Jolly Ranchers

I was taking my shower this morning, VERY early and barely awake. I went to reach for my lovely scented body wash and, alas, the bottle was empty. The bottle was not empty yesterday. The only change between today and yesterday is that both kids took showers in MY bathroom.

Based on previous incidents, I have concluded that the children were to blame for my early morning dilemma. Normally it isn't my body wash that is affected but my shaving cream. That's a big favorite for the kids. During their unbelieveably long showers they apparently like to make drawings in (my not inexpensive) shaving cream on the shower walls. More than once, I've also noticed the involvement of my shower gloves, that I'm assuming they use to add texture.

It's difficult for me to problem solve so early in the morning. I looked around the shower stall and considered the options. Not so many options actually. I didn't feel it would be prudent to waste my expensive face wash on the rest of my body so that was out. Using conditioner would have been a complete mistake as well. So that left the only option - the kids' body wash.

You would think that, seeing the presence of children's body wash, the kids might actually use it. It does have the Wacky Melon scent and the funny looking fruit guy on the label. Ah, but you would be mistaken. I'm desperately trying not to take this personally. It's not that they are trying to irritate me, it's just that they must like my stuff better. So now, my kids are walking around smelling like a lovely lavender field while their skin enjoys the benefit of added moisturizers. While I am walking around smelling like a giant Jolly Rancher. 

It's come to this.

I never really thought that I’d be one of those people, but it appears that I am.  I am one of those people that puts sweaters on their dog.  In all fairness to me, I don’t put the sweater on the dog to make her look cute, I put it on her to make her WARM and that’s totally different. At the very least it’s slightly less crazy.

She went out yesterday and was shaking SO badly from the cold.  Still, there was a bone she was working on so she refused to come in.  I was worried about her being so cold so I looked around for something to warm her. The only thing that I had (since I have not yet acquired a dog sweater) was the doggie Santa suit that we force her into every year at Christmas. So if you drove by my house yesterday and wondered what the Santa dog was doing, there you have it.

Not so funny

Who’s fault is it when things don’t work out in a marriage?  You hear the stories about the breakups (which seem more and more frequent lately) and everyone scrambles to take one side or the other even though you never really have ALL of the information.  When did the trouble start?  Was it there from the beginning?  Or was it the stress of being together, raising a family and fighting about money that finally got them?

I often wonder if the vast majority of people out there are happier than I am.  I wonder if they’re having more fun.  I wonder if they feel that their children are loving and well-behaved and whether or not they are best friends with their spouses.

Are men happier than women or is the reverse true?  I once saw an article which listed the “order of happiness” with the happiest being listed first:

1)      Single Women

2)      Married Men

3)      Single Men

4)      Married Women

Do you think it might be true?  Are we allowed to talk about it?

With the holidays upon us, things seem to be more magnified for women.  The stress, the pressure, the busyness.  Most men I know tend to retreat from the family around this time as well which only compounds the stress of the woman. What to do?

If we aren’t allowed to ask these questions in polite society or discuss them with honesty then where does that leave us?  Can the women who went before us tell us the true tales of their struggles without “sugar coating” it to steer us one way or the other for sake of family?  If not, how can we expect things to change for the better?

What do we want to teach our daughters and sons about love, marriage and family?  We certainly can’t preach that it’s a life of wine and roses but can we set some minimum requirements for them?  Can we give them guidelines to determine the things that are acceptable and unacceptable to them?

Divorce is so sad.

Full of questions today.  No solid answers.  Sigh.

Barnyard Medicine

There aren’t many vets that will consider treating a chicken.  Nor are there many owners who would consider taking a chicken to a vet.  Chickens are considered, I suppose, somewhat disposable and easily replaceable.  Not true in the case of my chicken “Fric Frac”.  (Actually, she’s either “Fric” or “Frac” and her sister is the other.   Since they’re always together I never have found it necessary to differentiate.) Until today.  Let’s call the chicken I’m about to discuss “Fric”.

Today I heard Joe calling me from the front yard.  I went out to see what he needed and found him kneeling on the ground next to “Fric”.  He had on rubber gloves and was staring rather intently at her rear end. 

