peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who wore pigtails and overalls. She was a nature lover, this girl, who loved climbing trees, blowing dandelions, observing worms, and oohing over butterflies. One day, she discovered a lizard and picked it up. She examined its scaly, grey back, little beady eyes, and long tail.

When it was time to go home and leave the lizard where she found it, she actually didn’t.

She snuck that lizard into her overalls pocket, making sure that lizard was safe and warm and protected.

She proceeded to cuddle that lizard and build it a little home. In a shoebox, with grass, plenty of love, and ta washcloth to keep it warm. What else could a little lizard need?

With the over abundance of love and nurturing, the lizard’s tail broke off. The young girl quickly taped it back on.

The lizard soon perished. The young girl had smothered her lizard pet, with her over nurturing, and was in tears.

She learned a few life lessons on that hot Summer day. Not only did she learn that many species of lizards release their tail when they want to escape from a predator, but:

• How to care for a creature, but also to give it space.
• How to love a creature, but not over smother it.
• How you can’t fix a problem with a simple patch.
• And how, at some point, you need to set the creature free.

As I recount my daughter’s story from several years ago, I now see that her lessons learned are also parenting lessons that I am learning.

Happy 1st birthday, Otis!

I took a weekly picture of my puppy and daughter for an entire year, to capture the moments and to watch how much they changed in one year’s time. He grew a little faster than she did.

Looking through these photos bring back vivid memories for our family. Seasons filled with laughter and silliness, frustrations and mess, teaching and energy, cuddling and love.

Hope you enjoy them!

[Show as slideshow]

123►

We had a pet chinchilla, for oh, about 48 seconds.

My son and I had a dream. A dream of owning a super cuddly, small-but-not-too-small furry animal. One that would eat sunflower seeds from our hands. One we could nurture and cuddle with.

A chinchilla.

Bigger than a hamster. More exotic than a guinea pig. Containable in a cage. The softest fur.

The perfect pet.

My high school buddy had owned a pet chinchilla. It was the cutest rabbit-ish and squirrel-ish critter.

So, my son and I traipsed to PetSmart to buy two 40 lbs. bags of dog food and then eagerly headed to the pet aisle to peer into the chinchilla cage. There he was! Our beautiful, grey pet-to-be!

I hailed over a sales associate and asked if she could please get the chinchilla out so that we could hold it.

“Are you considering getting a chinchilla?” she asked. (Duh.)

I glanced over at my son and answered excitedly for the both of us. ”Yes! We’d like to hold one!”

“Well, chinchillas don’t really like to be held,” she answered. (Debbie Downer.) “But I’ll get him out for you and you can pet him gently. But be careful. He has to get used to you.”

Our excitement dimmed. They don’t like to be petted? They don’t like to snuggle? Or play dress up?

Whatever. He’ll change! He’ll learn to love us! It’ll be so awesome!

The sales associate grabbed ahold of him, lost her grip, and he scurried away to hide into his house. She tried again. We looked on wearily, getting disappointed by the second.

Finally, she had that chinchilla in a firm grip, close to her chest, so he wouldn’t scratch her to death. And we reached out to pet that sweet little head.

And the little sucker flinched and then became paralyzed in fear.

That’s all it took to reinforce that a chinchilla was not the pet for us. We turned on our heels and bolted. As we hauled the jumbo dog food bags into the car and headed home, we realized, duh, we already have the best pets.

“Este es el murciélago. El murciélago come las frutas.”

Animal facts, at the zoo, about the fruit bat in Spanish. It doesn’t matter if my kids really care (or understand) what the voice inside the box says. Spanish or English. Facts about the fruit bat, the brown bear, the salmon, the mandrill…at boxes scattered around the zoo.

It’s about who. Gets. To. The. Box. First.

The $3 plastic zoo key turns into the magical zoo key. The beholder of the key holds the power.

I have bought and rebought these zoo keys about 20 times. If we show up without a key, I have witnessed whining and pouting: “We need our key!”

And it’s true. We cannot visit the zoo without a key. My two youngest children need their own keys, apparently.

It’s become a tradition. We listen to the same old “Este es el murciélago. El murciélago come las frutas.”

It’s not about the money I have spent. It’s not about the animal facts they learn or don’t learn.

It’s all about childhood and magic. The magic that only a magical zoo key can unlock.

Ringtones. They are brilliant.

My boss has her own ringtone. It’s Boom Boom Pow by The Black-Eyed Peas.

And whenever my phone rings–Gotta get-get, gotta get-get–my kids know they had better: Shut. The. Front. Door.

I work out of my home office most of the time.

I also have loud children.

So, it’s been kinda like Pavlov’s “classical conditioning” and his dogs.

Ivan Pavlov was a Russian physiologist who was known for his famous experiments. He presented dogs with a ringing bell followed by food. Every time a bell would ring, the dogs would salivate and then they would get fed. After much conditioning, the dogs learned to respond with saliva every time they heard the bell.

Pavlov = Pippi

Dogs = kids

Bell = Boom Boom Pow ringtone

Salivating dogs = quiet kids

Treat = treat

…and it worked.

If you’re scared of spiders, it’s probably best to never go outside. Like ever.

But, if a hairy-ass tarantula were to drop on my face, like the one that freaked out Marv in Home Alone? I would scream as pathetically as he did.

We have a pet fish.

He looks dead. But he’s not. He is totally faking.

Because, when you go to scoop him out, he swims away.

The backstroke. Of course.

Wednesdays are reserved for my honey.

Last Wednesday evening, we zoomed down the freeway. I was driving and he sat in the passenger seat. Roxanne by The Police was blaring.

It was an unusually warm October evening and the windows were half-down. The breeze made us smile. The moon was magical, lighting our way.

I reached out and held his hand. He looked back at me lovingly, knowingly. We didn’t need to say anything.

We were looking forward to our adventure ahead and were prepared, with drinks and snacks packed.

We pulled up and parked. We walked, side-by-side.

Dog obedience class.

Every Wednesday is date night with Otis.

If you have seen the movie Marley and Me, then you already know my Labrador puppy Otis, who just turned six months old. One word sums him up: zest.

Otis eats with zest. A bowl of food is gone in 5 seconds flat.

He drinks with zest. He slurps and then water drips down his chin.

He loves with zest. Always ready for a hug and cuddle (and maybe some accidental French kissing).

He snatches sandwiches with zest. One turn of the head and your turkey sandwich is gone.

He sleeps with zest. Stretched out, paws and belly in the air.

He shreds cardboard boxes with zest.

He digs large holes in the yard with zest.

He is lovable and a pain in the ass and playful and sweet and naughty. And he is already part of our family.

Here are pictures of him at the beginning of Summer and on his half-year birthday.

Otis at nine weeks.

Otis at six months.

Happy six-month birthday, you crazy-awesome big boy!

My Labrador is a genius. I need one of those bumper stickers that says “My dog is an honor roll student.”

I mean, he rings a bell whenever he wants to go out. And whenever he wants to come in.

In other words, that’s a lot of ringing.

I am expecting Otis to learn Carol of the Bells–my favorite Christmas song–in time for the Holidays.