The Squirrel Story

Don't read this if you are a squirrel lover.  It's not a happy story....

This is one of the big walnut trees in my backyard.  It is one of about 7 trees that make up a squirrel-condo neighbourhood.  There are several generations of squirrel families that call Shady Estate home.  Mostly we leave them alone, and are grateful they take all the walnuts so we don't have to rake and shovel them all up.  There is harmony between the creatures in our back yard.
Except that Stewy and Rocky keep forgetting that.

Last week as Boy and I were leaving for his hockey practice we noticed a big, fat, gray squirrel (the only reason I mention "big, fat" is because it distinguishes it from the other one) and a little wee black squirrel at the base of this tree.  Then we noticed Stewy all hunkered down in his hunting position.  I wasn't too worried at first because squirrels are fast, and they were close to the tree.

Shoulda worried.

Stewy pounced on the little squirrel. Caught him and gave him a good shake in his mouth.  I went screaming into the yard.

"No, Stewy! NO, NOOO"

Stewy dropped the little black squirrel and I chased him away.  Then I saw that the little fella was injured. He was trying to crawl back to the tree, but he was dragging his hind end.  It was pitiful.

Boy had his hockey stick in his hand still and he offered to pound it so it wouldn't suffer.

"No, no.  I can't let you club him to death."

Boy ran to the shop and returned with his pellet gun.

"I can get it in one shot, mom. It's really hurt."

By this time the little squirrel had started his slow climb up the tree.  Clinging by tiny little front claws with his back legs hanging.

"Okay, okay," I said, "put him out of his misery."

Boy lined up to take the shot.

"Stop, stop!" I yelled, "you can't."

"I can, mom.  I can do it.  Don't look. I'll tell you when it's over."

"No you can't, Boy.  His mama is calling him.  We've got to let him say good-bye to his mama."

Indeed, the big, fat momma squirrel was in the tree in the lowest branch chittering and calling to the little one.  I just couldn't let Boy kill the baby infront of her. I told him that if the little one was still there when we got home from hockey then I would put it down.  It's something only mommas understand.

Boy put down his weapon and said, "project much, mom?"

Maybe.

Neither squirrel was around when we got home from the arena.  So now I picture a little invalid squirrel tucked away somewhere in his nest in this tree, with momma nursing him and feeding him walnut pieces.

Rocky

Woke up one day last week to a disaster.
Guess who caused the disaster??
Guess who couldn't figure out how I guessed who caused the disaster?






































It was not a good start to a Monday morning.

Apparently That Cat has not outgrown his love for the "jungle plants."

So I swept up the dirt.  Stuck the plant back in the pots and accepted Rocky's sincere apology.

Horror of horrors!!!

Yes, even MORE horrifying than finding a mouse in your crockpot!!
So horrifying I almost cannot speak of it.

But I started this post, so I will.  But I warn you .... you won't be able to look at me the same again....

Still reading???
Looking for an excuse not to look at me ever, ever again???

Here it is.
Horrifying!

Today I made the most basic mistake, the mistake that is made fun of on movies and TV shows, the thing that your mother warns you about from the first time you ever put on a skirt...

I tucked the back of my long flowing skirt into my bloomers.  It was a long full skirt so no hiney was exposed but IT COULD HAVE BEEN hanging out for all the elementary children in Small Town to see!!!

A very sweet, concerned parent volunteer followed me down the hall, ran to catch up with me, and then pointed out my faux pas.

Horrifying.
I died.
Then I laughed.
But not really.

The end.

Python!

So yesterday I heard a news report on the radio on the way to work.  It stuck with me all day, haunted me last night and still has caused me pause today.

Apparently on the weekend a family was doing renovations in their house in Toronto.  When the father took up the toilet and floorboards in the old bathroom he found a python.  Yep, I said "python" as in big, big snake.  The snake was removed.  (I hope that is code for chopped up into tiny pieces and disposed of far, far away from the house.)  But that's not the end of the story. 

The next day the mother was doing laundry and she opened her washing machine and found ANOTHER python. 

So here's where my plan differs significantly from this family's.  I believe their plan was to remove this snake as well, and then contact some exterminators.

My plan.

Leave. 

Leave the house.  Take my children (I really hope I'd be that clear headed to take them with me.  I'd like to believe I'd think of their welfare....) and move away.  I wouldn't pack.  I wouldn't call an exterminator.  I wouldn't think to turn on the washing machine, or even close the lid.  I would just leave.  The snake and all his brothers and sisters infesting my walls could just have my house. 

And I certainly wouldn't be calling the media.
Hear me.  I'm not kidding.  I've thought about this for 37 1/2 hours.  I would just leave.