“Uh, what’s up?” I asked.

“There's something sticking out of her,” he replied.

I knelt down for a closer inspection and found that, indeed, there was something sticking out of her that shouldn’t have been.  I kind of knew that it might be a prolapse because I had heard of that happening, but it really is something entirely different to see it for real. Pretty gross actually, but confusing too.  You can’t quite figure out what’s what and where things belong and the chicken wasn’t exactly happy about the situation either. 

Joe and I, with our wealth of veterinary knowledge, eventually decided to “shove it back in”.  So happy that we keep rubber gloves around because you just never really know what you could be asked to do on the farm. The chicken appeared not to mind too much and went back to eating as soon as we released her.

Of course I headed to the computer to Google “chicken prolapse” (you wouldn't believe my list of crazy search topics: How to Kill a Hamster, How Long Does a Llama Live, How to Train Your Pig Not To Be Such a Jerk, etc.).  Based on what I found it looks like we actually did the right thing which is pretty cool and somewhat surprising, to be perfectly honest. 

For now I’m just relieved that my pretty, little “Fric” is alive, well and thriving.   

Sweet, Sweet Honey

I just love honey. Don't you? SO yummy, so tasty, so natural. So you'd think, with my fondness for the sweetner, that I'd be elated when Joe announced that we now have honey coming through our walls. Not so much.

We have had a hive of honey bees living in the far wall of our house for about 4 years now. The hive is thriving and we've already seen it "swarm" twice. Swarming is what happens when the hive gets too full and a new queen is born. She leaves the hive with a bunch of other bees and they go off to find their own new location. The bees are always very busy and industrious. Lots of activity.

With the news of "Colony Collapse Disorder" all over the world I just haven't had the heart to kill the bees what with them doing so well and all. But honey coming through the walls is kind of another matter altogether, isn't it? I mean really, where do you draw the line with something like that? I've been a gracious host, I haven't harassed them and I've never asked them to leave but this is too much.

I sat here this evening, staring at the window frame and watching the VERY slow drip of honey onto the window sill. It is moments like this that make a person. I could have chosen to have some sort of a sugar induced breakdown but instead I decided to just put a bowl under it.

Fresh Start....Tomorrow.

I awoke today with purpose.  I was ready to get my life back on track.  To get my health pulled together.  To start fresh.

I got up a little late - not too big a deal. Slightly rushed but not panicked.  I started to make myself some breakfast.  Hmmm. Bagels but no cream cheese. Cereal but no milk. Ok, ok, some days are like that. No big deal.  I decided that I was going to take my vitamins to get a good start on the day and to renew my health.  

Twenty minutes later I was throwing up in the library parking lot next to my car which, coincidentally, has the name of our business emblazoned all over it.  Nice.

I can't really recall the last time I threw up - thank goodness.  It's just awful, isn't it? When I was pregnant with Max I threw up ALL the time. I mean like 20-25 times a DAY. I got to the point where I could throw up anywhere at anytime and just keep moving.  I also got to the point where Joe would refuse to take me out to dinner because it was "a waste of money".  

But enough about that. I am not deterred. Still a little woozy, but not deterred.

One of the vitamins that I, ahem, relieved myself of this morning was a fish oil pill roughly the size of a baby's arm. The reason that I was taking a fish oil pill was because Joe suggested it. That conversation went a little something like this:

Joe: "Ok, here are the turnip greens I told you about. You can take them to her whenever."

Julie: "Turnip greens? Who am I taking them to?"

Joe: "Seriously? We talked about this yesterday. How can you not remember talking about this? I think you may have early dementia or something. Maybe you need to go to the doctor for help with this or maybe you should take some fish oil."

Let me clarify. My brain is at full capacity and yet more information (that I'm expected to retain) comes in every day. I need to remember to review homework, pack the lunches, make dinner, pick up the house, feed the animals, set up the MD appointments, go to the MD appointments, send out birthday cards, buy birthday gifts, pay the bills, balance the checkbook, worry about Christmas shopping, figure out Halloween costumes, remember where I'm supposed to be for Thanksgiving this year, watch the kids put on yet another trampoline "show", mow the lawn, clean the front porch, deliver produce, give the dog a bath (while she tries to bite me), go to the bank, get the groceries and cook dinner.

