You did WHAT with the vacuum?

For the last few days I’ve been smelling gasoline whenever I walked by the front hall closet. Every day I passed it, I would stop and sniff, open the door, sniff some more, close the door and take another sniff but I was still unable to figure out where it was coming from. Max and I had gotten gas for the lawnmower and for his dirt bike a few days ago so I assumed he had spilled some on a sweatshirt and hung it in the closet.

Still, I thought the smell would dissipate over time. But it didn’t. It still smelled really strong a few days later so I decided to tear the closet apart to try and figure out where the smell was coming from. I buried my face into each and every coat and sweater in the closet and still could not find the source of the smell. I was like a woman possessed. I even sniffed my way through the mitten and hat baskets in my attempt to solve the mystery. Finally, I gave up.

Later, I went back to the closet and pulled out my canister vacuum to start cleaning the kitchen floor. When I turned it on, I immediately figured out where the gas was coming from. The minute I turned the vacuum on the smell of gas was OVERWHELMING. I quickly turned it off (before I blew up the whole house) and called to my son.

Me: “Max?”
Max: “Yeah Mom?”

Me: “Honey, could you please come here a minute?”
Max: “Sure Mom. What’s up?” he asked as he, way too casually, entered the area.

Mind you, my eyes are watering because of the fumes at this point. I’m frantically opening windows and swooshing a dish towel around trying to “shoo” the smell out the windows. I’ve asked Zoe to cover her mouth with a wet rag and try to save the pets. After her second pass through the area, hot on the trail of our, now wide-eyed dog and cat, I turn to see Max leaning against a nearby wall.

Me: “Uh honey. I know this might sound like a silly question but you didn’t, by chance, happen to use my canister vacuum to syphon gas lately, did you?”
Max: “I don’t think so.”

At this point I have now opened up the vacuum and pulled the vacuum bag out of it. I stick my nose into it and I’m overcome with the smell of gas. Reeling backwards, I turn to him and say, “Ok sweetie. I’m going to give you one last chance at that question. Just. One. Last. Chance. You might consider telling me the truth, especially in light of the overwhelming evidence before us now.”

He took a minute to consider my advice. While he weighed his options, I absent-mindedly began to try to disassemble the vacuum hose attachments. It consisted of three straight tubes stuck together with a floor attachment on the end. I tried to pull the tubes apart and they WOULDN’T BUDGE. They were melted together. I gave up and turned to my son and said, “Well?”

“Mom, I thought about using the shop vac but I knew you’d be mad about that. I had planned to turn it off before the gas got into the vacuum but I couldn’t see it until it was too late.”

I had no idea what to say. Really. It had not occurred to me to say “Sweetie, remember not to syphon gas with the vacuum today!” as I left the house. As if I was reminding him to brush his teeth and feed the cat. Should it have occurred to me? Based on prior incidents, well, maybe.

I couldn’t possibly remember to call out daily warnings to him and think that I would cover them all. He is a constant surprise to me, this kid, and I never seem quite able to anticipate what will come next with him.

Here is a small list of things I never thought I’d say:
“Get that chicken out of the house”, “The dog doesn’t want to wear those pants”, “You can’t ride the llama”, “The lawnmower is NOT for racing”, “No, you may not use the chainsaw as a weapon”, the list goes on, and on...

Full Moon

While I won't get too specific about what I do for a living (because I kind of really need to keep my job), suffice it to say that I work in the world of Health Care. It's an intersting job, it pays well and, most days, I really enjoy it. However, as the moon begins to get full, things get a little tricky. Strike that. People get monkey shit crazy. You would not even believe the phone calls that I have fielded the last few days and I only wish that I could give you the true details of them but I can't. Because it's a breach of confidentiality. But REALLY? These people are nuts!

Complaints about soup being too cold (since when is a hospital a hotel?), complaints about a visitor wearing a hat the "wrong way" (WHAT?), complaints about being "lonely" and wanting more "attention", complaints about being mistreated after SCREAMING profanities at the staff members. You wouldn't believe what doctors and nurses have to put up with these days and that's in the clinics. Don't even get me started on the Emergency Room Staff. Those people are SAINTS. I wouldn't last a minute down there. Not one minute.

So today, my co-workers and I, will have our eyes on the clock. Counting the minutes until the phones shut off at 4:00 pm. Hoping that the week-end will be sufficient time for the moon to stop being so damn full.

Llamas Don't Have it Easy Either

The kids are FINALLY back to school. The first week had some bumpy spots (Zoe is NOT a morning person) but, for the most part, we persevered. The paperwork pile is already over my head and I'm scrambling to check the kids' planners every night to be sure that I don't miss anything. At least not just yet. By December I'll feel that I have "proven myself" enough to the teachers to back it down a little. Still, it's a challenge to stay on top of it all right out of the starting gate.

I love teachers, I truly do. They are amazing, wonderful people who teach, love and instruct our children with patience and understanding. And they don't get paid nearly enough. So I really can't fault them for their (sometimes) passive-aggressive attempts to trip me up. (This could be a skewed perspective on my part perhaps?)

Yesterday, Zoe's planner listed "bring a sock to school tomorrow". Really? It didn't explain what the sock was for, what type of sock it should be or what would happen if you DIDN'T bring the sock. What if I hadn't checked the planner? Zoe would most likely be the only "sockless" kid in the class and it would ruin the rest of her year - girls are dramatic like that.

But I DID check the planner and I DID send the sock because I'm not going down that easy. Boo-ya.

The other day I was sitting out on my screen porch after a long day at work, just relaxing. I looked out at the goat pen and saw the following scene. Manny the llama, was quietly laying down in a nice patch of sand with just a hint of sunlight warming his back. He looked so peacful, calm and relaxed. His eyes were partially closed as if he were just having a nice little rest. Until.

Cheerio and Cammy (two of our goats) were nearby and were messing around. They were chasing and head-butting each other as they often do for fun. The fun got a little too raucous and FAR to close to Manny. Manny's ears went back and he raised his nose into the air as if to spit. Finally, Cheerio hit Cammy and sent her sprawling right into Manny and that's when the spitting began in earnest. I swear that I could hear him thinking "Can I just have ONE MINUTE of rest please?" "Why do I constantly have to deal with the two of you messing around?" "Don't I do enough for you that I deserve a little peace?"

It's a damn shame that goats don't go back to school too. Poor llama. I hear ya brother!