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Tete-a-tete: Having trouble keeping your New Year’s resolutions? It could be “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” Syndrome

A formidable foe lies in wait to derail your New Year’s resolutions. It’s not a lack of willpower, a lack of self-discipline or your warm, snuggly bed. It is “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” Syndrome.

“If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” is a popular children’s book that, as the title implies, chronicles the complications that ensue when you offer a cookie to a mouse. First, the mouse wants a glass of milk to go with his cookie. This leads to requests for a straw, a mirror (so he won’t get a milk moustache), nail scissors (so he can give himself a haircut) and a broom (to sweep up his hair clippings).

The story continues, with the mouse pursuing items and activities that are further and further removed from his original intention of eating a cookie. Everything eventually comes full circle, however, leading the mouse to ask for – you guessed it – a cookie.

Just as the mouse gets sidetracked by things that are only tangentially related to his original intention, we, too, get distracted from the primary purpose of our New Year’s resolutions. Some of the things that come up do need to be dealt with in order to accomplish our goals, but we need to keep those goals in sight and not become mired in the details.

Let’s say, for example, that your resolution is to exercise regularly. You decide to start with the most obvious step: joining a gym.

But joining a gym means exercising in public, which means your stained sweatpants will most likely not be appropriate attire. So you go online in search of new workout gear.

You notice that the site from which you’re buying your new track pants also sells sneakers. Remembering that your left knee sometimes aches after you run, you do some research to find out which sneakers are the most effective at absorbing impact.

Then again, maybe a knee stabilizer would be better. You could buy one at the drug store, but these are your joints we’re talking about – you can’t be too careful. You call your doctor for advice and realize that your children are overdue for their annual physicals. After scheduling their appointments, you decide to check in with the dentist as well to make sure the kids are up to date with cleanings and X-rays.

You go to mark these appointments down on the family calendar, only to discover that the kids left the caps off the markers you use to color-code the calendar and the markers have dried up. An emergency trip to the office supply store is in order, and you might as well pick up the dry cleaning while you’re out.

Wait a minute. Wasn’t there something specific you were going to do today? You drive past the gym on the way to the dry cleaner’s, and the sight rings a faint bell.

That’s it – you were going to join a gym! And instead, somehow, you are picking up dry cleaning and buying new markers.

Here’s another scenario. Your resolution is to finally clean out and organize the junk drawer. You’ve avoided this daunting task for many years (since you moved into the house, come to think of it), but this is it. This is the year it happens.

You take out the first item to be dealt with: a screwdriver that tends to wedge the drawer shut every time the drawer is closed. Easy enough – that goes into the toolbox, which is right outside in the garage.

Next to the toolbox are a few cans of dried-up paint, left over from painting the porch last summer. When is the next hazardous waste collection day at the dump? You go back inside, look up the phone number for the town offices, and call to find out.

You mark the date on the family calendar with your brand-new markers and notice that the cat has kicked some of her food into her water dish again. Before you can wash and refill her dish, however, the breakfast dishes need to be taken out of the sink and loaded into the dishwasher.

Oh, except for that one. That mug needs to be washed by hand.

Your hand stings from the soapy water and you realize you have a cut on your finger. Ten minutes of rummaging in the upstairs bathroom produces a Band-Aid and the antibiotic ointment, which expired in 2010. It’s been a while since your last tetanus shot and since you don’t know what caused the cut, you’re off to the pharmacy for antibiotic ointment.

While you’re out, you might as well pick up the dry cleaning. And there goes your day of cleaning out the junk drawer.

I don’t think “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” Syndrome can be completely avoided – interruptions are a part of daily life, and everyone gets distracted from time to time. Being aware of the syndrome, however, can help you to be more aware of when you’re getting off track and you can then choose to return to your original task.

If you get so distracted that you miss your opportunity to work on your resolution on a given day, don’t berate yourself or give up. Instead, take a cue from the mouse: have a cookie and start over.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published Jan. 29, 2015.

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Tete-a-tete: Sizing up a new family pet, or the difference between a cat and a hamster

Welcoming a new pet into the family is always an adjustment. Every animal is accompanied by its own particular routines, needs, and idiosyncrasies, and it takes time to acclimate.