Joe has to take the garbage out on Fridays and sometimes he forgets.  And I need the fish oil?

Whatever Happened to Laura Ingalls Wilder?

I am a winter person. I'm at my happiest when the air is crisp, the leaves are falling and the smell of a bonfire is in the air. The other day, when I didn't have to work, I stayed at home all day. I got the house clean (ish), I had fresh bread baking and I had some chili on the stove. I had a nice fire burning in the wood stove and the house was warm and fragrant. This is my time of year.

Though I am prone to place Ms. Laura Ingalls Wilder on a pedestal every now and again I can't say that it's totally without warrant. And, to be fair, I'm really placing the idea on the pedestal and not the actress and TV series. How cool would that lifestyle have been? Nobody rushing out the door to get to work on time, no cell phones, no TV. Just time to keep your house in order, cook good food for your family and spend time together. No, I am not forgetting the fact that they could have been eaten by wolves or bears or some other creature at any time, I'm just not talking about that right now.

I get that it would have been hard. Really hard. That little log cabin could NOT have been warm. And why did they always have to sleep with those bonnet things on? It couldn't be related to the vanity of how their hair looked because I never saw them bathe. Not once. Ewww.

But still...I would've been cool with riding the horse drawn wagon to town. I would've been good with the one room schoolhouse as well. The kids always looked so happy as they trotted off to school with their little, tin lunch pails (I'm going to check Ebay for one of those - how quaintly nostalgic). I never did understand how they got to school on time seeing that it was like a 10 mile trip one way, but whatever, it worked.

Even the dresses were cool. How nice would it be not to have to worry about what to wear all the time. They had all of two dresses and one for fancy stuff. That along with the one pair of shoes would have gotten me out of the door a LOT faster. Still, I think I would leave the bonnet thing behind...

Homework

With the return of fall, homework is upon us once again.  I’m 41 years old and I still hate homework.  How is that possible?  And it seems like its harder now than it ever was.  Zoe came home last night with two books on bottlenose dolphins and said that she needed to do a report.  When I asked a few more questions I realized that she actually WANTED to do the report - it was not assigned, she just wanted to do it. Huh.

Max is a totally different story.  He had math homework last night that was just plain unbelievable.  I’m not sure who was more frustrated – him or me (although based on his screaming and writhing on the floor I'll assume it was him).  I have never liked math and I’ve never been good at it.  Unfortunately, Max ended up with that “bad at math” gene.  Last night’s homework was weights and measures.  Seriously?   My mind just does not comprehend that stuff nor do I see a real need for it. I mean really, we all have calculators now right?  We even have solar calculators so we won’t be lost during a power outage.  Not sure why I’d need to do calculations during a power outage but the fact remains that I could.

The night before Max brought home his math homework and it was all story problems.  I could feel all the breath whoosh out of me when he set it down in front of me.  “Mom, I just don’t get any of these", he said.  I turned the paper towards me, took a deep breath and started making crap up.  Really I wasn’t making it up so much as forcing him to figure it out by “pretending” that I didn’t understand it.  My pretending is VERY convincing, by the way.  Last week he asked for help with his math homework and it was fractions.  My absolute nemesis. Who does anything with fractions anymore?  If I ever have the need to utilize fractions it’s for cooking or baking and I can usually add ½ + ½ pretty well.  I actually had to Google “common denominators” and “fraction tutoring”.  Not exactly a show of confidence for a kid who is struggling.

Now my beloved husband, who is actually good at math, was no better with the homework.  You either get math or you don’t.  He does and I don’t.  Putting those two types of people together is a BAD idea.  I asked him to help Max the other night and when I came back to check on them he was yelling at Max, “HOW MANY TIMES DOES 42 GO INTO 53?  HOW MANY TIMES DOES 42 GO INTO 53?  How can you not get that???” 

Much like speaking to someone who doesn’t speak your language, speaking more loudly truly doesn’t help.

Is That a SPOT?

