the serpent

The boys were getting in the car to go to Logan's t-ball game late yesterday afternoon.  I was still inside, getting stuff ready to go.  Logan came in and calmly informed me there was a snake in the garage.

They're constantly playing tricks on me, so I barely even heard him, too focused on getting the water bottles filled and out the door.. "Okay honey, just get in the car, I'll be out in a sec....".

Except then I stepped into the garage and the boys were intently focused on something behind the cooler on the floor.  And then I realized ............ SNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE! A big one!

  &&^$#*&#($&#(#)+*&^$$%&$%!!

It was curled up behind our cooler, at the bottom of the steps leading into our laundry room.  My life quickly flashed before my eyes.  I peed my pants, at least in my mind.  And then I asked what any sane woman would ask in this situation.

"Where is my HUSBAND??????" 

This clearly falls in the husband department.  Dude.  I'll be in charge of school paperwork, grocery shopping, and our social calendar.  I can wipe butts and boogers with the best of them.  But snake removal is NOT EVEN CLOSE to being a part of my job description.  Not even close. 

Thankfully he pulled up from work right at this moment of hysteria, grabbed a flagpole, tie and dress pants still on, and while I shrieked my way across the front yard, my feet never touching the ground and arms flailing wildly like I was on fire, he got that sucker to crawl up on the pole and led it to the yard.   He was hissing and striking the whole time. And when I say he, I mean the snake.  Andrew was calm and collected. Almost as if he had done something similar before.  The boys were getting dangerously close. It was all a blur.  I'm pretty sure I dropped the F bomb, at least in my head, repeatedly.  And peed my pants again.

Andrew's plan was to get it into a paper bag and then carry it down and release it in a wooded brush area next to a pond down the street.  But alas, the beast got away from him and slithered into our neighbor's bushes.  Just as their teenage son was coming out the front door.  We informed him of the intruder, to which he simply replied, "Cool," and went on his way.

I still haven't fully recovered.  We were late to t-ball and to Dylan's first swim team practice and I barely watched either them as I was too busy telling the tale of the serpent.

It's still out there. Ssssssssssssssssstill.

its a scary world

Does this look like a neighborhood a terrorist would live in?

This is the neighborhood across the street from us, within walking distance of Dylan's elementary school.  White picket fences, millions of kids, moms walking strollers, lemonade stands and yard sales.  People stop and chat.   Most everyone is friendly.  Its the kind of place people move to raise families and feel safe.  Many of Dylan's teachers from his school live here.

But yesterday, the FBI arrested a man who lived in this community accused of collaborating with Islamic radical terrorists to help plot a massive bombing of key Metro subway stations this winter in Washington DC. He lived here with his young wife, and 18 month old son.  They blended in just like any other family. 

Its a scary world.  Thank goodness they caught him.

now ass funny!

I was looking at some old photos this morning and came across this one... it made me laugh out loud.  We were at the Luray Zoo.  My Aunt Kathy and Uncle Bill were visiting from Arizona and Dylan was maybe about 16 months old so it was August 2004.  There was a donkey and  he had been quiet the entire time we let Dylan feed the goats.  But the moment we turned towards the donkey, he started hee-hawing really loud and I just about peed my pants!!!

I remember laughing so hard we were all doubled over.  The only one who wasn't laughing was the donkey.  But then again, I wouldn't be laughing if those were my teeth either!

this is how they do it on the west coast

I have a few friends who live in L.A., and this is how they get their weather forecast each night.



I love it!

i tut the titty's hair

When I was 3 1/2 or 4, we lived in an apartment complex in Delaware.  I don't have a ton of memories from that age, so parts of this story might be slightly incorrect (Mom, feel free to set me straight if I'm off course).  My Mom and Dad had friends, I believe their names were Karen and Dave.  I don't remember a ton about them, other than them being hippies who drove a groovy VW bus, that we all used to cruise down to Rehobeth Beach in.

I also remember that one time, Karen and Dave were going out of town and asked us to watch their cat.  I don't remember the cat's name, but he was an enourmous buff-colored tabby cat.   He wasn't quite this big, but you get the picture. The extent of my personal pet experience up until that point was a lizard we had in our aquarium.  And the only thing I really remember is that one day, somehow, that lizard escaped.  Weeks went by and we never saw him, and then one night, when my Mom woke in the middle of the night to go potty, she flicked on the bathroom light and watched our pet lizard swiftly scamper under the toilet bowl, never to be seen again.

