My Baby Sister

My baby sister was born at 11:44 pm on September 29, 1993. I had been awake for two days straight and had eaten nothing but cheese-peanut butter crackers, but I'll never forget how excited I was when the doctor handed her to me. She was the cutest little cone-headed baby I'd ever seen. I already adored her like she was my own daughter, which is saying something for a 9-year-old. 

Growing up, we joked that I was the scab mom. I'm pretty sure my sister grew up thinking she had two moms, a big one and a little one. She looked so much like me that when I was in high school and we'd go places together, I'd hear hushed comments about how sad it was to see such a young mother. We thought that was absolutely hilarious.

Over the years I've worked with a lot of little kids, but I haven't even found anyone who comes close to being as cool as my baby sister was. When she was around, I always had someone to talk to, and most of the time she'd say things that were either as intelligent as people my own age or totally hilarious in the level of little kid logic. Of course a cat would be called a diddle. Why else would the nursery rhyme "Hey Diddle Diddle" make any sense? And Woody and Buzz Lightyear didn't get along, so when Woody called Buzz a genius, of course that was an insult. That's just logical.

My sister knew the entire 1996 Atlanta Braves roster, and she'd sit and watch the games with me and beg me to quiz her on the players. Her favorites were Michael Tucker and Tony Graffanino. She had invisible friends named Helga and Tilda and Rachel, who sometimes went by Sally. She was far too smart to really believe they existed, but it was way more fun to pretend. She also had an extensive stuffed animal collection that included Samantha Sheep, Circle the bear, and Flucky...does it really matter what Flucky was? Its name was Flucky.

I still know all the words to The Lion King and Toy Story, and I still love the TV show Rugrats. I remember seeing the Rugrats movie in the theater when my sister was really little, and during the scene where Tommy is holding his baby brother Dill and singing him a lullaby, she climbed over onto my lap and snuggled in, which was enough to make even a tough kid like me tear up.

I stayed in Madison for college so I could be closer to my sister, but of course, it wasn't the same when I moved away. We still hung out, and I still loved her way more than a normal sibling relationship, but I didn't get to see her nearly as much as I would have liked. I guess that's what happens when people grow up.

When she was little I was always the kickass older sister who could do no wrong. I still have the picture she drew of me when she was about 5 and the teacher asked them to draw their hero. She's always been my baby sister and is the closest I'll ever get to having a daughter, and now I'm really looking forward to her being my best friend as well.

Happy 18th birthday, Boozle.

Heartbroken

Some of you know I have absolutely the coolest bird ever in the history of birds. His name is Chomper.

Adorable, right? He's a Jardine's parrot, which is an African parrot in the poicephalus family. He's like a revved up version of a Senegal or Meyer's parrot. Jardine's can be a little beaky, but they're also usually smart, along the lines of an African Grey. Chomper is very smart and super funny. He loves entertaining. Here he is playing dead:

Chomper is really good with people, especially people who are scared of birds or don't like birds. He's very perceptive that way, and he adapts his behaviors to fit the people around him. We used to take him to meet-and-greets with preschoolers, and he never bit anyone, even when they pulled his tail or snuck up on him. He'd occasionally give you these looks like, "Really?" but he'd never bite. 

He also talks. He actually has quite an extensive vocabulary, and he can interchange words, which is something only really intelligent birds can do. For example, we taught him to say, "Good bird," and he immediately started saying, "Good boy," "Good Chomper," and "Good baby." He clearly understands language, and you can ask questions and get honest responses from him. Of course, he prefers saying, "No!" to anything you ask, but that's because he has the emotional maturity of a 2-year-old. It's understandable. 

Chomper used to be called Baby, which I still call him half the time anyway. But when he moved in with me, I changed his name to Chomper, after the dinosaur from The Land Before Time, because he always kind of looked like a little dinosaur to me. 

He understood that his name was Baby, and he understands that his name is Chomper, but for a while he referred to himself as "Beeber," which is a combination of "Baby" and "Chomper." Crazy, right? He's way too smart for his own good.

I absolutely adore this bird. I spoiled him rotten and did everything I possibly could to make his life perfect. Chomper is my baby, and I honestly would do anything I could to make him happy. I don't think I could possibly love him anymore if he were my actual child. 

So of course, it broke my heart that I couldn't make him happy. No matter what I did, no matter what toys I gave him, how much time I spent playing with him, what food I gave him, or anything else, Chomper wasn't happy. He got to the point where he didn't even want to spend time with me. He'd just ask to go back to his cage. Then he'd scream in his cage because he didn't really want that either. No matter what I did, I just couldn't give him what he wanted, whatever that was.

Chomper adores my mom. She's always been his favorite person. So finally, one day I called her, in tears, to ask if she would consider letting Chompy stay with her for a little bit. He was just so unhappy, and it was making both of us miserable. It just wasn't fair to him. So I gathered up his favorite toys and treats, and I took my baby over to my mom's house. And I left him there. 

With Chompy gone, my house is quiet and empty. Sure, it's nice not to have to listen to him scream, but the real issue with the screaming wasn't the noise. It was the fact that he only screamed like that when he wanted something. And the bottom line was he didn't want me. 

When you really love someone, you want what's best for them, no matter what that is, no matter how much it hurts. And obviously living with me was not what was best. When I've seen him since he left, he's been just radiant. He talks and entertains, and my mom says he's happy most of the time now. He eats better and sleeps better, and everyone just loves him. He's my Chomper again. 

He's just not my baby anymore. 

Art Show!

My fiance's cousin is a really incredible artist. We went to a reception thingy for her the other night, which was super cool because the gallery she's showing at is this really neat little hippie place with a great vibe, and also I just have so much respect for people who do what they love and are successful at it. Also, she's really nice and a great artist, which kind of makes me want her to succeed even more. I like nice people. So it just makes me really happy.

This is the print we bought:

Yes, it's an orange cat. Nobody is surprised that we picked this one. We're kind of predictable. 

Check out more of her stuff at http://www.darkenart.com. It's really cool.