Ah the first day of school. Excitement is high, parents are relieved and everyone is packed and ready to go.  Zoe took the time to lay out her outfit the night before the first day of school.  She had the shirt, the pants, the socks, the shoes and even the hair accessories.  Max simply shoved a pair of shorts in my face and said, “Do these stink?”

In the morning all was going according to plan until… I heard a shriek coming from the bathroom and instinctively ran towards it thinking that someone was hurt. Upon entering the bathroom I found Zoe, near tears, staring at her shirt. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Don’t you see it??” she asked, incredulous.

“See what, sweetie?”

“My shirt!!! It has a spot on it!” She was creeping ever closer to hysteria at this point so I leaned in to take a closer look at the nefarious spot that was threatening to ruin our day.

“Honey? Sweetie? It looks kind of like a water spot to me.”

“I know” she cried, “what am I going to do??”

“Ummm, well, just throwing this out there, but we could dry it.”

“Why bother?? It’s ruined!!” and she stomped off to change her shirt.

Ok, wow. You’d think that someone had covered the kid from head to toe in boiling acid.  She freaked out over a WATER spot?  Are you kidding me??  I’ve left the house with far worse spots than that and haven’t given it a second thought.

Today we had a clothing issue (which actually began last night and continued this morning) about which shoes would be most appropriate with the outfit that she had laid out for the day. Down to the shoelaces - “Sparkly or purple, which do you think looks better?” OMG

By contrast, Max came home wearing his shirt inside out the other day. When I asked why his shirt was inside out he said, “Oh, I had to wear it for gym class and it got kind of sweaty so I just flipped it.” That’s my boy.

Swim. Bike. Run (or walk...)

I ran a triathlon yesterday. Well, it was a mini triathlon, but that still counts. The fact is that I swam, biked and ran consecutively for a good long while so that qualifies. Honestly, I never ever thought I would be able to say that I had done it. I wasn’t really even sure that I could do it. I kept asking, “What if you can’t finish?” My sister Kelly, ever the avid supporter kept replying, “You can’t quit.”

In fact, that turns out to be a lie. You can quit. Like if your bike tire explodes or you trip during the run. Halfway through the 10.7 mile bike ride I was wishing my tire would explode so I could just end the thing. I tried to be strong for the volunteers who were there to cheer us on and direct us but by the time I got to the last volunteers I was only able to gasp out “How much farther?”  I think they were a little taken aback…

The swim part was also a little trickier than I expected. There is definitely a moment of panic at the beginning of it all. Lots of arms and legs and bodies everywhere make it difficult to get your bearings. Plus, I’m a crappy swimmer. Luckily, there were rescue boats in the water you could cling to if you needed a break. Yeah, I stopped at the first one, so what? Actually, there were about 5 of us who stopped at the first boat and the poor guy in the boat looked a little nervous. We all grabbed one end and probably could’ve sunk the thing in our panicked state. I had visions of the guy hitting us over the head with the oars and screaming, “Let go!!”

The run part was fine because it was in the woods where no one could see you so I just walked it. Of course, I was able to pull it together and run the last 100 yards or so to cross the finish line but that was just for show. They had a water station in the woods where you’re supposed to run by and grab one of the waters that are being held out for you. I mastered the grabbing part but couldn’t drink it because I was moving and it was all running down the front of my shirt. Well of course, in hindsight, it occurred to me that I could have stopped.

I think the hardest part of the race though might have been the transition from swimming to biking. Imagine that you’re all wet from swimming, you’re exhausted and you’ve still got a LONG way to go, people are all around you watching, yelling and cheering and you’re trying to put on bike shorts. With wet legs. That is something I would rarely attempt in the privacy of my own bedroom but here I was fighting the good fight in public. I suppose though, there comes a time in every gal’s life where you just have to do what you have to do. And I did.

Summer Softball

I have signed up to coach my daughter’s summer softball team. I did not sign up to coach because I’m an excellent softball coach with years of experience and vast amounts of softball knowledge. No. I signed up because no one else did. I’m cool with that.

Our first game (a double header, no less) was last night. Great fun really. I ended up with a team of kids whose parents are AWESOME! Everyone was ready to jump in and help out. Fantastic! Especially since I have no idea what I’m doing.

