When I decided last week that I was going to do a Word of the Year, I spent some time thinking about what had caused me to not stick with my past words. Not a lack of drive or desire, nor the feeling that I’d picked something that hadn’t applied.

It was, simply, to hard to make these new things habits without BIG reminders.  When accountability was put on my plate last week (and it really DID pick me.  Swear) I realized that to make it work I had to do something different.  It wasn’t enough to say I was going to be more accountable in 2012, I needed a way to force myself to consider that.

For the past year (well, 8 months) I’ve been on Weight Watchers.  I’ve lost a little weight (not nearly what I could have lost, believe me).  Being accountable to both myself and the program hasn’t been easy for me.  It’s too hard to allow myself to go off program and revert to long learned bad habits because I wasn’t being accountable.

When I decided last week that I had to be accountable this year, I set up three reminders on my phone.  They go off every day (at 8a, 2p and 8p).  They say, simple, accountability.  Reminders.  Have I done my best?  Is there more I can do?  Have I been honest with myself?  At 8 in the morning, that alarm reminds me to decide what I’m having for breakfast and to log in my dinner.  It’s always planned in advance and thanks to my fab cookbook, calculating and logging points is really simple. It reminds me to consider that I have chores to do or errands to run (and part of my being accountable is realizing that my house takes a certain amount of work to run and that I must do it).

At 2pm. my alarm reminds me to exercise.  In just that one word.  It urges me to finish up any dangling chores.  It reminds me to dry the laundry.

At 8pm my alarm gives me just enough time to make a push to finish my day ahead. At 8pm there’s still enough time to spend 30 minutes on the elliptical or to read a story or two if we haven’t found the time.  It’s enough time to pick up a book or work on a craft project.

The bullshit standing between me and what I want is the fact that I haven’t been able to hold myself accountable. That I’ve worked too hard to excuse myself for not finding the time. This year?

Maybe not no bullshit, but at least a lot less. This year? I’m accountable.

Two posts in a week?

Yes, I’m still having those 99 problems, but it’s Big Daddy’s turn to give the little girls a bath and that buys me fifteen minutes alone with HIS computer.

Each year, Ali Edwards encourages people to chose a word to live by for the year.  In the past, I’ve picked a word myself.  It’s hard for me to stick to the idea of the word and to live it and I did better last year than most.

This year, the word picked me.  I know I said that doesn’t happen to me but this year it did.  The positive change I want to affect in my life revolves around being more accountable.  To others.  To myself.

It’s too easy to set a goal, to know what it takes to reach your goal and then to fall short as you fall prey to the sin of letting yourself not be accountable.  This is a huge thing for me.

Let me say this again.

This is a huge thing for me.

What would happen if I stopped making excuses.  If I stopped brushing things off.  What could I accomplish? More?

Maybe.

Oh, btw Allison W–a few days ago on Facebook, you told someone something cryptically that while you hadn’t spent 20 focused minutes, that you had a plan.  That spoke to me and during a time Wednesday that I had set aside to do something, focused, my word came to me.  Almost three weeks late, but better late than never.  So, thanks

Now, my lap top is one.

My work horse is having a few issues and has to be sent out for repair.  And, I cannot effectively blog from my iPhone.  I tried.  It takes for. ever.  Really.  Especially when doing posts like the menu plan.  Big Daddy is going to mail out my lap top tomorrow (you hear that, Big Daddy?  Tomorrow!) and it will be back to me in working condition in 10 business days.

So, I’ve had to beg Big Daddy to use his work computer *gasp* and while I’ve not been very prolific with the posting lately, because of the lap top, things will continue to be quiet.

I’d like to say that I’ve spent the time that I haven’t been blogging being SUPER productive and making lots of crafty things to share with you, but I haven’t been doing that either.

I’ve been spending my days doing my annual New Year’s clean up of the house.  This year, it seems to have some more significance, but I can’t share that right now.  Sorry to leave you hanging.

Here’s a cute baby to distract you..

There are changes afoot.  Nothing bad!  Everyone is healthy and happy.  Big Daddy and I are fine.  We’re coming to terms with things not going exactly how I we had planned.  Once things shape up some, we’ll be sure to give you details.

