heels while he got ready for school and sharing his pillow when she tired of her own bed.  One early morning my son came running into my bedroom, panting and frantic, terror-filled tears dropping down his normally serene cheeks.  When I calmed him enough to make out his words I discovered that the kittens tail had fallen off at the point where it had been broken before.  A laugh suddenly burst from my chest at the thought of my dear son thinking that he had pulled his cats tail off.  I explained to my puppy-eyed boy that her tail would have fallen off anyways and that he had done nothing wrong.  He seemed to feel better, but I noticed that he moved her bed a little closer to the closet that night.  After a few surgeries on her tail she was as good as new, and she became quite bobcat-like as she aged.  Her belly and hips rounded out, her nails grew long and sharp, and her piercing green eyes seemed wise and knowing.  Three months ago I could count seven cats that happily chose us to care for them and give them homes.  Mittens was the only female, which worried me slightly at first, but I quickly noticed how the male cats seemed to take a wide berth to avoid her.  She had grown to be the sassiest and strongest cat in the yard.  A slap to the face was an expected occurrence for any poor male who got a little too close to Mittens' perfectly groomed coat.  She didn't worry herself with people very often, ignoring me when I called for her and coyly walking away with a sway of her nubbed tail.  But when my son bellowed for her she would react like a little kitten again.  I could see her cheeky facade drop away as she mewed to him and raced to reach her food bowl before he could get there to fill it.  Yes, Mittens was more than a cat.  She was a family member, a friend, a being with feelings and a soul, a memory.  The last time I remember seeing her was on a Thursday night.  I came into the kitchen after laying the baby down and looked through the window while I rinsed out his bottle.  Mittens was sitting primly, with her front paws perfectly together, beneath a beam of moonlight.  She seemed to be staring straight at me from across the yard.  I immediately felt a stabbing pain of sadness.  I was unsure of why, maybe I felt guilty that I did not invite her inside so late at night, or maybe something inside me knew that would be the last time I would ever look upon her sapient face.  I turned my gaze away from her ghostly form and continued with my nighttime routine, pushing her image from my brain.  By morning she was gone.  I have searched the woods behind the house, calling her name for hours and even braving the neighbors to ask if they'd seen her.  I still half expect to find her sleeping beneath a bush somewhere, ignoring my call like usual.  But the haunting fear that I could stumble upon her hurt or dead little body keeps me searching invariably and disturbs my sleep at night.  I need to know she's safe somewhere, not in pain or afraid.  Maybe this is the way of the world, but I can't help but feel that a part of my family is missing.  Mittens, I will keep vigil for your return, or await the day when I will meet your bodiless soul in the meadow where we will cross the Rainbow Bridge together.
Who are you missing?

"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened."
- Anatole France

Raising Partners

       When I think about everything that I've been through, and everything that other little girls have been through, it weighs heavily on me that I can't help other children.  I realize that I can't possibly reach out and save everyone in this world, much like a child who wishes to adopt every puppy in the pound to save their sad faces from the bars of their cages.  But recently I came to a most important discovery: I have all the power for a better future.  Aside from the nieces and cousins that I have the power to influence to be strong and help along their journey, I now know that I can go beyond that.  I'm raising two boys of my own and THAT'S where the power is!  Of course I want to instill strength and power into every single little girl on the face of this planet, but what if we didn't have to?  What if we simply raised our boys to be good people?  What if we taught them that no means no, and that they should never touch a woman without their consent?  What would happen if we taught them to cook and clean and raise babies, instead of allowing them to think that only the mommy should do that?  What if, instead of telling them how a household should be run, we showed them?  What if we showed them what a loving relationship was, if we apologized to them when we were wrong, if we cried in front of them when we were sad, and laughed with them when we were happy?  What would happen if we taught our boys that it's okay for them to express their feelings and work through them?  We have already started raising our little girls to be strong and brave in order for them to survive in today's world, but shouldn't we be raising our boys to be more sensitive to the needs of others too?  If I raise my boys to see his female friends, not just look at but truly SEE, then wouldn't that make his future wife happy?  If my son could understand that his girlfriend's feelings are real, even when she is having a hormonal week, then wouldn't her life be that much more full of love?  If he could understand her, and validate her, and support her then she wouldn't have to be hard and tough and hide her emotions.  She wouldn't have to speak out and stand up for herself, because her PARTNER would do it for her and with her.  Boys need to be taught how to take care of themselves, a home, children, and a wife.  We have already taught our daughters how to care for a baby when we bought her that first baby doll.  We already taught her how to cook when we gifted her with a play kitchen and plastic food.  We instill in her to stop being "sassy" and hold her tongue when she speaks her opinion, but we don't do that for our boys.  We buy him sports gear and when he cries we tell him to man up.  Sorry Sam, I refuse.  I think that we should raise our sons and daughters the same, teaching them both the same life skills in the hopes that they both can run a successful household TOGETHER.  I want my sons to grow up to be sensitive.  I want them to come home from work and cook dinner for their children.  I want them to instantly recognize when their wife has had a long day at her job and immediately offer to talk with her or rub her feet.  I want them to respect her body and see her as strong and beautiful, not a maid or a sex object.  The true key to our daughters and granddaughters happiness may not simply lie within the empowerment of the young woman, but within the sensitization of man.
What's your son learning?