When our girls were on the field I kept yelling out “Throw it to first base”. Joe called me over to the fence and discreetly whispered “The play isn’t at first. You want them to force an out at second or third base to stop the run.” Oh. Ok. Well then, I guess I know even less than I thought I knew. How is that even possible?? Still, I feel that the point was slightly moot since we don’t even keep score…

The kids were so darn cute. Trying to remember all of their names – no so much. Everyone kind of looks the same in a pink shirt and a batting helmet. Luckily the parents were on the sidelines cheering for whoever was nearest the ball, which helped with name recognition immensely.

In the 2.5 hours we were on the field, my daughter took 3 bathroom breaks. I’d look out to right field, where I’d put her, and she was gone. Then I’d see her standing in line at the porta potti. Note to self – fewer water breaks.

All in all, I think it went well. I doubt very much that I’ll be coaching the big leagues anytime soon but I did at least recruit a parent to send around a snack sheet. My work here is done.

To My Beloved Followers

Who am I kidding? Mom and Dad, thanks for still checking in with my blog even though I haven't posted for months. Geesh. The chaos of summer has gotten the best of me already and its only just begun.  But ok, buckling down now.

The kids are officially out of school and I'm midway through a REALLY packed week-end. Went to see "Cats" at the Wharton Center today, which ended with a fire alarm going off and us evacuating the theater and then on to a graduation party. Just getting home with Zoe who is now sick to her stomach. That's kind of what happens when your dinner consists of 14 brownies and a carrot. Of course bouncing all night on the trampoline didn't help much either.

Regardless, we're home, she's in bed, and I'm sorry to have been such a slacker on my blog. More to come in a few days. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Happy Summer!

Julie

The Family that Travels Together....

See how I'm kind of "fake" smiling in this picture...

I think that taking a trip as a family gives you a very good picture of how your family works together as a team.  We’ve just arrived back after four days in Chicago and I’ve kind of been thinking about that ever since.  Every person seems to have a different response to being in a strange place.  Max gets (really) excited, Zoe gets nervous, Joe takes control and I start looking for bathrooms.  Seriously, where are all the damn bathrooms in Chicago???

We arrived at the hotel on Sunday and the kids immediately wanted to go swimming at the hotel pool.  Joe and I, of course, were ready to go explore the city and find great food.  Joe and I won.  Before we left home Joe got this new App on his Iphone which was super cool.  You can punch in where you want to go and it will give you walking, driving and bus directions to get there.  He was all over it.  He’d figure out where we were headed and then he’d find the nearest bus to take us there.  To be fair, it wasn’t always entirely accurate which prompted some pretty vocal complaints from the kids, of course.  (Surely you didn’t think I was doing any complaining…) Still, it got us where we needed to go most times so that was good.

Max loved the bus system.  He loved to stand up and hold onto the straps above for balance – even when there was a seat available.  Mostly he just hung on them like a monkey at the zoo.  His favorite part, I think, was the time we let him sit in the back of the bus.  There were a bunch of “20 somethings” back there and the language was pretty darn colorful.  He LOVED it.

Zoe and I made it to the American Girl doll store.  Ugh.  The women in there are CRAZY. You’d see a mom completely decked out in heels, full make-up, perfect outfit and perfect hair marching along in front of her daughters who looked like little “mini-me’s”.  Some of the mom’s seemed more excited to be there than their kids. Weird.  I overheard a couple that was riding behind me on the escalator.

Husband:   “That’s it.  I’ve already spent over a thousand dollars in here and I’m not spending a penny more.  We need to leave now.”

Wife:   “Honey, it’s not like we come here every day.  Gracie has been so excited about this trip because of this store.  Let’s just finish shopping on the lower level and then we’ll go.”

To my astonishment, he agreed.  Meanwhile I was trying to pry a pair of $22 slippers out of Zoe's clinging hands.  I ended up spending $40 and I felt THAT was excessive!

