Hover Girl

On the way home from Reno we pulled into a gas station in Fernley to fill up. The second the wheels stopped moving Jackson says he has to go potty. Suddenly, Silas does too. We have a parenting courtesy where we try not to leave the other person out numbered, if we don't have to. But, like an idiot, I volunteered to take them both inside to pee in an effort to save time.

The three of us entered the women's restroom and headed for an open stall. To my disgust, I found a toilet seat covered in pee. It wasn't just a little accidental dribble. Oh no! It was like a gully washer of a urine storm all over the toilet seat.

This was an otherwise well maintained public restroom. They even provided plenty of those handy paper toilet seat covers. In this situation, who needs to hover? Eww and ahh all you want about gas station bathrooms. But if you're too good to sit on the seat, maybe you don't deserve one. Pop a squat over a tumbleweed and take a leak. Because those who hover force other people to hover. It's a vicious cycle. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you're the one who always "pees on the seat" and makes public restrooms "so disgusting?"

We promptly stepped over to the next stall where Silas peed in the toilet, not on it. Since his work was done, I pulled up his pants and let him out of the stall because, well, three is a crowd and I'm not exactly petite. Jackson was up to bat and I stood there waiting for him to go. And waiting and waiting. He says, "It doesn't work" which is code for, just kidding, I don't have to go, sucker.

As I'm wrapping up my lecture to Jackson about lying and pretending to have to pee just to get out of the car, Silas reenters the stall with Jackson's hat and says, "here you go!" I tell him thank you and say good job for peeing and I take the hat. The wet hat. The wet hat...

Because unlike you, Hover Girl, I try to teach my kids to clean up their messes. Unfortunately, the mess was yours and he cleaned it up with his brother's hat. So for the love of God, the next time you have to pee, just use the damn paper protector and sit your ass down!

Going for a Saucer Sled Land Speed Record

Since we will soon be moving to the swamp, where a single snowflake could shut down the entire state, we decided to take advantage of some fun outdoor winter activities while we still can. 

We had a rough start. Silas was struggling with all of his snow gear. The snow was past his knees so just walking a few feet proved to be a challenge. I think his biggest concern was his thumb. With those huge mittens on he couldn't get to it. We couldn't even get his thumb to go into the thumb hole. I'm pretty sure he spent the first 20 minutes of this adventure falling over and worrying that his thumb was gone forever. 

Before I had kids I loved the thrill of speed, a rollercoaster or anything else. No fear. But something terrible has happened to me. Josh put the boys in the sled and sent them on their merry way down the hill. And I panicked. Apparently, they were sliding down the hill a little faster than my new mom speedometer would allow, so I grabbed the back of the sled to slow them down. Bad idea. It was like yanking the emergency brake on the interstate. The sled stopped. The boys did not. I had hit the toddler eject button. It was their first run down the hill and I ruined it.

After I caused the wipe out, it seemed there was no chance of getting Silas back in a sled. I assumed my punishment would be to sit in the car with Silas for the rest of the afternoon. But I wanted to sled too, dammit! So when we got to the top of the hill and nothing we could say or do would convince Silas to get back into the sled, I scooped him up, plopped him in front of Jackson and gave them a push.

I wish I could have seen the look on his face. I can only assume it started with sheer panic and terror. But by the time they came to a stop at the bottom of the hill they were both beaming with excitement. Over and over they climbed the hill and slid down again. 

Silas took one nasty spill that was rather impressive. The sled went a little off course, they hit a bump that sent Jackson and the sled in one direction and Silas went airborne in the opposite direction. I ran down the hill (ok, maybe I slid and fell down the hill) to his rescue. The snow had scraped his face and he had a bloody fat lip. His face must have been what stopped him from sliding any further because his nose was packed full of snow. I discovered the bloody nose when I squeezed the little snowballs out of his nostrils. He cried for just a minute and then asked if he could go again. Just like his mother... 

Do Not Eat

When your co-worker gives you a panicked look and mouths to you across the teller line, "Call daycare!" your heart jumps up into your throat and your stomach falls out your butt.

Josh is the primary contact for the boys because he's only minutes from daycare. So if they call me, it must be bad. My knees were shaking as I called. I wasn't ready for what I was about to hear.

"Jackson has a bead stuck on his tooth."

Is he bleeding? Is he crying? Am I really laughing right now? I couldn't even hold it together for the two minutes I spent on the phone while the worried and concerned caregiver tried to explain how this happened.

Josh got to daycare and Jackson was sitting at the front desk. Which is the daycare equivalent of the principal's office. He took Jackson to the car because what happened next might look like child abuse if you didn't understand the circumstances. I wasn't there for the bead removal process. But Josh says he strapped him into the car seat and held his arms down. The anticipation had Jackson all worked up. But Josh gave it one quick yank and it popped right off!

Bear Trap

You know how when someone falls you have to wait an appropriate amount of time before you can laugh at them? You can laugh. But I'm not ready.

