My Own Worst Enemy

Sometimes I can be my own worst enemy and my habits and tendencies can come back to bite me in the bottom.

Here's a perfect example - my frugal nature.  I freak out when someone leaves the light on in a room and walks out, I cease to run the clothes dryer every spring as soon as I'm sure that clothes won't freeze solid on the clothes line, and Wesley knows he can send me into an instant conniption fit by standing in front of an open fridge door.  (I cringe just thinking about it.)  

He finally came back from Florida and I was soooooooo excited to see him again, as were the little girls.  Last night we finally all got to spend some time together and actually talk about his trip.  For some reason I was feeling a bit whiny and neglected last night and so I asked him if he brought me any sort of trinket or postcard from the trip.  I was pretty sure that Mitch would have gotten something for my sister and I figured that it was reasonable for me to expect a little something as well.  His reply?

"Well, I had something in my hand picked out for you, but then I figured I'd just get yelled at for spending money.  I put it back." 

So here's the amendment to my 'frugal rules.' 

If you spend a few hundred dollars on a plane ticket, hotel rooms and meals for a week-long boy's trip, please go ahead and budget $10 on some sort of peace offering for the wife that you left at home to spray mice to death with flea and tick spray.  Please and thank you.  

Another endearing story about mice

Let's just keep the gross-story theme going, shall we?  After posting about my last escapade involving those nasty looking buggers it dawned on me that this was not, in fact, my first time trying to kill a mouse in a rather unique way. 

Have you ever tried to strangle a mouse?

As I mentioned a few days ago - I don't touch mice, dead or not.  (Except for that one lab in grad school and I still get the heebie-jeebies when I think about it.)  A few months ago, as I was walking through the house I saw a little fella out of the corner of my eye dashing into our bathroom.  I ran in behind him and shut the door, so we were effectively both trapped in a tiny area together.  Genius.  This is pretty much where all intelligent thought ceased to happen. 

Since I really didn't have a plan past "shut the door" I hurriedly raced a million ideas through my mind.  What, might you ask, did I settle upon?  Pin him in a corner with a toilet brush holder.  So that's exactly what I did.  But then I realized that the toilet brush holder itself was also a germ infested and rather disgusting object, so I distanced myself by holding a trashcan up against the toilet brush holder that had the mouse pinned in a corner.  I pushed on that trashcan for a full five minute stretch and finally had myself convinced that surely I had effectively squeezed every bit of life-force out of him.  I finally left my post temporarily to run across the house, grab my phone and call to let Wesley know he had to return home and remove a rodent at his earliest convenience.  Please and thank you. 

When I made it back to the bathroom I checked my cluttered little corner to review my genius handiwork. 

No mouse. 

Seriously?  First, I'm not sure how a mouse could survive the squeeze that I had just placed upon him, and secondly, how in the world could he have crawled over all my obstacles?  And in the back of my mind I had a third thought - what type of cruel revenge was a mouse on an evil revenge mission able to accomplish? 

Between these two events we shall call it a drawl.  Anna - 1.  Evil little rodents - 1.  They may have won one battle, but this is now war. 

I'm Not Weird, I'm Resourceful

As my father's only son (please don't hang on that statement too long, no gender changes were involved) I learned very quickly that if a problem arose, more often than not I had to solve it myself - at least temporarily to get by until Dad could help me with a more permanent fix. 

Wesley left last night to spend five days in Florida with my Dad, my brother-in-law, a neighbor and another feller.  Yep, a big ol' stag party.  Because it is now just the girls and I at the house, we have strategically booby-trapped the entire place.  Potential burglars beware. 

I had myself mentally prepared for intruders and was walking on pins and needles last night when, suddenly, I heard a chorus of squeaks and whines.  Loop, Laurie and I all perked up our ears and began to track down the source of the mysterious sound.  After tearing apart the bottom of our dishwasher we finally found our culprit - two mice stuck on a sticky trap and obviously not thrilled by the prospect. 

The three of us stared at each other and all agreed that we did NOT want to touch the trap while they were still alive.  Or even when they finally died.  Those things are gross.  So, how do you kill mice without touching them?  Have you ever pondered that?  We couldn't use diesel fuel inside the house, and we couldn't use kerosene or oil, so we finally settled upon using flea and tick spray.  I think that Loopie and Laurie just wanted me to use up as much as possible on something other than themselves. 

That's right, folks, if you spray a mouse with enough flea and tick spray, not only will his hair coat be thoroughly protected, but he will also drift off into a deep, deep sleep. 

Again, I reiterate, I am not weird, I am resourceful. And I hope they don't start to stink before Wesley gets back.  If they do, be prepared for some sort of story involving a scoop shovel inside the house.  I'm not scared of mice, but they are just so gross.  Its one of the few times that I will play the "girl card." 

Her nose is growing...

I know that our little girls are not perfect.  Occasionally, they tell a fib or two and don't do exactly what we expect of them.  Last Saturday night was one of these occasions. 

