Sunday, November 21, 2010

Here a pig, there a pig

We got a second guinea pig.  I'm not sure what I was thinking, exactly, but I was the one who instigated getting another one.  I stalked the website for the humane society nearby and checked Craig's List several times a day looking for anyone who was looking for a new home for their furry friend.  I researched how to introduce the new one to the "old one" (our first is only 7 months).  I looked at larger cages and other guinea pig paraphernalia that would be necessary with two.  As Max stated, "We have everything we need for a second guinea pig.  Except the second guinea pig."

It took my two older kids a year to convince me to get Elizabeth, our first piggy.  I didn't want the mess.  I didn't want the stink.  I didn't want the responsibility, despite my daughter's promises that she would do all the work (yea, right).  But I finally gave in and we got little black baby guinea pig.  She's cute.  And as she got more comfortable around us, she really started to grow on me.  We fed her carrots and spinach.  I would throw in the core of the apples after my kids finished their snacks.  She makes this happy little chirp sound whenever she sees me (I feed her, so it's more about the food than about how wonderful I am). 

As more people found out that we had a guinea pig, I heard more and more that they are pack animals and they like to have a companion.  I blew this off for the first few months, but as my kids lost interest, I started thinking about what a sad little life Elizabeth was leading.  She's not like the dog or the cat who demand attention by nudging your hand with a wet nose or curling up in your lap when lounging on the couch.  If we don't take the initiative and get her out of her cage, Elizabeth is left to watch.  Alone. 

Our babysitter volunteered to bring up her two guinea pigs so we could see how Liz would get along with others of her kind.  The three of them huddled together in a box.  No fighting.  We fed them carrots.  Still no fighting.  Ok, I thought, I guess we're going to get another one. 

Once the decision was made I was hardcore searching for a cage-mate for Elizabeth.  The picture of Lucy on the humane society was not flattering.  I don't mean to tell them how to run things over there, but if you're trying to get people to adopt your animals, wouldn't you make an effort to take a cute picture?  It was of her back.  She looked like a furry, fat, egg.  I called about two other guinea pigs that were also shown (and had cute pictures posted, I might add) but both had been taken (point made, thank you).  I spent the next few days scouring Craig's List.  When we had decided to get Elizabeth I had turned to trusty Craig to find a cage.  I found one that seemed reasonably priced and called.  In addition to the cage, she was wondering if I wanted her guinea pig as well.  Sure, I said.  And Lizzy joined the family.  But this time around the only piggies I could find were male or currently lived in Orono. 

And then it dawned on me that while I was frantically searching for a second guinea pig, Lucy was waiting for a home.  She may not photograph well, but did that mean she didn't deserve a family?  I packed up the kids and drove to the humane society.  She was cute.  And liked to be held.  She even put up with Lily's patting (which is much more like hitting than petting).  We brought her home. 

Lucy and Elizabeth are currently neighbors, not cage-mates, but I am hoping that will change eventually.  Mainly because I'm already tired of cleaning out two cages.  We ordered a bigger cage, and we're giving them time to get to know each other.  When we let them out to spend time together they sometimes fight, but like siblings, in the next moment they are best friends, cuddled up together in their little cardboard box. 

I am a little afraid of being that family.  You know, the one with all the animals.  Who's house smells like a barn.  But so far I think I've managed to keep my house from smelling (I'm sure my mom will tell me otherwise, however) and I like that we have animals.  I like that my kids have creatures to whom they show compassion.  Sure, I end up cleaning up the cage(s), but the kids feed them and give them attention.  I like watching them care for something that's dependent on them for safety and kindness.  And I like that something around here makes a happy chirpy sound when I'm around. 

Sunday, November 14, 2010

New Age

The kids left the television on earlier today and an infomercial started. Something to make me look better.  Younger. Cindy Crawford was selling it with Valerie Bertinelli.  I wasn't watching it.  Wasn't listening, really.  Until I heard someone say, "Who wants to look older?  Who wants crows feet and laugh lines?"

I know I may regret saying this one day, when I'm really old and my skin is sagging and full of soft, paper-like wrinkles, but I like looking older.  I like my crows feet.  When I look back at pictures of me from college, or even from my wedding, I have a baby face.  Smooth, yes, but there's something lacking.  Life is lacking.

I don't recognize myself in those pictures.  My face today shows a little wear and tear.  There are lines around my eyes and mouth.  My lips aren't as plump as they used to be.  My skin is blotchy, though nothing that a little foundation won't cover up.  But I'm not complaining.  When I see a picture of myself from last year, or last month, I like what I see (except my thighs, I would definitely change my thighs). I like that there's a glimmer of wisdom in my eyes, and that my mouth has learned to hold it's tongue.  I like that my skin has survived the acne of, not only my teenage years, but three pregnancies. 

A friend posted some pictures of me on Facebook a while back.  He had taken them when we were in college.  They were black and white shots of me looking off in the distance.  When I saw them all I could think was that my face looked round.  I don't ever remember having a round face.  I've been told me whole life that my face is oval.  But in those pictures it was round.  Maybe smooth equals round.  Now my face is thin.  And I like it thin.  I like the indents along my cheek bones when I take the time to put on some blush. I'm okay with the fact that my nose looks pointier now then it did fifteen years ago.  I'm not afraid of looking my age.  Like I said, I may regret saying this someday. 

I'm not saying I don't want to take care of myself or my skin.  I want to look healthy.  I want to look attractive.  But I don't want to look twenty-two.  Because I'm not.  I'm a mid-thirties mother of three.  And I am quite happy looking like just that.

But seriously, Valerie Bertanelli looks as young now as she did thirty years ago. Maybe that stuff really works!