Pavlov's Cat

Sometimes we, as parents and pet owners, attempt novel ways to effect behavior change in our children/pets.  Sometimes our methods for both our two- and four-legged charges are the same.  Sometimes not.  In the interest of my status with Social Services and PETA, I'll let you determine which of my examples are human-approved, which are PETA approved, and which are um, simply invented.  Sometimes behavior modification is successful.  Sometimes not.  Sometimes it's both.

Unfortunately, we occasionally employ negative reinforcement.  Yeah, yeah.  I've heard it all before. "Johnny is perfect.  We never yell or spank or shake him at all."  I don't believe you.  I believe occasionally, when you've put Johnny to bed for the 999th time and he keeps toddling downstairs to stall, and you're just trying to have a clandestine bottle of wine  with a PG-13 rated movie, you might be pushed to the point where you use a stern voice, and say, "I am going to take you upstairs, and lean on your door so that you can't come out anymore tonight.  It's BEDTIME!"  Some people have been known to use choke chains or collars to modify behavior.  I find that a strategically timed, unpredicted pop on the bum can be very effective.

Sometimes, we use positive reinforcement.  Some call it bribery. Tomato, tomahto, I say.  "If you PROMISE not to talk about boogers at Easter Dinner, I promise to buy all the on-sale Easter candy tomorrow and you can eat it all at once."  You've said it.  You know you have.

Sometimes, we use goldfish crackers or bits of hot dog, but we ultimately trade treats for desired behavior.  Effective.  On all species.

Sometimes, we inadvertently use the latter thinking we are doing the former:


The Cat story has recently come to a sad, but inevitable end.  Cat's 'Owner' passed away.  I'm truly sad for their family, as she seemed to be a much loved member.

In the wake of this event, Cat has figured out that the food is only being dispensed at our house these days.  He's spending more time inside, and terrorizing Clooney more and more.

Clooney, who just got a haircut, and is feeling pretty good about himself, has certainly been trying to assert his primary ownership of the house.

Cat is tough.  He's been walking around the house with tufts of Clooney fur stuck in his retracted claws.  I feel like I have to intervene.  Clooney  needs to feel safe and Cat needs to know there are consequences to his actions.

I put Cat outside.  Rain or shine, cold or hot, Cat's consequences are the same:  out he goes.  No exceptions. 

Sometimes consistency can backfire.  Last night, I was watching TV while determined to ignore Cat's whine to be let out.  Sometimes, once my butt gets in the couch, inertia takes over, and I become stuck.  Only the threat of cat 'accident' eventually gets me up, unlocks the door, opens the screen and lets Cat out to the great sandbox of the neighborhood. 

But last night, I waited too long.  I ignored Cat one mew too many.  So he took a swipe at the dog.  A BIG ol' swipe at the door.  Instantly, I was up, unlocking doors and pitching out feline. 

"Holy crap.  Instead of teaching Cat not to fight with Clooney, I've taught him to slap Clooney around when he wants to go out."

That's bad.  Then, I thought about how, like an annoying little bell, Cat sat by the door waiting for me to come.  And how, when I do it promptly, he rewards me by pooping outside....

Wait a minute.  Who's training whom here?

Goodbye, Mr. Cinnamon Chips?

It's just that I've been so mad.  It's hard to write about stuff you care passionately about (your family) when the world around you is insane.  I think, perhaps, literally, insane.  The crazy world invites all these diatribes and rants and soon I either become Bill Maher or Keith Olberman, and then I'm insane, and what good has that done?  Nobody wants to hear my thoughts on the world in general.  I am neither qualified nor insightful enough to add anything to the national dialogue on anything.

One of the things I have been trying to do to stem the crazy is to avoid the news.  This is, theoretically, not difficult.  I never watch daytime TV, so there's no Hoda or Kathie Lee trying to sell me oversize glasses of w(h)ine.  M refuses to put any 24 hour news channels on our favorites list, so when I scroll through the options on TV, those stations don't even APPEAR.  And, of course, it's my own fingers who find the URL of Facebook and CNN and all the other outlets online. 

Somehow, being disconnected from the rest of the world made me feel uncomfortable.  Part of this is my own delusions of self-importance.  Somehow, if I read the news, I can affect its outcome.  Sorry to those Beastie Boys fans out there, and sorry it took so long to you guys waiting for Gingrich to withdraw from the elections.  That kind of power is scary.  So, I take the burden of influencing the news seriously.

I won't even mention Pinterest.
Also, my life keeps me distracted.  Should I write about my kids?  Right now, they're kind of uninteresting.  They don't really get into trouble, they perform well on standardized tests, and they went to California over spring break to be treated with nothing but indulgence by their grandparents.  It's hard to make observations about children whose lives are equivalent to that of Wagyu Beef cows.

A lot of what they've been doing lately is readily distilled into Facebook length updates.  A popular diddy:
S's teacher to me one day after school:  I have to tell you what S said today.
Me:  OK
S's Teacher:  Here is the conversation:
     Me:  S, honey, you look tired.
     S:  Yah.  Well, my parents put me to bed at the regular time, but I snuck downstairs, and watched some TV from the kitchen.  I watched the end of Big Bang Theory and then I caught some Chelsea Handler.  She's really funny.  Really inappropriate.  But, really funny.
     Me:  Ok, then.
Me:  Parents of the year, right?  (Bow, in gratitude and acceptance of the award).  He sneaks downstairs a lot and we didn't bust him last night 'til we heard him laughing about Chelsea.

See, I can put that on Facebook in, like, a minute.  I don't have to give y'all a lot of set-up material.  That's so funny, it can stand on its own.

I really don't know what to do anymore.  It only takes me about a half hour a day to post an entry.  Is it worth it?  Do people have the 2 minutes to read my 30 minutes of work?  Will it be easier in the summer?  Would I have more to say?

Also, it seems disingenuous to bitch about my life these days.  While there have ALWAYS been people starving in Africa, and god knows I still managed a pity party despite that, I feel like people close to me have had problems lately.  It seems absurd to complain about healthy children who get into inconsequential mayhem occasionally when I have friends dealing with, you know, problems.

Should I bother to get my blog on anymore?  Should I put it to vote?  Should I strive to post weekly?  Monthly?  Not at all?  If you're out there still (I don't know why you would be, I would have given up on me a long time ago) lemme know.