Hemingway Redux

Larry went up to the attic yesterday to find his camping stuff and discovered 3 (count them! 3) full mousetraps. I thought it had been sort of quiet up there lately. As usual, he was quite proud of himself for his hunting prowess. He treated himself to an extra beer after disposing of the bodies. I'm just glad he didn't have them stuffed and hung above the fireplace.

Larry was looking for his camping gear because he and David headed off for a fun Boy Scout camping trip today, David's first. It was sort of touching how excited David was. I mean, if excited means screaming, "I'm not going! I don't want to go!" Larry practically had to carry him out to the car.

Parenting isn't for weaklings, you know.

And lest you think we are cruel for forcing our son to participate, the kid was eager to go until yesterday, when he found out that Uncle Matt was coming to stay for the weekend. David didn't want to miss a second of the visit, though most of today will consist of watching the little girls play with their uncle's cellphone (it has a camera! And fun tunes!). In fact, as of this writing, Uncle Matt is still abed (it's past noon), as he is not used to having his sleep patterns messed up by a screaming 10-year-old at 6 in the morning. No one else around here even noticed the disruption. Uncle Matt leads a very sheltered life.

I had planned to give myself a break from a solo parenting weekend by going to yoga class this morning - but instead I ended up leaving the minivan at the local auto shop for a new battery (after a kindly neighbor once more jump started it for me) and then walking back home. Oh, well - it still beat being stuck in the house on duty all day. Now I just have to figure out what to do with the kids for the rest of the day. I mean, once I stop wasting my time watching this funny video on the new trend of outsourcing childcare to India, brought to you from those strange folks at The Onion. Boy, some people can really take Idle Parenting to an extreme...

Steppin' Out

(To the tune of "On top of Old Smokey...")

"The grave will deca-a-a-y you,
And turn you to dust...."

Doesn't that sound like a good verse for a song on a children's CD? And the guy sings it so cheerfully, too...I almost drove the car into a hydrant while trying to (hurriedly) turn the volume way down. I'm surprised the next verse wasn't something like, "The worms and the ma-a-a-ggots, Will eat out your eyes...."

Just finished paying another chunk of money to our local library. I don't really want to talk about it right now. Amazing but true.

I stopped off at the grocery store after my weigh-in this morning (down 2 pounds - go, me!) (even with all those Twix and Girl Scout cookies) and realized at the checkout that I had left my wallet in the car. Normally, I would have been all annoyed at myself, having to waste time to run out there and run back in. But not today! Nope! Because, from now on, inefficiency pays off. I bought myself an official Weight Watchers pedometer this morning, so leaving my wallet in the car translated into 400 extra steps.

I've heard that one's goal should be 10,000 steps a day - I'm only up to 3,000, so I need to get up and jog around the living room or something. Maybe I'll march in place while I prep dinner.

It's so exciting to have a goal.

We woke Larry up last night and demanded mousetraps for the attic above Anna's bedroom. It was that bad. He was pretty nice about it. So, understandably, I have mice on the brain. Which may explain why, just now, I thought we had mice running up and down in the walls of our den. Lots of them, hordes of them....until Theo kindly explained that those were raindrops I was hearing. I wouldn't believe him until he opened a window.

They sounded like mice.

Maybe it's the food deprivation. I'm hallucinating. Yeah, that's it...time for an emergency Twix...

I Can Dream, Can't I?

It's about the mice today. Anna heard scrabbling in the ceiling above her bed - and considering she sleeps in the top bunk, she was a bit freaked out. For some reason Larry was not anxious to climb up into the attic to hunt rodents after a rough day at work (how rough? specifically, "sucky, but not too sucky," whatever the heck that means). Methinks he is losing some of that youthful energy that I so admired when I met him. But, being as that I am not exactly the sweet, energetic girl he married, I can scarcely complain.

Ah, Twix, how I love thee! Is there anything more glorious than having both extra Weight Watchers' points at the end of the week and a bag of Twix in the house? What a marvelous confluence of events! In fact, the only reason I am still awake is that I had to wait until my kids were asleep to break into my chocolate-y stash.