Just sayin'.

confession of insanity

I've been mulling over this post for a few days now.  I decided to write it, 'cause it's been the thing on my mind for several days, so I've got nuttin' else to post. I"ll warn you now, it might make you itchy, or scared of me....

Here we go.

We had a team of volunteers do head lice checks at our school this week.  Whenever the thought of headlice enters my head, I get itchy.  (You are right now too, aren't you?)

That afternoon I became convinced that I had head lice.  Absolutely convinced.  I called DH.  He told me to calm down.  Then I called Sis, because she is a hairdresser, and she knows how this would freak me out.
The call went something like this:

Me:  Sis, I think I have headlice.
Sis:  Are you itchy?
Me:  Yes.  Everywhere.
Sis:  How long has your head been itchy?
Me:  Since this afternoon.
Sis:  (pause) Since the headlice ladies came to your school to check the kids?  Since you started thinking about it?
Me:  Yes.  And I know it's bad.
Sis:  You are freaking out, aren't you?
Me:  Yes, I'm freaking out. 
Sis:  Calm down.  I will check your head when you get home tonight.
Me:  Sniff.  Sniff.  Okay.
Sis:   Don't freak out.
.....

So what did I do? 

I freaked out.  I changed babysitting plans because I didn't want my teenage friend in a house crawling with  lice.  I made Girl help me strip all the beds, gather the decorative cushions and quilts, collect all stuffed animals, doll clothes, towels, laundry etc.  We carried all of it to the basement.  We created a mountain of laundry.  Possibly 30 loads worth....

Then it occurred to me I ought to check Girl.  Nope, she didn't have any sign of bugs or nits.
But me, I was sure I was crawling with them.  I told Girl to stay away from me.

Then I went to Sis's house.  I proudly told her all I had done to start the disinfecting process. 
Then she checked my head.  She took her time; she went through each strand.
Then she declared, "you do not have headlice."

Me:  Are you sure?  I'm itchy.  I can feel things crawling.  It feels like I am infested.
Sis:  You are infested with a raging case of crazy...  (these aren't her exact words, but I know her well enough to know she thought I was nuts.)

So now, bug free, I have a month's worth of laundry to finish this weekend. 
I also know that a saner person might just gather up the quilts and throw pillows and put them back where they belong. 

But it's been established that I have MHI (mental health issues) about some things, so I just can't put them back; they've touched a laundry basket and the basement floor.  I have to sort, wash, dry and then replace.

While I do that, I will try really, really hard not to imagine bedbugs.

H2O

I've had difficulties with water this week.

On Monday, after my run (when was in my sweaty-smelly mode) I tried to take a shower.  I say tried 'cause I could only get scalding hot water from the tap.  I tried all the usual jiggling of the knob, turning off, waiting patiently (well, not so patiently, but there was definitely a pause).  Nothing worked.  I hollered for DH.  Said a cuss word (promised I'd put a loonie in the swear jar) and then nearly cried when DH said the valve in the thingy that controls the whatsit must be broken. 

I trekked downstairs to our never-used-shower-cause-now-it's-a-broom-closet.  Emptied the shower/broom closet and had my shower there.  It's not the same.  It's small.  I didn't have my favourite soap.  I banged my elbow ('nother buck for the jar...)

When I got out of my shower I had calmed somewhat and decided a cup of tea would soothe the spirit.  When I walked into the kitchen I discovered a very large, and growing, puddle on the floor.  Seems the water cooler was leaking.  'Nother buck gone.  I hollered for DH.  Seems the whojee on the whatchamacallit might be corroded. I took the cooler apart.  Soaked all  parts in vinegar and put it back together.  Leaked again.  'Nother buck in the jar.  Took it apart again, vowed to be patient (or pause longer) while the vinegar worked it's magic. 

They say say bad things come in threes....

Girl spilled the Brita pitcher (the big gallon one) all  over the table and onto the floor on Tuesday.

I think someone is trying to tell me to wash my kitchen floor....

no mercy

NO PHOTO AVAILABLE
(and be grateful there isn't)


I am nearly 40 years old and I've never had a cavity before.  Well my crooked dentist said I had one and I got it filled today.  Never having had to get a filling before, freezing is a relatively new concept to me.  On the way the to the dentist the Boy filled me with dread.  The needle is soooo big.  They stick it all the way down to your jaw bone.  And the Girl said things like "I hope you won't cry mommy."

Well, it was a relatively painless process.  Nothing hurt except my pride (I"ve NEVER had a cavity before, you know.)

The dentist told me I'd be frozen for about 3 hours.  After 1 1/2 hours my children were STARVING.  Dying of starvation, possibly.  We went to Crabby Joe's for lunch.  I figured a bowl of soup would be okay, but the Girl really, really wanted to share natchos, and the boy wouldn't split anything with her (except hairs.)  So, I figured I could just chew on the other side of my mouth.  My children promised me they would tell me if I was drooling or if I had spoogy stuff on my face. 