This is not to say that the trip was without it’s trials.  On our final day, we went to the Lincoln Park Zoo.  The issue started right inside the gate.  Joe wanted to get his hands on a map right away.  I thought we could just wander around and look at stuff.  (“Look kids – seals!”)  He was adamant and we began our march towards the gift shop (though I did stop and look at the seals…).  I was being a bit of a smart *ss because it was the end of the trip and I wanted to do things my way.  Within earshot of Joe (and in a very childish way) I started saying to Max, “Well, some people believe that life is all about the destination.  Myself, well, I think the journey is far more important.”

Joe, overhearing this, shot back “That’s cool as long as you don’t mind arriving at the destination without all your stuff.”  A blatant reference to the fact that I had misplaced (more likely thrown away) all of our cell phone and Ipod chargers somewhere between the train and the hotel.

Well.  That turned the worm for sure.  By the time we arrived at the penguin exhibit, we were not speaking.  At one point I said to the kids, “Look at that cute penguin over there! I think he’s going to jump in the water!”  When they went to investigate I turned to Joe and said, through clenched teeth, “You’d better just knock it off.  Do you honestly think that I don’t feel bad enough about the stupid chargers without you rubbing it in?”  I was able to get the smile plastered back on my face just as the kids arrived.  To Joe’s credit, he apologized to me in the botanical garden house a little bit later.

All in all another great trip to Chicago with lots of fun memories.

Is Nutella Poisonous to Dogs?

The kids are on a new lunch kick. They want me to send in these “snack wraps” that are made out of a flour tortilla which is then filled with peanut butter and jelly or peanut butter and Nutella. Truth be told I only came up with it when I went to pack lunches one morning and found that we were out of bread. So I tried to put an international spin on things and push the wraps. Anyway, they bought it and they love them.

So yesterday they came home from school and asked for snacks. Naturally, I made a few wraps and passed them out. About ½ an hour later Zoe appeared in the kitchen holding a half chewed and kind of drooly looking wrap. “I found this on my floor,” she said with disgust.  “I think Sugar (the miniature schnauzer) got into it”.

Then Joe walked in. He really did used to love the dog. Seriously, when we first got her he was never without her, sometimes even carrying her in the pocket of his overalls while working outside. It was adorable. But now he doesn’t like her. I’m not sure what happened – he complains that she’s too fat and she’s always lurking around the kitchen (to which I take personal offense…) – but he’s just not that fond of her.

Let me preface this event by saying that I was about ¾ of the way into a pretty elaborate dinner preparation and I was very focused. As I was stirring something and sautéing something else, Zoe entered with her proclamation of blame on the dog. Joe took the half eaten wrap and was walking towards Sugar with it in a menacing way– not unlike walking towards a dog with a rolled up newspaper but, you know,  with Nutella. He was saying “SUGAR. Bad Dog. What did you do?”

As this point she came over to me because I am her protector from all things great and small. Whether it’s a feisty chicken or a thunderstorm, she can count on me to protect her. So she was huddled behind me while I was trying to tend to the stovetop and tell Joe to leave her alone.  At that point, Max entered the room and thrust the phone into my hands.  I answered the phone and it was my mother in law asking if I’ve had a chance to check my email and show the kids a new game she had sent.

A gal can only do so much. With the phone tucked under my chin I shifted things on the stovetop and turned to Joe. “Knock it off. She gets it, ok?”  But he loves to tease her and see her get upset so he continued to harangue her. My poor mother in law had to witness the whole mess on the phone. Zoe upset over the loss of her wrap, Joe harassing the dog and me trying desperately not to burn dinner. Max was probably up to something interesting as well but I didn’t have time to check.  Sometimes I just feel like one, big, flailing mess, you know?

Too Close For Comfort

I had (yet another) unpleasant wildlife encounter last night.  I opened the door that leads into the garage to take out the recycling. As I began to step out I looked down and saw that I was about to step on a raccoon.  A big raccoon. I jumped back and slammed the door but not before I saw our cats walking around, nonchalantly, near the raccoon.  So I cautiously opened the door a tiny bit and frantically tried to call the cats to come inside the house. The cats, clearly not understanding my concern stared blankly at me and appeared to wonder what I was so freaked out about.