I was in the kitchen. Jackson was yelling MOMMY! I flung the baby gate open and ran out of the kitchen. At least I tried to run out of the kitchen. But the gate bounced back before both big feet had passed through. One foot got trapped in the gate. It swung shut on my ankle and I was trapped inside it like a big clumsy bear.

By this time I was face down on the living room floor with one foot still in the kitchen screaming for help. It was shear panic and burning pain!

While still stuck inside the bear trap, suddenly Jackson appeared to give me a kiss and make me feel better. Clearly his emergency on the other side of the house had passed. I still don't know why he was yelling in the first place.

Once Josh set me free he tried to get me to move my foot. He said, "Please move it, so I know it's not broken and I can laugh at you."

Since it wasn't broken Josh and my dad were free to point and laugh and spend the rest of the day giggling to themselves about the ruckus I caused and the baby gate that I bent.

My ankle is still bruised and sore. I suppose I'll be able to laugh at myself once the swelling goes down.

Poopy Grahams

The boys must have some kind of tummy bug. They've been nothing but little poop factories all day. Silas was on poop #5 with a bad case of diaper rash by dinner.

Since we ran out of our miracle butt cream, Triple Paste, I was letting him air dry for a bit. Of course, in a matter of minutes he'd peed on the floor twice and then squatted to take a crap right in front of the TV.

Jackson, as helpful as always, wanted to use the popcorn popper to "vacuum it up."

After cleaning up the carpet and putting the poop machine in a diaper I went into the kitchen.

I bent over to pick up a Teddy Graham off the floor and it was  poop! I really should wear my glasses! I was a split second away from becoming Uncle Si eating the Coon-Berries!

1008 - Part Two

The snakes. They're like the prequel to the moth balls. I've never felt so invaded. But I wasn't going down without a fight!

I've killed snakes in the most creative ways you could imagine. Each situation was out of complete desperation. When they coiled up around my mail box I cut their heads off with scissors. It was terrifying. I screamed like Braveheart the whole time I was hacking them up. The screaming helps you conquer the fear. 

I ran them over with the lawnmower. I decapitated them with a dandelion picker. I squished them with flip flops, a 2x4 and a metal pipe. Once while touching up my patio furniture, I spray painted one to death by asphyxia.

Those little shits were bold too! Who's ever seen a garter snake rear up? My dad has, and he high stepped it right out of the garage.

I nearly lost my mind when I saw one slide up inside the siding and disappear into my house. From that point on I was completely paranoid. When I laid in bead I swore I could hear them in the walls. One afternoon I called the neighbor over. I was convinced they were nesting inside my air vents under the floor. I could hear them wrestling around in there. The neighbor came over and tried to convinced me it was just dirt and leaves blowing around.

I wasn't at all convinced; just more paranoid then ever. So I developed a plan. Sticky traps! I wasn't going to wake up with a snake in my bed. So I surrounded every air vent with sticky mouse traps. If one was coming in...I was going to find it before it found me. And it actually worked!

I woke up to a snake stuck face down in a sticky trap in my kitchen. I threw on a bath robe and the clunkiest shoes I could find and took a picture - because nobody was going to believe me! And then I went back over to that neighbors house and told him I was right! And then begged for his help. His grandson came over with a shovel and some gloves. I bet that thing was two feet long. He had to kill it and then pull it's dead body though the air vent like a rope. I'm gagging right now just thinking about it.

My dad and I used our creative problem solving skills to seal up the siding to prevent any more invasions. Within two years the snake problem was completely solved with new attic insulation, new siding, new furnace and air vents and a Corgi. I hope I never have to fight that battle again!

1008 - Part One

I've been thinking about my house a lot lately. I don't think I could ever love a worldly possession as much as I love that house. It's my blood, sweat and tears. Literally. And some of my dad's blood and sweat. And my moms sweat and pee. But that's another story...

Ask anyone. When you think about my house you think about moth balls. I had a bit of a snake situation. A helpful neighbor suggested I use moth balls in the attic to keep them away. I should have considered that her house stunk like moth balls and meatloaf before taking her advice.

The snake in the attic really was the last straw. So after my cousin's husband retrieved the bugger I had him toss a few boxes of moth balls all over the attic. He asked if I really wanted him to use them all. Of course! This was serious. If one box was good, two was better. I told him to chuck them all over - wing 'em like baseballs.

Before I knew it that smell had taken over. Everything smelled like moth balls. EVERYTHING! My phone smelled like moth balls. Crackers tasted like moth balls. It was so bad I had to gut my attic and replace a refrigerator. How Josh stuck around for this phase is still beyond me. The worst part is that the moth balls weren't even effective! It was all a lie.

Moth balls and all, I really miss that place. It was all mine. I never worked so hard on anything in my whole life. I had never been so proud of myself. That house was the biggest piece of my master plan. I'm just glad that I got to enjoy it for the short time that I did. Because we all know that plans change.