I was still an only child at this point, my brother hadn't entered the scene quite yet.  And I wanted someone to play with me.  That fat cat was going to be my friend if it killed me (or him).  One day during our petsitting week, fatty was laying in my mom's needlepoint basket by the couch amid the yarns, needles, crochet hooks, sewing scissors and other such crafty stuff.   I tried everything I could think of to get him out of there to play.  I imagine he must have been too heavy as I'm sure I must have tried lifting him out by his arms.  He wouldn't budge.  So I did what any curious and bored child would do to an unwilling playmate.

When my parents walked in and saw fat cat's haircut, I can't even imagine what they said to me.  I think I've blocked it out for self preservation all of these years.  (Now that I'm a parent, I'd imagine I'd be laughing my butt off on the inside.)  I do know they didn't punish me.   Didn't take away my bike or my dolls.  Oh no. That would have been cake.  Instead, they issued a punishment much worse than taking away my few earthy possessions.

They told me, simply, when Dave and Karen returned to pick Fatty up at the end of the week, I'd have to tell them myself what I had done to their beloved feline.   I didn't hurt him, I had just given him a nice patchy kitty fohawk on his belly fur and I was going to have to 'fess up.

I remember dreading their return, for at least five minutes and then my kid brain turned to other important issues like picking my nose and where my next candy bar was coming from.

But days later, when Karen and Dave showed up to claim their cat, I stood bravely, lip trembling, and declared, "I sorry, I tut your titty's hair."  I don't remember them being mad (they were hippies, afterall, and this was 1974).    I'm sure they took him home, and his hair grew back just fine.  But to this day, I remember that cat and that particular punishment, and I'll tell you something... I have never played beauty parlor with another animal again.

Enter my 3 year old.  Logan has been practicing his scissor cutting skills at preschool.   And we have several pairs of safety scissors at home for him to make arts and crafts.  He'll sit and cut paper shapes or a while, or cut pictures out of a magazine for a few while I'm folding laundry or making dinner.   Then the next thing I know, he's wandering the house, scissors in hand, looking for something to cut.  So far nothing crucial has been lost.  But today he cut an anchor line off one of his toy boats, and I caught him trying to give the carpeted steps a little trim.

Dylan never cut anything he wasn't supposed to and now of course he's old enough to understand the rules of the scissors.   However, with Logan, I think we could very possibly have a scissor disaster on our hands one of these days.  There's basically nothing ''safety' about any pair of scissors you give a 3 year old.

its all how you market it

This morning.....

Me:  "C'mon Logan, its time to go to my doctor's appointment."

L: "No, I want to just stay home."

Me:  "Nope, I have an appointment, we have to go, we're going to be late...."

L:  "I don't like it there.  Let's just stay home."

Me:  "No, we really have to go, Logan, they're expecting us.  I have an appointment.  C'mom we have to get in the car!"

L: "No!!! I don't want to go!!!!!   I want to stay home!!!!!!!"

Me:  pause.........   "Do you want to go see mommy's arm get stuck with a needle that's going to suck my blood out?"

L:   "YEA!!!  Let's GO!"

paying it forward

Once when I was in college, a car load of us were driving to the beach. We had to pass thru the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and of course, its toll booth. I think the toll was $2.50 or something like that. Now its probably $10. But anyway. It must have been spring break or something, because there were throngs of cars on Route 50, heading east, full of lusty college kids anxious to get their drink on. So I remember pulling up to the toll booth with my $2.50 at the ready, and the toll booth worker (do they have another official job title I'm unaware of?) told me "Don't worry about it, the car in front of you paid your way". I didn't know the person driving in front of me from Adam, it was a complete stranger, I didn't even get a look at them. But how cool was it that they saved me my $2.50, so I could put it towards another six pack of Milwaukee's Best, or whatever sludge we drank back in those days?

I've always remembered that little incident and how a nice little random act of kindness can really make someones day. I honestly can't say I practice random acts of kindness in my life on a regular basis. I'm usually practicing random acts of trying to dissipate meltdowns, tantrums and not losing my car keys at Target while Logan is running circles around my shopping cart.

But today, while I was out running some blissfully kid-free errands, I saw my chance and took it. A while back, we opened savings accounts at our credit union for the kids. And for each account, we recieved $5 Starbucks gift cards as a nice little bonus. I tucked one away in my wallet, saving it for a rainy day. I don't often go to Starbucks because 1) I'm not often alone and I believe a $5 coffee just can't be properly enjoyed with a two year tagging along fingering all the shelves of breakable coffee mugs and 2) Well, the coffee is $5.