I'm trying to remember what made me happy before I had kids. I'm pretty sure it was something more exciting than a bag of candy.

We had a glorious spring day today, warm enough to sit out on the deck and bask in the sun. And I felt skinnier because I didn't need my long johns on underneath my jeans. Hey! That should take a couple of ounces off my weigh-in tomorrow - pass me some more Twix!

My best friend came over with her daughter; and while the girls played, she told me how she wasn't sure what she'd do with herself all day once all her kids were in school next year. And no, she wasn't joking. I told her I'd give her a list. Not that I fantasize about that or anything. But I do wonder whether, devoted homeschooler that I am, I'll suddenly do an about-face the year my youngest is old enough for kindergarten. "Hey, kids! Remember all that stuff I told you about school? Kidding! It's not that bad! Here's your lunch, have a great day, see ya later!"

Sigh. Yoga 3 days a week, knitting classes, catching up on all the photo editing and albums - and you? What would you do (or what do you do already) with 6 or 7 blessed hours every day, 5 days a week? Go ahead, make me weep...

Giant Mice! Missing Husbands! Prehistoric Computers!

Apparently, things could be worse on the rodent-infestation front, from what I read in this news piece - at least the ones in our house are a manageable size. And an added bonus: I haven't come downstairs in the morning to find a mouse sitting on my kitchen counter, the way my neighbor did yesterday. So, really, I have nothing to complain about.

Let me say something nice about my teenage daughter Anna (for once). She has magnificent hair. Utterly stunning, streaked with varying shades of gold and brown and thick and wavy as a lion's mane. It is hair to die for. Hair that women spend hundreds of dollars trying to imitate. So, naturally, she spent the better part of last year trying to straighten it so it would hang limp and flat against the sides of her head.

I am happy to report that she has given up this lost cause and has instead turned to the myriad hair products out there that accentuate the curl while damping down any unattractive frizz. In fact, we haven't actually seen Anna in days. Occasionally I slip some food under the bathroom door, where she has sequestered herself in her quest for the perfect curl. Theo, meanwhile, is taking bets on whether a person can actually wear out a mirror.

My children keep baking goodies that tempt me to fall off the Weight Watcher's wagon. Anna made brownies several days ago (before she consecrated her life to hair gels), and tonight David whipped up a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Of course, Anna does hate me for existing; and I'm sure David hasn't gotten over the trauma I inflicted on him this week. What I'm saying is, I don't believe for a second that these are instances of innocent culinary activity. Revenge baking, is more like it.

Larry is still away. He is going to come back on Friday saying how he had to work really hard and it really wasn't any fun at all going to Europe and staying in hotels and eating in restaurants for work purposes, and I may just have to kill him. But only after he orders the new computer, though. I'm not sure what to get, or I would have one already. Instead, I'm still working with this old set-up that looks and acts like something on the Flintstones (I mean, if the Flintstones had had a computer) (which isn't so unrealistic, when you consider that they possessed a vacuum cleaner, okay?). I half-expect a little man to pop out from the back of the monitor with a handful of crayons and yell at me for making him draw too fast.

It occurs to me that I hyperlink too much (I'm a hyper hyperlinker, in fact); but everything I talk about here has such an involved history, and I want to make sure that newbies know what is going on. And speaking of newbies....

I'd like to say "Howdy!" to all the reviewers popping over here from humor-blogs.com. Make yourselves at home and make sure you read more than just the January posts, because, quite frankly, the funny stuff happened in October and December. It's all there: the puke, the Halloween costume ordeals, the joy of the vastly-overrated holidays....Or check out the Popular Posts to the left for some earlier laughs. It's all free!

Wherein We Are Still Sick And Still Have Mice

Okay, so after another sleepless night spent with a coughing child, I staggered out of bed (out of couch, really) and showered and got dressed up. Why? Because I finally had a doctor's appointment for Rachel. Yes, the exciting day had arrived, and I wanted to be prepared.