Following the conclusion of 18 years of cat ownership, we’ve brought a hamster into the mix. And though it sounds a bit ludicrous to spell it out in this way, the thing that’s giving us the most trouble is that hamsters are much smaller than cats.

Cleo, our winsomely cranky family feline, passed away in July at the ripe old age of 22. That’s 22 in human years – in cat years, she was a supercentenarian. Over the years, our vet told us that Cleo must really love us to have persevered in the face of so many medical challenges. This is a kitty who stubbornly taught herself to walk again after suffering a stroke and insisted on navigating through the house on her own in spite of having become deaf and blind – conditions we were not aware of until the day Mom vacuumed around her and barely got a reaction.

Sadly, the hot summer weather proved too much for Cleo’s elderly ticker, and that stubborn little heart of hers finally gave out. She died at home, in Dad’s arms and surrounded by much of her family.

Seeing as Cleo was part of the family longer than 17-year-old Youngest Brother or 15-year-old Younger Sister (a fact I would occasionally point out when they complained about her stealing their spot on the couch), you can understand why we didn’t want to adopt another cat right away. Dad has also mentioned that if we got another cat and it lived as long as Cleo did, it could very well outlive some of us human family members and there might not be anyone to care for it.

The majority of the family had resigned itself to a petless existence, but Younger Sister was not so easily daunted. She is, to put it mildly, a tenacious and resourceful individual and took it upon herself to research cute, furry animals with relatively short life expectancies.

Which is how Younger Sister became the somewhat smug owner of a tan and white hamster named Jinx.

Since we are all rather starved for furry companionship, Younger Sister tends to draw an audience when she takes Jinx out of the cage to play with her. Such was the case one recent evening when Mom, Youngest Brother, Friend of Youngest Brother and I congregated in Younger Sister’s room to watch her clean the cage and let Jinx roam free in her little plastic ball.

At least, that was the ideal. In reality, Mom cleaned the cage while Younger Sister played with the hamster.

Mom asked if she could hold Jinx and attempted to cradle the hamster in the crook of her elbow, the way we used to do with our cat. Cleo would snuggle in this position briefly and then climb her way up the arm of whoever was holding her, ultimately coming to rest on their shoulder and burying her face in their neck or their hair.

Jinx, being much tinier in comparison, viewed this not as an invitation to cuddle but as a launching pad to freedom. She leapt out of Mom’s arms and into the void.

I happened to be occupying the airspace across from Mom at the time, holding the plastic hamster ball in one hand and the lid to the ball in the other. With Jinx hurtling toward me, I knew I only had one option.

Since my life is not an action movie, this option was not catching the hamster inside the ball. Fearful of accidentally squishing our newest addition, I instead permitted her to ricochet off my shoulder and onto Younger Sister’s futon, from which she was rescued – completely unharmed – before she could further broaden her horizons.

Jinx’s brief adventure led to a discussion as to who was ultimately at fault: Mom for attempting to cuddle the hamster in her arms, me for failing to catch the flying hamster, or Younger Sister for taking the hamster out of her cage in the first place. The consensus was that we’re simply not used to having such a small pet.

In Cleo’s younger years, we would often find her curled up in a dresser drawer or squeezed into some narrow crevice between a piece of furniture and the wall. Though it might take us a while to figure out where she was napping on any given day, we never worried that she may have gotten lost inside the house. Stuck somewhere, possibly, but never lost.

Jinx, on the other hand, is in a potentially perilous situation the moment we take her out of her cage. The house is unfamiliar territory to her, and she’s not big enough to really have a perspective as to which room is which. There are also far more places where a hamster can get stuck than a cat. We never had to be concerned, for example, that Cleo might get stuck in an empty mug that Younger Sister left on her bedroom floor.

It’s definitely going to take some time to adjust to the smaller size of our new pet and to learn how to handle her accordingly. In the meantime, we might want to distribute catcher’s mitts to anyone who happens to be in the vicinity when we take Jinx out of her cage.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published Nov. 6, 2014.

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Tete-a-tete: Say it with flowers – just don’t say where you got them

Recycling is a way of life here in New England, and it goes beyond separating out your paper and plastic. We pick up used CDs and DVDs at the flea market, buy dishes and furniture from secondhand shops and antique stores, and scour the giveaway table at the transfer station for anything else that might come in handy.