So I pull into the Starbucks drive-thru to order my venti White Chocolate Mocha. The guy rings it up, $4.53 he says. I pull up to the window for my beverage treat. He tells me the balance on my gift card will be $.47. I think for a second and notice a car has pulled in behind me to place their order. "You know what, I'm never going to use it. Just use it towards this next person's beverage". The scraggly high school Starbucks guy smiles "Nice!" and off I went. It was only $.47. But I'm pretty sure that counts as a random act of kindness, right?

sunshine and raccoons

Dylan was awarded another sunshine award at school today. He was all smiles getting off the bus to tell me. This is his fourth award this school year. We're all getting back into the groove after our unexpected trip, and I'm proud of the kids and how they handled themselves with the disruption to our normal routine. I wish I could be so flexible.

And speaking of sunshine, it is entirely absent from the sky these days. It seems to rain every day without a glimmer of a promise of snow. Its getting hard to forget we don't live in Seattle. What I wouldn't give for one weekend of backyard BBQ weather right now...

And speaking of our backyard, last night at 4 a.m. Bella broke into a furious barking frenzy which could only mean one thing - wild animals on our porch. You may recall past stories of nocturnal animal friends visiting us during the dead of night to feast on our buffet of dry cat food. After Bella proceeded to wake up the entire house at that ungodly hour, Andrew indeed discovered two racoons on our screen porch. He managed to chase them off and turned the light on to discourage them from coming back. But something tells me they'll be back tonight. I just wonder what weapon solution Andrew might concoct this time (you may recall Possum Golf?)

Six Random Things

I've been blog-tagged! My old Children's World marketing buddy Your Mom tagged me. Sarah is one of the funniest people I've ever worked with AND she can sing just like Adam Sandler. She worked in our Golden, Colorado office, I was in Northern Virginia. And when our marketing team got together for meetings every few months we'd just laugh our heads off. You know, many of my friends are women I met after having Dylan. We all became moms together. But when I worked with Sarah, neither of us were moms yet. So its entertaining reading her blog and relating what I knew about Sarah back then to how she is a mom now. I love it!


So the rules are that I have to post six random things about myself then, I have to tag six other people. Here we go.


1. I dream at least once a month that I am back in high school and I have forgotten my locker combination. I'm late to class and I can't open my locker to get my books and I panic. This dream is so stupid because anyone who knows me knows that a. I'm the type of person that wrote down my locker combination in at least 17 different places and therefore would never forget it and b. I was such a geek that I usually carried all my books around in my backpack and therefore didn't really need a locker (except where else would I have hung my Tiger Beat Magazine photos of John Stamos in all his feather-haired glory?).

2. In high school, I had Robert Smith hair for two years. My friends and I only listened to new wave music, only bought our clothes at thrift stores, and spent all of money that we made as shampoo girls at a hair salon buying tickets to see bands called Gene Loves Jezebel, the Sugarcubes, the Soup Dragons, and Echo and the Bunnymen and drinking peach schnapps in the concert parking lots. I was a regular at the 9:30 Club in its original tiny, dark and musty location. I have to find a photo of my high school hair, it was quite a spectacle. Sorry Mom, I'm sure it was quite embarassing to take me in public.




3. Some of my death row foods include tomato and fresh mozzarella salad with basil, gooey swiss cheese fondue and crusty bread, really meaty jumbo lump crab cakes, fresh juicy peaches, bacon wrapped scallops, Five Guys cheeseburgers and french fries, pistachio ice cream, salmon pad Thai, Chik-Fil-a vanilla milkshakes, mango sticky rice, my Mom's guacamole, and Ledo's pizza with bacon on top.


4. On multiple occassions at a previous advertising job, I had to dress in a Popeye the Sailorman costume to help promote Popeyes Chicken and Biscuits. It was a great way to meet guys. Umm... not. It was hot in there, people, and I was a sweaty humiliated mess.


5. I do not like olives. Or mushrooms. Although if the mushroom is incorporated well into a dish I am learning to tolerate its miserable little fungal existence. But olives have got to go. Also, I can't drink red wine. The heartburn KILLS me.


6. One of my favorite movies is Stealing Home, with Jodie Foster and Mark Harmon. There is something about that movie I just can't resist. I've probably seen it a hundred times. I don't think it was ever a big hit, but there is something in me that just connects with that movie. Its funny and so tragic all at once. Sometimes in life, you just have to touch the drain.


Okay, I'm tagging my friend Sandee, whom I met online on a parenting board when I was pregnant with Dylan and she was pregnant with her second child. We've stayed in touch all these years and have never met in person (yet!). Dianna, my hilarious mamasita. jerseybaby, my witty, charming friend Kristin. My lovely friend and neighbor Paige. My good friend Danielle down south in Virginia. And let me give a shout out to my great friend since high school and former bridesmaid, Julie, all the way out on the Eastern shore of Maryland. You're next, ladies!

the almost several hundred dollar Cheetos

My last post was about Logan, and his whirlwind two year old ways. He is a little tornado of chaos, and can dissassemble a room in five minutes flat.