I got one cat inside – Bitty – who wants to be a house cat anyway so he was all over it. Tut, the other cat, seemed to be just fine where he was. I turned my attention back to the raccoon and I noticed that he really didn’t look right. He was moving slowly and his fur looked patchy and unhealthy. I opened the door again, just enough to stick my head out and there he sat just looking at me.

I said to him, “Now you get out of here and leave my cats alone. Get! Get!!”  No response. I tried again, “You  get out of here NOW!”  I shook my finger at him for good measure. At that point he actually turned back to the sour cream container and continued licking it. How very rude.

Joe was out for the evening as he is whenever I seem to have these “Why is Nature in My Living Room” moments but I knew he’d be home soon. I texted him to tell him that we had a clearly rabid raccoon in our recycling bins and that he should be careful in his dealings with it.

Silly me, I assumed he would be dealing with it.  When I heard him pull into the garage I had my eyeball right up to the peep hole in the door so that I could witness the attack should it occur. He about jumped out of his skin when he pulled the door open and I was practically attached to the handle.

“What are you doing?” he said, clearly startled.

“I’m watching for the raccoon!! See? Don’t you see its tail sticking out of that bin.” I’ll admit that my voice had a bit of an “edge” to it and might have been a few octaves too high for a normal human voice.  Joe was not nearly as concerned as I was nor as concerned as I thought he should be.

 “All right, hold on,” he said.  “I’ll go get a firecracker and scare him out.”

“A firecracker?” I asked. “It’s 11:00 at night. Don’t you think that might wake up the kids? Or scare the neighbors? Or set fire to the garage?”  Did I mention that he had been at the pub with a few friends... 

It was obvious to me at that point that I would have to come up with an alternative.  So I started barking orders at him. “You’re going to need to go in through the garage doors and sneak up on him. Take a big stick or something, I think there’s a rake on the front porch, and keep it in front of you at all times in case he lunges for you. Once you get in there you can poke him out of the bin with the rake.  Or, we could lure him out with some cat food? I’m not sure. What do you think?”

It was clear that Joe had stopped listening to me right after I said “You’re”.  He opened the door and started banging things around. The problem was this. He had the door half open with one leg in and one leg out. I had visions of a rabid raccoon rushing through the open door and careening through the kitchen and on down the hall to gnaw on the kids’ faces. 

Apparently Joe had not considered this. Seriously, do I have to think of EVERYTHING?  So while Joe was tearing things apart in the garage I went to check on the kids and I didn’t notice Max walk by and head to the garage. I heard him call me and then I noticed he was in the kitchen. Apparently “Bitty” had come into his room meowing and had woken him up and he came out to see what was going on. 

He looked into the garage to see his father dancing around and yelling obscenities at some unseen object.  Good Lord. We’ll just add that to the list of items to discuss with his therapist. I hope that therapist has lots of kids because we’ll probably be sending them all to Yale or Harvard.

  

All’s well that ends well I suppose. The raccoon was gone this morning when I left for work. At least I think he was. It was kind of hard to tell because I was running to my car really fast…

Another snow day???

A collective scream of "WHHHYYYY?" went up all over Dexter this morning when the news came that we were having a snow day. Mothers everywhere fell to their knees praying that it just wasn't so. After a 4 day week-end due to President's day it was just too much to bear.

I really have nothing left to give. There are no more craft projects, no more cookies to bake, no more patience left in me at all. Not one bit. At this point I'm actually begging my children to let me lay down with a cool cloth on my forehead. Like that's going to happen.

The kids are bored to tears too. We've pretty much done all there is to do and we're just kind of staring warily at each other. I was doing really well right up to today's announcement. We had gone to a movie, we went sledding, we had play dates and sleepovers. But today? Nothing. I dragged them out to get haircuts just to get us out of the house for a bit.

Never really thought I'd say this but I'm SOOO reading for spring!

What will he think of next?

Last night I was feeling pretty tired. This week I've just been really exhausted which the MD said is to be expected. Still, it's horrible to be tired when you've got kids climbing all over you wanting to show you school papers and needing snacks.