Yankee thrift can get a trifle odd, however, when you’re dealing with non-New Englanders who do not necessarily take this concept of reuse to the extremes that we do—a discovery Mom and I made while visiting family in upstate New York.

During the coffee hour following the service at my grandfather’s church, the pastor mentioned to my mother that there were several floral arrangements left over from a funeral held earlier that weekend. The gentleman who had passed away had been quite well known in the community, and there had been a plethora of flowers to decorate the altar and the church hall.

Even after the church had distributed flowers to the local nursing homes and group homes, there were still half a dozen arrangements remaining. Due to an upcoming holiday, there wouldn’t be anyone at the church to take care of the flowers, so they would most likely perish in the interim. Since the family did not want the remaining arrangements, the pastor asked if Mom would please take them.

Pleased at the prospect of having fresh flowers at my grandfather’s apartment—though somewhat apprehensive as to how we would accommodate all of the arrangements—Mom acquiesced to the pastor’s request.

Lest you start to think this is a bit creepy, permit me to offer a description of the flowers in question. In my experience, which is fairly considerable in this matter, funeral flowers typically look like, well, funeral flowers. They have an expansive look about them, with lots of ferns and a bow of some kind and maybe a plastic sign that says something like “With Deepest Sympathies.”

These flowers looked nothing like that. They were gorgeous, fragrant arrangements such as you might see as a centerpiece at a fancy dinner party or on the bedside table of a woman whose husband initially forgot her birthday. Taking them home and giving them new life was a no-brainer.

I should also mention that my family is far from squeamish when it comes to funerals. Though we love and miss those who have died and we grieve their passing, we also know that they have gone home to be with the Lord. Having this perspective enables us to treat funerals as celebrations of life rather than as sad and solemn occasions.

So really, in our book, it made perfect sense to bring one of these floral arrangements to the family party for our cousin’s 18th birthday. After all, we were only taking them from one celebration of life to another.

The flowers, I should clarify, were a supplementary gift, not a substitute one. Because our cousin loves flowers and is an avid gardener, we wanted to share our bounty with her. Even though she is not a New Englander, we were confident she would appreciate the opportunity to participate in the rescue and recycling of an otherwise doomed floral arrangement.

In retrospect, we probably shouldn’t have told her so readily how we acquired the flowers, but we wanted to explain why we had brought such a lush (and expensive-looking) arrangement when others had brought wildflower bouquets. Besides, that’s part of the Yankee thrift experience—there’s no such thing as a good find without a good story.

And once our cousin had heard the entire story—how the flowers would have perished without our intervention and were now instead on her family’s dining room table, awaiting her loving care—her poorly camouflaged expression of shock faded and she was able to enjoy the flowers’ beauty.

After the party, Mom admitted to me that, now that she thought about it, bringing a floral arrangement that had been used in a funeral service to a teenager’s birthday party was a little odd. I reassured her that it was the thought that counted.

The intense New England proclivity towards recycling may not always translate well outside of the region, but its heart is in the right place. If there’s still some use—or in the case of the flowers, some life—left in something, why throw it away? Making it available to others as a gift or a giveaway or at a reduced price reduces clutter in our landfills and strain on our wallets.

In order for those who are benefiting from this recycling process to fully enjoy their repurposed items, however, it may sometimes be best to spare them a detailed account of the items’ backstory.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published July 3, 2014.

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Two common mistakes columnists make

I’ve been writing my award-winning humor column, Tete-a-tete, for nearly six years, and I previously worked in a newsroom for a decade. As a result, I have been privy to the work of many lifestyle and humor columnists, as well as reader and editor reactions to these columns.

There are two significant mistakes that lifestyle/humor columnists commonly make, both of which affect the way their work is received as well as the longevity of their columnist careers. Continue reading

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Do I exaggerate in my humor columns?

One of the most frequent comments I get about Tete-a-tete, my humor column, is, “Is everything you write about your family really true?”

Yes. Yes it is.

To some of my readers, especially those who haven’t had the pleasure of knowing my family personally, the exploits I record in print sometimes seem a little too odd to be believable. Surely, there must be some exaggeration taking place – even just a wee bit – to ensure that my columns are humorous.

No. No there isn’t. (Copious snaps to you, dear reader, if you’re picking up on the modified “Phineas and Ferb” references here.) Continue reading

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