We’re in the midst of a kitchen renovation. It was more than time, and I approached it like a Genius Hour Project, with enthusiasm and I am learning a lot about renovations and myself. As we drag into the third week of continuous decisions and adaptations, I’ve realized my dependency on routine is very cat-like and, perhaps, I’m not at my best right now, but I’ve also realized that my cat’s happiness is dependent on my routines, and she’s not at her best either. I like a good habit. It keeps me pleasant, productive and healthy. I like to run once a week, have smoothies for breakfast and to get up early and go to the kitchen table to mark, plan or write depending on which activity is yowling loudest for attention. Over the renovation, I’ve made sure to keep a working spot with an outlet for my computer, pens, notebooks, books, and coffee close by, but an important aspect of that is having a Tahlullah-spot too. When we first moved the kitchen, office, and dining room to the front room, I made sure a towel was folded on the new kitchen work table by the window, close to me so Tahlullah could look out the window while I worked. She spends most mornings laying on the arm of the couch next to the table, playing with the string on my clipboard, chewing the corner of my laptop, lying in the marking bin or chasing her tail on the carpet. She’s my most pleasant morning distraction. We had to move out of the house for the weekend and we moved Tahlullah to my mother’s house with us. No cat prints on the varnish. She wasn’t pleased. She slunk and hid for the first day. She has always known that her small size puts her more on the prey-side of the world than the predator-side, and she only explored my parent’s house for the weekend at night, but her dependency on my routine showed itself early Sunday morning. My husband and I had vacated for a night, versus having eight of us crowded into my parent’s place, and we called Sunday morning to see how the night had been. “Tahlullah was the perfect alarm clock,” my eight-year-old stated, “at exactly the wrong time.” Apparently at about six, Sunday morning...marking time...Tahllulah was up yeowling. “She’d meow ten times in a row one way, take a break and meow ten times in a row another way.” My twelve-year-old explained to my mother that Tallulah just missed me. “It’ll be better tomorrow, Grandma. Mom always gets up early to work and Tahllulah is just looking for her.” My daughter was right. It was better that next day. We were still at my parents, but I got up early to work, at her kitchen table with my computer, books and coffee. Tahllulah twined through my feet purring. She nibbled on the computer corner. “Soon,” I thought, “Soon I’ll be purring too.” I just hope that for the two weeks we have let, I don’t start yeowling at all the people in my life who support me so kindly and so well. Two weeks. I just have two weeks and normalcy will return!
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Who Am I?I'm a Teacher Librarian and Grade 7 Language Teacher. Many thanks to these forums which inspire, educate and promote collaboration & communication!
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