It is safe to say that I was not at my parenting best last night. I was in the recliner in the living room resting (with my eyes open - sort of) when I noticed Max going in and out the front door. I wasn't sure what he was doing but I thought he might be playing with the cats. Until I saw him go out the front door with a bucket full of water. THAT woke me up.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Icing the driveway" he said, as if I had just asked how his day was.

 "Why?" I asked.

"I don't know. It's fun, I guess."

By the time I was able to get up and survey the driveway I was shocked. An area about 5 feet wide and 10 feet long was a complete sheet of ice. It was actually kind of impressive though I didn't let on about that.

I kept trying to get to the bottom of why he did it. He mentioned that he could "skate" on it but that it would also be funny to watch our cars slip on it. OMG. Is he trying to kill me? Decidedly not. He's not that kind of kid, but wow, icing the driveway. Huh. 

He never ceases to amaze me. The things he comes up with - riding my garden cart while holding onto a makeshift sail.  Or the things he says - What do all of these things have in common? Banana, apple, peach and pear. The rest of us might answer that they're all fruit. Max's answer was that they all have skin. Which is true, but, wait what?

Sometimes I feel a kinship to Mrs. Edison - "Thomas, you're going to do WHAT with a kite and a key? In this weather?"  I suppose though that the worst thing I can do is stifle his creativity and his slightly skewed view of the world.

He constantly keeps me guessing and I'm never quite sure what he'll come up with next. When he was really little I used to say things like, "Don't ride your bike without a helmet". Now I have to be a little more thorough.

"Don't jump off the roof, don't make the dog pull you in a wagon (she's only a mini schnauzer after all), don't bring that chicken in the house, don't eat chili with your fingers (Joe's favorite), don't try to ride the llama." I really should just record something and just roll the playback. It would save me a lot of time.

Jail Break

Had a little "situation" in the barn yesterday. Manny (the llama) and Phineas (the not-so-much-a-potbelly pig) broke into the barn. They have a stall inside the barn that leads to the outside so they can all get shelter and warmth. From there, there's a gate that keeps them from getting into the rest of the barn. Except in this case, it didn't.

We had just gotten a big load of hay (54 bales) so the barn was nice and full of fresh, green food for them. We aren't sure exactly how long the rampage had lasted but the toppled and destroyed bales left no doubt that it was long enough. As per usual, when I tried to get to the bottom of it I was met with stony silence. I think the pig may have grunted but you can bet he was just trying to implicate the llama. Either way, we're going to have some serious discussions about this in the days to come.

There will be consequences. Like maybe I won't love on them quite as much when I go out to feed. So that's 20 llama kisses instead of the usual 25. That should teach him a little something about who he's messing with. I expect this kind of thing from Phineas because, you know, he's a pig. But the llama? I am so disappointed.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

I am officially beginning to feel somewhat human again. Barely. It seems that I drastically underestimated exactly what was involved in this whole abdominal hysterectomy thing. I was prepared for a few days of tenderness and pain. Perhaps even a few days in bed. But alas, it's far worse than I imagined.

I'm not totally complaining.There is something to be said for "laying low" and not doing much of anything. I've been reading, watching TV and chatting with friends on the phone - between naps. It's not all bad. My skin actually looks fantastic - lack of putting makeup on for two weeks I suppose and I'm drinking more water than I ever have before.

Still. It's tough not to be able to do what I want/need to do. It's tough to just have to sit there and wait for someone to help me do what needs to be done. It's not like I'm a real go-getter, can't keep me down kind of girl but I am getting frustrated as the days wear on.

It has been nice for the pace to slow down some. It's nice to actually have time to sit and think or sit and not think. Just to have time to myself is a nice thing. It would be better if my tummy didn't hurt though.

So I'm slowly coming out of my fog and starting to get a look around. I walked out to see the animals the other day which I haven't been able to do thus far. It was really nice to see them again and to say hello. The walk exhausted me but it was well worth the effort.

OW

Ok, OW. Had the surgery on Tuesday and I'm still kind of reeling from it. Every part of me hurts and I'm walking around like a drunk senior citizen. Pain meds are fun and all but those send me for a loop as well. I think the MD got a discount on surgical staples that day because I must have about 25 of them in my abdomen. Ow. I'm going back to bed....