Let's face it - when the doctors see short, slightly rotund me come in dressed in unstylish jeans, they peg me as a SAHM frump. So I pulled on my power outfit (complete with 2-inch heels, which put me just over 5 feet) and Talbot's wool coat (8 dollars at a local rummage sale) and took Rachel to her appointment. I even combed my hair. And I left all the other kids home, because if the doctor realizes that I homeschool, well, I'm a double-frump.

Wouldn't you know, this is the first pediatrician appointment I've gone to in aeons where the doctor or nurse has not called me "Mom"? Coincidence? I think not. And, the triage nurse asked me if I needed a note for work. Me - as if I were a real person. I didn't even know that adults needed notes for work. But I didn't let on. "No," I said coolly, "not necessary." I wanted to add that I was the person people had to bring notes to, but I didn't think I could pull it off.

So, the doctor was very nice and gave us the codeine syrup and warned me, "Now, you don't want to give this to her until bedtime, because it will knock her right out." Horrors. Rachel barely had her coat off at home before I got that stuff down her. She had a wonderful, 3-hour, blissfully-cough-free nap.

In the meantime I drove 45 minutes so Anna could pick up her flute from the repair shop. We live in a densely populated metropolitan area, so I have no idea why we had to drive all that way for a decent repair shop. I can't imagine what people in Nebraska or Wyoming have to do when a musical instrument needs fixing. Being sick myself, I felt like hell. I came home, went to bed, and let the house fall apart around me, as is its wont when I am not on duty.

I got up briefly later in the evening - just in time to hear Theo tell Larry that he had just seen a mouse in the family room. Larry said he'd take care of it later; but, upon hearing the hysterical noises emanating from his wife's mouth, he wisely readjusted his to-do list and put "catch mouse" at the very top. See? He loves me. Or maybe he just hates hysterical noises.

He couldn't find Theo's mouse last night, but a mouse did show up in the trap in our kitchen this morning. So, either we caught it (good), or our house is truly over-run with tiny little rodents that only look cute in nursery rhyme books (bad). Not being overly optimistic, Larry bought a whole bunch of mousetraps this morning, so we wouldn't run out while he goes away this week. It's not every husband who would think of such a caring gesture before he deserts his wife, now is it?

Someone Here Hath Murdered Sleep

Well, I had The Talk with the kids tonight. All 6 of them. I sat them down and told them, "Remember - either be a doctor or marry one." That way, they won't have to watch one of their children cough her lungs out all night long, again, because they can't get their hands on any codeine cough syrup.

The doctor did prescribe some other cough medicine over the phone, some namby-pamby crap, and I told him, "It won't work. You may have 8 years of med school, but I have 16 years of raising children. Give me the good stuff." No dice.

My lord, I am so pissed off. I really feel sorry for whichever doctor we finally see tomorrow morning.

Am I crazy, or should a sick kid be able to see a doctor the same day that the kid is ill? I do have superpowers, but I am still not able to predict a day in advance that my child is going to be up all night coughing. I'm just not that good. I admit it.

And, in case you think I'm sounding a little insane, you're right. Chronic sleep deprivation will do that to a person. Do you know how long it has been since I have had 4 hours of unbroken sleep? Have you any idea? Prisoners of war are treated better than this.

You know, friends don't let friends blog sleepless. I'm signing off.

(But, oh yes, Larry caught our little rodent friend this morning. And disposed of him. Once again, I am glad that I get to be the helpless female. While he did the dirty work, I hid in the bedroom. Of course, now Larry is suffering from what I call his Hemingway Syndrome - the way he's acting, you'd think he'd bagged a cougar.)

Patter of Little Feet

Well, my claim of victory over our resident rodents seems to have been a bit premature. As in, 2 nights ago, I was kept awake by the sound of a mouse scrabbling around in the wall right by my head. This was not a sleep-inducing experience. I woke Larry up, though I don't know what I expected him to do at that moment. So then we both lay awake and listened to the scrabbling, until the mouse suddenly fell and landed on the metal heating duct and ran along it to the other end of the house. Sweet dreams!