So this morning, when Andrew was trying to head out for work and couldn't find his car keys, naturally we blamed Logan. He tends to pick up things. Things that don't belong to him. And drop them, stick them, bury them, hide them, into one of his bazillion special secret places. So the search began. All drawers, inside shoes, backpacks, clothing, the washer, the dryer, under furniture, inside vases and toys with compartments.. Nothing, nada, no keys.

I headed out to take Logan to gym class, leaving Andrew here to carry on the search. Surely, he'd find them. We arrived home an hour later and still no keys. More searching. More obscure places... inside game boxes, through the kitchen trash and the trash dumpster by the curb for trash day...

Andrew has two spare keys to his car, but being a VW, the spare keys just can't WORK and START THE CAR. They have to be taken to the dealership to be coded first. Except the FRIGGIN car WON'T START without KEYS, so tow trucks would have to be involved. Easily this was turning into a several hundred dollar problem. We'd ask Logan where he put daddy's keys, and he'd just smile and answer "keys?".

Finally, we decide that Logan and I will drive Andrew to work (at this point Dylan is at school) so he can at least get something done. And meanwhile, I'd go back home and look some more. Andrew contacts a locksmith, only to learn no one has the VW software to code the keys remotely. If the guy comes, there is a 50/50 chance he can get the spare to work. And even if he can't get it to work, we still have to pay him.

I continue searching, while Andrew, at work, continues calling more locksmiths. I look everywhere I can possibly think of. Inside pots and pans, empty every single toy bin all over the house and put toys back one by one, under every couch and chair cushion, rip through both of our cars, look into the duct work after pulling out the air vents (Logan is in there all the time hiding stuff).

Finally I call Andrew. Its no use, we've looked everywhere and they are just gone. Vanished. So we spend some time cursing out VW for being so jack ass about not coding spare keys for owners in case of a situation like this. We're about to hang up so Andrew can call a tow truck and have his car towed the the VW dealer. I'm searching thru the grocery bag bin in the pantry, just in case they got tangled up in one of the bags when I got home from the grocery store yesterday.

Not there either. I stand up. And out of the corner of my eye I see them. The Cheetos. About four shelves up in the pantry - way too high for Logan to reach so I never even looked there. The Cheetos have a stay fresh clip on them, and it has a magnet on the back. The keys are stuck to the magnet, just dangling in mid-air. They must have been laying on the counter yesterday, next to the Cheetos bag I had out during lunch, and gotten stuck to the magnet.

It was the Cheetos fault. Not Logan's. Stupid Cheetos. You're the Keyz-iest.

reason #1,789 why i love my husband

You must remember our possum friend from last month? He came sauntering onto our screen porch thru the doggie door last night. I went to let Bella out and she freaked and before I even saw the varmint, she had chased it into a corner and had its head in her mouth. It was playing dead and I thought she killed it. I thought there was blood all over the floor (turns out it was just drool, I'm not sure whose, maybe mine?). I'm screaming "No Bella! No Bella!" and she comes back inside. I close the glass door and Bella and I stand there staring at the possom playing, well.... possom.


While this is happening, Andrew very calmly disappears to the basement for a good five minutes or so. I’m standing there in the kitchen looking at the possum who is just started blinking its beady little black eyes again and I'm wondering where the heck Andrew went at a time like this?? He arrives carrying (I am SO not kidding) a mop and a long telephone cord, from which he quietly and quickly proceeds to fashion a snare, total MacGyver style, and steps onto the porch to snag it around the neck. It must have sensed his fierce determination in becoming the first man to capture a possom using a cleaning apparatus, so it runs back out thru the doggie door. I’m yelling more than one obscenity, as it scurries off into the darkness, and we both collapse into fits of laughter.


When we caught our breath, I asked him what he planned to do with it if he had gotten the snare around its neck. To which he matter of factly replied he was going to just walk it down to the corner where there are some woods and let it go. We live on a pretty busy through street. If you were a motorist, can you imagine seeing some guy at 11 pm calmly walking a possum connected to a mop and a telephone cord?? If you were a burglar, I bet you'd think twice before breaking into our house. Who knows what he'll come up with for the next intruder.

