Fruit Flies

Fruit flies, fruit flies everywhere
I find you flying past my hair
On the door, the sill, the sash
You’re driving me insane
Where did you come from?
I don’t have any fruit
No one here eats healthily
What are you doing in my toilet?
Or the walls of the bathroom?
Or in the shower?
There’s no food in there.
Did you and a gazillion relatives decide to move in?
You’re on the windows of the car
Do you follow me?
What can you possibly want?
Die already.

Ode to the Broken Moon

Oh, moon, hanging so willy-nilly in the October sky,
You are broken.
You’re not all there
Part of you is bare
Who took such a large chunk out of your side?
Did you bump into the sun?
You must be more careful
And watch where you’re going
I certainly hope
For the sake of my son
That your side grows back
Because I promised
I would have you fixed
In a few days.

CPR

We had CPR training at school last week, and I had to be there because my certification expired. The new dolls work very nicely, but upon receiving my infant, I promptly, yet accidentally, decapitated it. At that point, I decided CPR would not help, as the child had obviously asphyxiated on a plastic bag and had a severed head. Saved some money on the autopsy. It was a good time, nonetheless, as I can never get enough of shaking a dummy and yelling, “Are you okay? Do you need help?” Do we really expect the infant to reply? You’ll be happy to know, however, that once I re-attached my infant’s head, I did an excellent job.

These Words Came Out of My Mouth

More things I never thought I’d say. Some come from school, others from home:

I don’t know why your hand keeps falling off.
No swinging from the curtains.
No hanging out by the potty.
Yes, at night I’m a spy. As a matter of fact, that’s what I’ll be for Halloween, but I won’t even have to dress up because I’m that good at it.
You have a bad case of blurt.
Grammar won’t kill you. Not even a comma splice, as dangerous as it sounds.
At least I will never have to call your family to tell them we lost you during surgery.
Please do not squirt your friends with bleach.
I am sure your teacher did not bite you.
You run in place very nicely, just like Shaggy and Scooby.
Yes, I am Daphne, and yes, you can have a Scooby Snack.
I can’t fit through the door.
You simply cannot mix granola with Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It’s against the rules.
There is no need for boots. We will not be walking on water.
Sorry, I forgot about the dog poop.
If you’re happy and you know it, sit down and be quiet.

Gas and Grass

Well, we had a gas leak today. Sometimes, I think I'm so airheaded--pay attention to my thought process here.

I was seeding and fertilizing the front patch of dirt, and every time I passed the end of the house, I could smell gas. So, I walked up to the gas line and sniffed around. Hmmm. Definitely gas. Of course, I immediately thought, "Dammit, I've been paying for gas that I haven't even used." It didn't cross my mind at all that this is a dangerous situation. I was just irritated that I had to pay for gas that has been spewing into the air. Then, I began to think that might be normal. I sneaked over to one neighbor's house and sniffed around her gas line. Nope. Nothing. I sneaked over to another neighbor's house and sniffed his gas line. Nope. Nothing. The people across the street who don't speak English were watching me as though I were a crazy lady. I see why.

Now, I do realize that smelling gas is not normal, but I tried to rationalize it because I was fully aware that this could create a host of other problems and an unpleasant situation. Finally, I called the gas company. Four times. Because I didn't deem this an emergency and didn't want to report it as a gas leak because that sounds pretty serious, and I tend to jump to extremes. After finding that customer service is closed on weekends, no matter how many times one tries to call them, I was forced to resort to the gas leak emergency line. Groan. I told the woman that I wasn't sure if one is supposed to be able to smell gas by the gas line, but I could. She became slightly alarmed and said she'd send someone right out. I told her the smell wasn't overwhelming, but it was definitely there. She told me not to light anything near it. So, I went on trying to get grass to grow, muttering under my breath that I was paying for wasted gas.

The truck arrived, and it turns out that we had not one, but two gas leaks. The men fixed them. Then, I called my husband who was extremely upset, because (now, I didn't think of this) the house could have blown up if the gas were ignited. It worried him. What did I think when he expressed his concern? Insurance covers fires, but I still have to pay for the wasted gas.

Home

We are in the house! It is a mess. We are so sloppy. Toys everywhere.

Guess what I did two years ago? I packed up open bags of flour and sugar. What the heck was I thinking? Do I like bugs? No. Absolutely not, but I certainly made it possible for them to invade my life. I'm an idiot.

Guess what I did on Sunday? Bought a 50 inch tv. Swore I'd never do that, but I did. Now I live in total fear that it will fall off the wall and crush someone. Fun.

I know that all sounds very negative, but hey, I'm a downer.

Actually, it's wonderful. My bathroom is bigger than the bedroom I had in the house I grew up in. It's very cool. Maybe I'll post some pictures once I have the place cleaned and vacuumed with my CENTRAL VAC.

New house, new things. I decided to cook a turkey. It's in the oven now. Have never done that before. He he he. I read the directions on the bag. I removed the innards. Then, I tried to remove the neck. With tongs. I stood on a stool over the sink shaking that bird viciously trying to get that stupid neck out. It was probably pretty comical to watch. I shook and cursed and shook and cursed. And then I realized I was trying to pull it out the wrong end.

Boy Meets Staple

I have a theory that every boy at some point needs stitches, staples, or some other device to hold his skin together. Yesterday, was my son's turn. After being cooped up in the house for five days of strep throat, ear infections, intestinal disturbances, and what-have-you, I took the kids outside to play. We were out there for a total of two minutes before the boy fell off his Home Depot front-loader in the backyard, hitting his head on the edge of the driveway. There was immediate blood. My daughter just screamed, "Mommy, he's bleeding! Mommy, he's bleeding! Mommy, he's bleeding!" It was, of course, no news to me because I was trying to stop the bleeding as she was screaming about it. Actually, she did more crying about the incident than he did because of her extreme fear of blood, all things that deal with blood, and health care providers that might require drawing blood or poking one with needles, which causes--you guessed it--bleeding. She was also worried about her brother, which is nice.

So, the boy merely needed a staple. He was tough, but after the doctor put some antibiotic ointment on the cut, my boy did say, “That guy hurt me!”




Now, with a head this big, is it any wonder?

The House Picture

It's coming along!

Ahhhh, the Rewards of Motherhood

Today was an exciting day. My daughter awoke with a fever. She lay there on the couch, moaning in misery. There was nothing I could do for her. Finally, she asked for the bucket. We were able to easily identify everything she had eaten since she got out of bed. My favorite were the tiny stars from her chicken and stars soup. Campbell's looks just the same coming up as it does going down.

I was eventually able to lower her fever to a decent 102.5, and she asked for McDonald's because they have Build-A-Bear toys. It's never simple, really, because my sister and my son wanted Burger King, so we went to both. And for all of that, do you think I would have gotten a decent Simpson's figure? Nope, another frickin Apu.

So, as soon as we got home, I gathered everyone to the table to eat. My son, poor baby, took one bite and promptly threw up all over his precious chicken fries, himself, and me. Fun. As I was bathing him, then hosing off the high chair, and then starting laundry, all I could think was: why bother. It'll all happen again.

I think I am going to buy a bartender's guide. For me.

The House

Oh, girls, there will be such a party! I can't wait! Closing is still set for August 20th!

Here are some things I learned about the neighborhood:
A county cop lives up the street.
A federal marshal lives across the street.
The fire chief lives at the end of the street.

Can I pick neighborhoods, or what? We'll be very well behaved, and if we catch on fire, we know we'll be taken care of quickly.