Part way through the natchos I said "my mouth feels funny inside, did I bite my lip?"  Boy looked and said "a little bit, but it's small like a cankor."  I kept eating.  A few minutes later I asked the Girl "is my lip okay, it feels funny with my tongue."  I curled down my lip and she said "yep, you've bit it, but it's not bad."

Now, had I been looking at her, and not the plate of natchos I might have seen a "look" pass between my peeps....

When we got back to the Jeep I looked in the mirror.  My lip was swollen.  Swollen like Popeye's, but with no pipe.  I looked inside.  An area the size of a quarter was chewed raw and was bloody.  Had that happened to one of the kids I would have ordered them to stop eating, found ice to put on the swelling, and cuddled them telling them it would get better soon.....  But no they let me go on, and on....

"Hey," I said, "I thought you said there was a small cankor.  That it wasn't too bad?  It's bad, people.  It's bad.  I have a GOITER on my lip.  I can 't feel it, but I can see it!"

The look passed between my peeps (like the one I missed earlier, I'm sure.)

Boy said, "you can't feel it can you?"

"No, because it's still frozen!"

Shrug of shoulders.

No mercy.  My peeps show no mercy.

Mercy me.

Yikes

These are my feet.  These are my feet before I declared myself dufus of the day.

I have taken up a bit of jogging again.  I say "a bit" because it's more like a walk/jog event right now.  More on that and my motives another time.

Any way.  I've already established that I hate sweating.  I have issues.  Then I read about some workout wear that "wicks away sweat" to keep you dry.  Brilliant. AND SportCheck had it on sale.
I bought myself a running bra -- not for support (also been established that that is NOT one of my issues), just 'cause I hate the wet feeling of my wonderbra after running.

The particular running bra I purchased happens to say "constriction" on it.  Silly me, thought it said "construction" as in "constructed for running."  Nope, it turns out it means it squeezes you tight so it's constricting (as in boa constrictor).  Once I got used to it, I could breathe okay.

So here's the dufus part -- stop here, if you currently consider me relatively able and intelligent, cause I'm gonna blow that image right now!  

So after doing my run I was really sweaty, but my clothes were not stuck to me (go Nike!), but I definitely needed a shower.  Trouble is, when you are really hot, and your skin is wet with perspiration it's really hard to get the constricting contraption off.  I did some weird contortions, debated calling DH.  Died of mortification and humilitation at the thought because I know how hard he would laugh.  I pulled the thing from the back up over my head.  I think partially dislocating a shoulder in the process but more painfully pulling a muscle in my neck.  Like really pulling it.  Like cry out and then lay on the floor pulling it.

I'm a dufus.  Why?  'Cause I'm gonna put it on again tonight because it did "wick away" sweat, but I'm gonna keep my scissors close by so if I get stuck again I can cut myself out of it.....

Battle

There is a war going on in my house.

I will concede that I have just lost a battle, but know that I am determined to win the war.

I had a beautiful wandering jew plant in my kitchen.  It hung gracefully down the plant stand.  Full and lush.  Then it met Rocky, who strategically shredded it within days.  Rocky was cunning too.  He did his damage at night when he knew he wouldn't meet the fly swatter.  I had to resort to the fly swatter when the water thing didn't work out in my favour.

I saved the few pieces of plant that I could.  I'm starting to root them all over again.  You can see the spider plant babies in the background were a casualty of war too.

After careful observation I determined that Rocky wanted two things -- one to play with the plant and two, to have the windowsill they were sitting on.  See, the sunlight there is perfect for a napping kitten, unfortunately that's why it's the perfect place for my houseplants to flourish. 

In the end, I conceded.

I moved plants around so that there was a napping space available.  This is Rocky "hiding."  He didn't know he'd beaten me yet.

This is Rocky enjoying his victory.

I lost this one, but I resolved to stay firm on the "no cats at the table" rule!

I tried the Bacon and Cheeseburger Spaghetti recipe that I noted on Menu Planning Monday. It was not a success. Rarely do I say I don't like something, especially if I've made it myself; I can choke down just about anything (I would do well on Survivor in this regard) but this was just yucky. And I just don't understand it -- it had all the makings of something wonderful but ended up really strong -- too much mustard or something.... DS and DD tried one or two bites and then stopped abruptly. After I had my bite, I immediately pulled out the old peanut butter, jam and bread, no questions asked. I also called DH and told him to stop somewhere for supper on the way home unless he felt like PB and J.
When DD saw me dump the entire casserole she said "but what about all those starving kids in Africa you talk out?" My response "they will thank me this time, I think!"