So, yesterday, Larry manfully deployed traps under the kitchen sink and in the attic above our bedroom. I elected to stay in the living room last night to keep Rachel company, who is sleeping sitting up to prevent coughing spells (because someone has to be sick around here, you know). I was woken up sometime past midnight by that damn mouse running along the heating duct in the ceiling above the couch. So I left Rachel to fend for herself and went upstairs to listen to traps snap over my head instead.

But they didn't. Not yet, anyway. So now I am sitting here trying to decide where I can sleep tonight and not be reminded that our house is overrun with disgusting little rodents (and, no, I am not referring to the children).

I'd get a cat, but Theo's allergic. I know you're all dying to suggest that.

Knit Night went well this evening - I even talked to a woman who owns her own spinning wheel and I must admit that she does seem rather normal. Or maybe I've just been hanging out with this group too long. And I got to show off my very first mitten. It has a thumb and everything. I am quite proud.

Paint Fume Musings

Larry's painting! Boy, do I owe him big. And don't think he doesn't know it.

Did I announce that we caught Mickey? No? We did. No more poop in the silverware drawer, which makes me very happy. That, and I still have chocolate left. Not Raisinets, though - I've lost my taste for any candy resembling little turds.

I sat at the ice rink and knitted while Anna skated with some friends this evening. I just want that fact on record, for when Anna accuses me of never letting her do anything fun. The rink itself was dark with strobe lights going and loud, discordant music playing. I sat out in the lobby and observed all the girls dressed like sluts flirting with all the boys dressed like bums. I came home feeling about 80 years old. Was I ever that young?

Monthly trip to the commissary today. I managed to keep it under 500 dollars. I'm going to spend the rest of my money at Barnes and Noble tomorrow, while Theo's employee discount is still valid. 30 percent - I'm the envy of all my homeschooling friends. When I told them about the discount, they oohed and aahed as if I were flashing a brand new diamond ring. You've got to love friends like that. Well, I do, anyway.

Larry's still painting. He likes spending his vacation days this way. I mean, if he can't spend them tearing up flooring or insulating the attic. Or re-installing the front railings. Or any of the other tasks he's had to undertake as a result of thinking, last spring, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to move into another fixer-upper?"

Maybe he should have listened to me when I said, "No, it wouldn't." But at least he can't blame me for getting him into this situation. My conscience is clear.

I'm about to pass out from paint fumes. Gotta go.

A Better Mousetrap

Many thanks to Leah for sharing her, um, traumatic mouse-catching experience in the comments of yesterday's post. You don't have to go read it; just make sure you use the good old-fashioned kind of traps, that kill the creature quickly. Or you may be sorry....

And we do use those old-fashioned kind of traps; but apparently we have smart mice, mice who know how to lick all the peanut butter off the trap without springing it (and who then go take another dump in my silverware drawer - thanks). I hate being outsmarted by rodents. This situation is going to give a whole lot more meaning to "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," won't it? I mean, "not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse"......we should be so lucky.

And what about those goodies we leave out for Santa? I can just hear the kids on Christmas morning: "Oooh, look, Mommy, Santa ate some of the cookie! See? You can see where he nibbled it. Hey! What are those little brown things on the plate?" I can't wait.

I have to give Larry credit - he noticed I moved his chair. He even put 2 and 2 together and deduced that I do not like the chair. We're making progress, folks; stay tuned.

We've been having fun telling Susie about Santa Claus and she seemed to be pretty excited about it. Or maybe not. Today she said, "Santa not get me." With apparent relief. Maybe we sang, "You'd better watch out..." a little too much.

I'm trying to figure out how people find time to get divorced; Larry and I are too busy arguing about every stupid little thing in our lives to involve any lawyers. Let's see, the chair, the living room paint, our unsealed grout, and now....Theo's MP3 player. I'm still trying to figure out how to make it work; I'm thinking that the USB ports on our monitor aren't working properly, but Larry refuses to concede that this may be a possibility and says that it is a faulty player. The dumbest aspect of this argument is that neither of us has the faintest idea what we are talking about.