For ten years, our lives have been punctuated by the sounds of the tags on his collar, jingling as he made his way trough the house or scratched an itch, their noise so familiar that whenever he’d get a new rabies tag and dog license, I’d have to readjust to the new sound. Our mornings and evenings rung to the sound of jingle bells on the back door that he would ring when he wanted to be let out.

And now things feel quiet and thick because he’s gone.

I don’t want to talk about his decline or the last few weeks when it became obvious that he was feeling worse.

I want to talk about his boundless energy and curiosity.  I want to talk about him swimming until he couldn’t walk anymore, but if you’d throw the ball one more time?  He couldn’t help himself and would run in after it.

I want to talk about how hard he worked to protect from all things he deemed threats.  Namely, cats with hunched up backs and little boys with dark hair. (But he did protect me that one time the threat seemed real.  Really.)

I want to talk about how he tolerated babies and cats.  I want to talk about how he was sure Littlebit was a puppy and would watch, unwaveringly, anyone besides Big Daddy and me who’d try to touch her or hold her.  I want to talk about how he’d bring her his rawhides to share.

I want to talk about how much Baby Bee loved him.  I want to talk about the time I caught him laying down with her sitting in between his front paws like she was sitting on his lap. I want you to know, that he submitted to small injustices with nothing but a sigh.

I want you to know because that’s what is worth remembering.

Jack

No One Is Sure-January 3, 2012

When I was a new bride, I was newly pregnant and three hundred and fifty miles away from home. I was lonely; sad and depressed. I loved Big Daddy with all my heart, but it was hard being in a new place and learning to adjust to so many changes. I missed my friends and family, but I also missed my cats.

So, I asked for a cat. And, Big Daddy never says no and so we went to the local animal rescue to find someone for me. And we did. A homely, scrawny, cross-eyed cat. He wasn’t pretty, but I knew I’d love him anyhow. However, we didn’t have enough documentation with us and they didn’t allow us to adopt him.

Big Daddy and I were upset. We’d both been so excited. Big Daddy had never had a cat or a dog and it was depressing to consider returning to our apartment, empty handed. In a fit of optimism, we’d laid out the litter box and bought the cat milk and the kitten chow. Big Daddy suggested we drive north and visit his family. They’d have a copy of the advertiser, a local classified only publication, where people frequently gave away kittens. I agreed.

Halfway between our apartment and Big Daddy’s parents house was a pet store and on a whim, we stopped in. She was there. Tiny and alone. The kid working at the shop told us he’d ask the store to hold her for him, but he hadn’t been able to take her and all her litermates had been adopted. I picked her up and she scrambled up my shirt.  I loved her right away.

We took her home. She slept, like all of our babies have, in the middle. She made our apartment feel like a home. But, more than that, she comforted me. She cared for me. She followed me. She stayed near me. She tolerated my tears. And slept on top of me.

She has made up our home since the beginning. She had always been where home was. No matter the changes in life or the location. She wasn’t the kindest of animals and friends will tell stories of her territorial, anti-social behavior,but she loved me and she love Big Daddy.

A few months ago, I noticed some lumps on her chest during a belly rubbing. They caused her no pain and I monitored them, but a few weeks ago the situation worsened and she went in for sugary to remove as many tumors as they could. It was cancer and her prognosis was poor.

Yesterday morning, she caught my eye.  I could tell she was weak.  When I picked her up, her body felt cold and her breathing was labored.  I called out for Big Daddy and while he called the vet, I laid on the floor.  SHe had wanted down and had crawled under our bed.  I stretched my arm as far as I could and pet her as we regarded each other.  For the last time.

Twelve years of marriage.  Every year we’ve had.

Three children.

A dog, two other cats and six separate addresses.

She has accompanied us with every step.  And yesterday morning, she fought us valiantly to stay in her home as we tried to transport her to the vet and she died in my arms, with her head tucked under my chin before Big Daddy could even pull out of the garage.

Big Daddy and I walked through the sodden grass together and buried her together.  The three of us alone.  Like we started.  We tucked her in under the pear tree that blooms in the spring and is the last tree to turn color in the fall; a bright rich red.

She was more than a cat. She bore witness to each chapter of our lives and she was my friend. I miss her more than I can say.

I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul. – Jean Cocteau.

It’s true and she was ours.

In loving memory of Shelby Cat. July 1999-December 2012.