Possum Golf: A Primer on Effective Play

Possum golf is not my favorite activity, but sometimes a necessary event. The rules are simple, get that varmint off your back deck. What to wear is optional, but since it is usually an unplanned outing, no need for prêt a porter, in my case bare feet and PJs were adequate enough. Time is never to your advantage since those needle toothed bastards happen to be nocturnal, so 2:30 am is as good a time as any to start a new sport. Club selection is not a matter of choice but more of convenience. I grabbed my back-up sand wedge that happened to be in the coat closet for such critter emergencies. A flashlight is standard issue as these beady eyed rodents can easily be fooled by bright light. Deer laugh at these filthy marsupials for how easily they are arrested by a shining beam. In this man versus nature scenario I have two advantages. The first is keen intellect, opposable thumbs, and the knowledge of cutlery. The second most important thing going for me is the confidence that this particular possum has never seen my golf swing. I am assured that it has no idea that the safest place for all of God’s creatures is directly in front of me when I am clutching my Billy Barule.

Now your goal is not to kill this lost wayward ruffian. He just wants some kibble. If his night will be complete with a bowl full of Happy Cat, then who am I to make his night worse with a wood shampoo. Your object in possum golf to assist your intruder to make a timely exit. Keep the light in his eye and “guide” him with your club of choice. As mentioned I used my sand-wedge with an open face grip to maximize surface area, and minimize the need to strike. A driver would be better, length wise, but remember, opportunity trumps comfort. Plus I can blog the words “open face possum sand wedge” hoping those in the rural south will stumble across this post looking for a recipe for leftover road kill.

Of course possum and their ilk are stubborn. He did not want to leave. At first stoke, he quickly scurried to the corner. I tried to coral him with the blade until he wedged himself (I guess it was a him) between the balusters of the deck with a screen blocking his escape. He remained motionless, I guess this was the fabled playing possum defense mechanism, woefully inadequate but then again his normal enemies are barely sentient. I finally pried him from this posture only to be face to face with a snarling, guttural sounding rat with a bad haircut. A few more taps of cold steel to the noggin got him going toward the doggie door that got him into this predicament. But in is blindness he would not go through. With one hand on club, the other with flashlight, I used my leg to sidekick open the screen door. Failing to realize an escape, a few more strokes emancipated our rabid intruder into the cold darkness that is the DC suburbs. He scurried under the deck never to return, at least as of a week.

Not setting a par for this hole, I notched about a dozen strokes, nothing too hurtful, but from its menacing patter, effectively annoying to the four legged kibble thief.

As in most golf events I had a gallery of onlookers, a very interested dog and two equally disinterested cats, both of whom dwarf the scavenger, but are too fat and lazy to defend their rations. However if I had to eat generic cat food, only to barf it up later, I wouldn’t care either. No animals were harmed in this event, maybe ticked off, but not hurt.

Just a sampling...

of conversations from the last 24 hours...

D: (watching old school cartoons like Quick Draw McGraw and Pink Panther on Boomerang) "Mommy, why don't their cars have seatbelts?"

M: "Well, back then it wasn't against the law to not wear your seatbelt. They didn't have car seats either."

D: "Mommy, did you you used to watch this cartoon when you were a little boy?"

******************************

D: "When I get big enough, I want to get a space suit and a space ship."

M: "Okay, sounds great."

D: "Me and Daddy can go to outer space and fight the aliens in Mars. Is Daddy big enough to go to outer space? Is he fourteen yet?"

M: "Oh, mommies don't go to outer space?"

D: "Well, I guess you can come. Does Grandpa Joe know how to fly to outer space?"

M: "No, Grandpa Joe knows how to fly airplanes. You have to go to astronaut school if you want to learn how to fly space ships."

D: "Where do we buy a space ship?"

M: "I'm not sure, we'll have to look it up on the internet."

D: "That's okay. Daddy can build one. He can get a motor and a gas tank."

D: "And we'll have to get a dog space suit for Bella."

embarassing moment #724

We're at music class this past Monday at the library, everyone is quietly sitting and waiting for a song to begin. Dylan randomly looks back at me and asks "Mommy, why are your teeth yellow?". Nice!

Guess its time to invest in some Crest White Strips. Anyone have any experience with which of those products work best?

PS - I got my child a dog toy today at Wegman's. Yes, I did. Logan is obsessed with balls, and he became fixated on this plush dog toy soccer ball when I was loading dog food into the cart. It was keeping him occupied and let me finish my shopping. I tried to put it back but it was too late, he had claimed it. He slept with it at nap today. A dog toy. Yep. That's some good parenting right there! Dylan went thru a phase when he was two where he slept with (unlit) candles and chapstick, so I guess a dog toy isn't all that bad.