Pretty Sure My Cat is a Secret Agent ...

It's true.

He ALWAYS looks like he has somewhere to be.

I think the pissing on the beds is a cover. Because nobody would suspect a cat who's pissin' was a Secret Agent ... right? 

To whom would his 'intel' be valuable? 

Hmm...

*crickets chirping*

Boy, that's a sticker, eh? 

Who in the heck would care, really. 

Still ... I am convinced. He's certainly up to something.

In other news ...

Hubs and I would have celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary yesterday ... if his father hadn't died the week before our scheduled date, forcing us to reschedule our nuptials. I maintain that he did that intentionally. Our unofficial anniversary wasn't really in any way connected to what took place yesterday, but we went on a date! First one in ... oh, dear ... I really couldn't tell you how long. I'm gonna say there would be 'years' in the equation. 

We went to see Star Trek and utilized a gift card that Hubs got as a gift from one of his clients for dinner. It was really nice. Well ... except for that one thing ... but I'll get to that - later.

Don't get me wrong ... I consider every Friday night 'date night' in our house ... and we usually do something special to mark the end of the work week. We'll have drinks, the kids get a dance party or a camp fire ... or maybe a movie. Sometimes we do games. It depends on the weather, the general mood(s) of the group and so forth. 

This is unfettered joy for me... well, so long as Stretch doesn't get her arse in the air. Generally speaking, though ... it's usually really great. 

The girls have a fun time. We get to engage with them on a fun, rather than (so much) parental level ... it's good. I look forward to it every week. Then they go to bed (usually a fair bit later than normal) and Hubs and I get a little time on our own. 

Then we have sex, fall asleep and ... reboot.

Often on Saturday, we try and recreate Friday ... we are met with varying degrees of success, but all in all, the system works. 

I worry that this is unhealthy and we shouldn't do it. The drinks, the ritualistic substance abuse. Hubs is not so much, but I am a bit of a pot head these days. It makes me much more ... fun. I am fun with my kids. They like me a whole lot better (not that they know it, per se) when I have engaged in the wonder herb. I am so creative ... and patient... and un-clenched. That's it! That's the slogan for marijuana: You, Un-Clenched. Marketing is my BITCH!! 

Does this make me a bad mother? Or a bad adult? 

We would never EVER drive or anything stupid like that. It's all at home, safe and sound. Sitting in our own back yard, by our fire pit. Or at the dining room table. And generally, everyone is happy. I seem to feel pretty damned guilty about it for some reason. I would just die if one of my kids' friends' parents found out. Really, I would. Am I bad?

But is that the truth? Am I a bad parent?

I don't ever do it anywhere near the kids. They have no earthly idea. I imagine in my mind the moment in their teens where one of them figures out Mom's a pot head. I'm torn between that infernal mother's guilt and hysterical laughter. I can almost see the expression on Shorty's face as she explains it to Stretch (my scientist).

I don't know how to feel about that.

So I am a 40 year old, walking, talking coping mechanism. Have I failed? Hell, we've survived some shit together. It could certainly be worse. Could certainly be better, too ... but what does that mean? Is that a modicum of success?

I love to get attention from anywhere I can find it, but at the end of the day - I adore my spouse ... and could not conceive of replacing him with anyone... ever. Not even in the middle of the night when he's snoring in my face and I want to smother him with my body pillow.

I live in the house I wanted ... albeit, we are paying a hefty price for that ... but here we still sit.

My girls are healthy and fairly happy. I firmly believe that for all my defects, my children KNOW they are dearly loved ... and that they get on my nerves. And that's okay. They can get on my nerves until the cows come home and it will not change how dearly loved they are. Does that count?

I think it should.

I'm not a perfect person and I am surely not a perfect parent ... but I care enough about the job to suffer the shame of attending a weekly parenting group. Actually, that is not fair of me. The other parents at that group deserve better than that. They are real, too. Flawed. But they love their kids enough to try and do better. 

Still, when I think back to the things my mother instilled in me that I value most:

You are cherished.
Say you're sorry and mean it.
Be true to you. Always.
You can be or do ANYTHING.
Always keep your bus fare.
I will love you even when you are being an asshole. Really.
You must keep a tidy home. Otherwise people will think badly of you.
Don't wash colours with whites.

I think she did okay, don't you? She didn't teach me to find my soul mate ... I lucked into that. She hadn't found hers ... then.

These are the things that I want to teach my girls. Plus the soul mate thing. I want them to have spouses that deserve them. I want them to feel successful - in whatever they choose to do in this life. And I want them to be happy. (Whatever that is) If I can get anywhere close to that, I will consider myself a raging success.

Oh ... and they should have cats. I'm pretty sure my daughters will have cats.