Forget about building a better mousetrap (though, actually, we could use one of those); someone needs to build a more user-friendly (as in idiot-proof) MP3 player.

Oh, dear, someone's coughing. Duty calls.

Of Mice and Men

All over the blogosphere people are discovering that we've gotten away from the true meaning of Christmas by going hog wild on buying presents. Try not to be too shocked.

I'm sounding a tad cranky, aren't I? You know why? That chair is still here. I went to the trouble last night of moving a different chair from the living room into the den, a chair that coordinates beautifully with my new flowery bower of an armchair; and I put the ugly navy thing into the center of the room, in order to emphasize the fact that there really is no place for it in our home. So I come back from Knit Night tonight to find Larry sitting in it, in the middle of the room. Happy. Apparently, subtlety is lost on him.

Plus, I officially have bronchitis. And the house is a mess. And I have people coming over for Christmas dinner.

No mouse poop in my silverware drawers this morning, though. That's a good sign, isn't it? Although now I'm wondering whether I'm suffering from a hanta virus due to ingesting traces of rodent feces from my eating utensils.

And am I obligated to disclose the mouse problem to prospective dinner guests? Doing that would certainly give us a nice, quiet Christmas, now wouldn't it? Or it would at least give me a good excuse to have us eating off of conveniently disposable (and sanitary) paper and plastic. That may just be the silver lining to this rodent infestation.

We Can Run, But We Can't Hide

So, people who have been following this blog know that in our old house (the one 2 doors down from here), we tended to have a little mouse problem (like, um, the Israelis have a little Palestinian problem). And the woman who owned this house never got mice. That fact alone made it worth the extra 110,000 dollars to buy it, in my opinion.

Maybe it's us - maybe we are just rodent-attracting folks. All I know is I'm late posting tonight because I've been cleaning mouse poop out of silverware drawers and cabinets and trying not to think about the fact that we used silverware from those drawers today and, um, put them in our mouths, as a matter of fact......excuse me a moment while I go throw up.

Okay, let's change the subject, shall we? I think that would be a healthy idea. Larry took me to IKEA today. I didn't feel well enough to go (this cold seems to have a hankering to turn into pneumonia), but if I had refused a trip to IKEA on terms of ill health, Larry would surely have called 911 in a panic. So I went. We ended up bringing home 2 chairs for our unfurnished den - the beautiful Ektorp armchair with the flowery slipcovers that I had been lusting after for months (and at 40 percent off, as is!) and the depressing dark navy mini-recliner that Larry chose. Because he likes ugly furniture, apparently.

May I add that our den is painted dark grey (sets off the white brick fireplace and wood trim very nicely)? Dark, as in it needs bright furniture to keep it from feeling like the inside of a mausoleum?

So, now that we have the chairs home, it is obvious to anyone who isn't color-blind (or male) that Larry's chair doesn't belong in that room. Or any room, really. I'm trying to think how to break this to him gently. Not being pregnant, I can't use the hormonal-craziness method of getting my way. (Although, maybe menopause qualifies? Am I the only person who still remembers Edith Bunker having a fit because the suitcases were black?) Anna suggests that I just take it back to IKEA on my own, and when Larry asks, I can say, "Chair? What chair?" (I'd like to point out that Anna and I are actually bonding a little over our shared dislike of this piece of furniture.) Another option I've considered is to leave a note on it tonight that says, "The chair goes....or I go."

I don't know if I should risk that last one. He might call my bluff.

Isn't the woman supposed to choose the decor, anyway? I mean, Larry has the back deck and the front and back yards to mess with. I happen to think this is yet another instance where traditional gender roles are important. Perhaps our society's wholesale abandonment of them in the 70's precipitated this whole 50-percent divorce rate thing. I can just picture it: men and women, all over the country, calling their lawyers over irreconcilable interior decorating differences.

Or maybe I'm just rationalizing my determination to get rid of this chair. This dark, depressing, makes-Larry-look-like-his-Dad-when-he's-sitting-in-it chair.....