Wesley and I went out for the evening to supper at a friend's house.  Not a crap night, but still a great time.  We didn't return home until almost 11:15 that night (I'm still trying to recoup that lost sleep) and noticed that the girls were not home.  If I hadn't been so doggone tired I probably would have been more worried and lost more sleep over it, but like I said, I was so tired that sleep was something I didn't feel I could afford to lose. 

The next morning Wesley drove to his folks' house to feed cattle.  He returned shortly with two little girls sitting sheepishly in his front seat.  As they jumped down from the seat I immediately began to question why they had spent the entire night gallivanting around the country. 

Laurie pounced upon the opportunity with a very well rehearsed excuse.  "Well, you know that dog that stays and Gregg and Janell's sometimes - Lou?  Well, the other night he invited us over for a sleepover and we thought that sounded like fun and so we went over last night but no one was home and we were confused and we didn't want to seem rude so we stuck around to see if anyone would come over and then it got so late that we didn't want to leave and then get lost in the dark and I didn't want to get in a tangle with one of those danged ol' coyotes you know how I hate those danged ol' coyotes and then it was morning and here we are!" 

Loopie just blinked a few times.  "I thought it sounded fishy that it was going to be a coed sleepover." 

Needless to say, we didn't exactly believe all of their story and both girls were banished to their pen for several hours.  I'm giving them extra points for creativity though. 

Our lovely little life

The wind has finally subsided for a whopping 20 minutes here in the Flint Hills, so I decided to pounce upon this opportunity and take some close up shots of my flowers before they began to follow their usual 6 inch to-and-fro in front of my camera screen, like they normally do.

The girls were very content to watch me while they soaked up the sunshine.  Do you ever just have a good afternoon?  

Laurie loves to chew on horns.  I think she should either say "Ricccccccoooooola" or "Elementary, my dear Watson" but I haven't really decided if she's more suited for the Alps or if she looks more like Sherlock Holmes with his pipe.  Perhaps we should open the floor for a vote.

.....And sometimes it freaks me out when she looks at me and licks her lips. 

Some of the lovely yarrow that I planted between the rocks in the border surrounding our porch.

I don't know why I can't rotate this picture so please tilt your head to the left and admire Loopie with her wise, distant gaze.  She always looks dignified and elegant.  She doesn't lick her lips when she looks at me. 

Clematis (I think).  I usually mess up and call it some sort of venereal disease.  Isn't it great to have a mom that's a nurse?

More yarrow that I got as a transplant from family.  (Yea for free flowers!)  What - you thought my frugal nature only pertained to matters inside of the home?  You are seriously mistaken, my friend!

I have created a monster

I have created a monster and I never really intended to.  Although, does one ever really intend on creating a monster?  Discuss amongst yourselves. 

Wesley and I have lived in wedded bliss in our little home for roughly 588 days.  Actually, its been 588 days.  I did the math.  During this time, I realize that he's not done much in the house.  I feel that he does more than his fair share of providing for our family and therefore I let him slide on some of the more mundane tasks of homemaking, such as loading dishes in the dishwasher.  And, lets be realistic.  It took a good nine months for him to even get them near the vicinity of the sink.  You pick and choose your battles. 

Last night, for some unknown reason, my husband took pity on me and decided to help load the dishwasher.  He took his plate and silverware dutifully over to the large white receptacle, stood, stared, and studied the two racks of already dirty items.

I watched his brow furrow. 

He bent over, studying the contents of the top row.  He carefully slid it all the way into the dishwasher.  Then he bent farther over, furrowed his brow even more and studied the bottom row.  Finally, he turned his head towards me. 

"Um, where does the silverware go?" 

I laughed, cried, snorted and hyperventilated so uncontrollably while I attempted to slide the bottom rack in and show him that silverware should be placed in the door that I think he is scarred for life.  I feel that it is safe to say he will never attempt to touch the dishwasher again.  Perhaps I should look into some sort of sensitivity training. 

Don't take that like I said that... Got that?

My train of thought is less like a continuous string of logical, followable ideas and more like fleeting, random strokes of genius.  At least that's what I tell myself. 

I have learned over the years that if I do not immediately state what is in my head when it appears then this little tidbit of genius will be lost to all posterity and therefore I must verbally spurt it out, usually at a very inconvenient or inappropriate time. 

Case in point:
Sunday, Wesley and I went down to visit my folks.  We were saying our goodbyes, which this time happened to be a rather somber occasion.  We were all standing around, our eyes slightly misty, and my mother said, "Can I come visit you this week?"

Instead of taking two thoughts and placing them in two different sentences with huge pauses inserted for emphasis, my thoughts came out.... "No, and Dad, can I have my pistol back from you?"

For the record, I do not want to shoot my mom.  And a huge thank you to my dad for returning my pistol.  See?  I CAN place two thoughts in two separate sentences!  Practice, practice, practice.