"Let's Talk About SEX!" with guest blogger Amanda Anderson

       I remember the first time my mom said we needed to "have a talk".  I was only about fourteen, and yet somehow I instinctively knew she meant we needed to talk about sex.  I could tell she was nervous...and that made ME nervous!  I had been reading her Cosmopolitan magazines for at least two years, so of course I thought I knew everything there was to know about sex!  I very quickly responded to my flushed mother that I didn't need to have that talk.  She only protested once and that was that!  No talk.  Ever!
       I knew my mom had sex- lots of it even, but I couldn't ever bring myself to ask her a single question.  I don't know that she could have helped me any, as I was a fast learner (lol) but I have made sure that three-letter word is a positive one in my house.  I have said the word "sex" around my three children hundreds of times, and for the most part, they barely bat an eye.  I've told them all that sex is a normal, healthy, important part of a persons life and it's important to know as much about it as you can BEFORE you ever try it.  I wasn't the type of parent who buried their head in the sand and assumed my kids wouldn't have sex until they were married.  I laugh heartily at that notion and shake my head at any parent who thinks that way.  I made sure my boys knew what sex would mean the first time they had it...not just for them, but for their partners, as well.  I told them they would have to work hard to make sex enjoyable for their female partners if they were sexually active at a young age.  I told them that was their duty as men.  Both of my boys came to me after they lost their virginity.  I know how old they were and to whom they lost it.  I feel good about that.
       Discussions about sex have been a little more difficult with my daughter.  She is a little more shy and reserved than her brothers, but I try, nonetheless.  I have told her as much as she will let me, and we have had discussions about safe sex numerous times.  My daughter knows it is her responsibility to respect her body and her life.  Supplying her brothers with condoms was a lot easier than making sure she is safe, but we have done it.  She knows how I feel about unplanned pregnancy (I don't believe there is such a thing this day and age), and she knows I am here for her if she ever wants or needs to talk.  I have given my daughter the tools she needs to be empowered and in control of her body.  I feel good about that, too.
         I have NEVER had an issue mentioning sex or talking about sex as an adult, and it always surprises me when I'm around people who do.  Recently I was speaking to my doctor and brought up something that had happened to us during sex, and I watched my grown husband blush!  I have tried to coax the reasons behind this out of him, but I truly believe that he doesn't know!  I spoke to my Spanish sister-in-law about this subject and she says Americans in general are more inhibited than Europeans.  Why is that, I wonder?  I'm sure it has to be passed along from generation to generation.  I am attempting to break that cycle in my family, at least!  And why shouldn't I?  Most people have a penis or vagina and a lot of people can't even say those words!  Most people will have sex at least once in their lifetime but have to whisper the word "sex"!  We have all of this in common but we can't talk about it.  We can remove that stigma!  Talk to your kids, regardless of how uncomfortable it makes you!  They deserve to claim ownership of their bodies and what will be their sexual lives, in my humble opinion.  Even if it is something small, empower yourself and those around you!
       -Amanda Anderson
What are your kids talking about?

"I am 44 years old and madly in love with my husband Greg and our blended family of 6 kids. Greg and I have successfully raised 5 kids into adulthood with one solitary girl left at home.  I semi-retired from the stressful automotive industry last year after a tough recovery from renal cancer, but I do work part time to keep my sanity!  I enjoy ANYTHING on the water and my husband and I spend every weekend we can on our boat.  Even when life is difficult I try to live my best life!"
-Amanda Anderson