Quit bugging me!

I don't know what it is with insects lately, but they are really bugging me!

 This morning I stepped away from my honeyed lemon tea to throw a load of curtains in the washer. As I'm tossing the curtains in evenly, an earwig comes out of... somewhere... and dives into one of the curtain folds. So I did what any hot blooded creature would do. I shut the lid and hit start. I figured either he will go the "all drains lead to the ocean" route (except we have a septic system so hmmm...) or he will survive and be thankful for his energetic, sudsy bath. I didn't see him in the tub of the washer when I took the curtains out, nor did I find him in the dryer lint trap, sooooooo your guess is as good as mine as to his location.

I went to recover my tea and not only was there a fruit fly perched on the edge of the rim, there was another one swimming merrily along!

AND one of my besties neglected to keep watch over her drink this weekend while she was outside and was stung right on the lip by a bee for her negligence. 

Just goes to show, ladies: never leave your drink unattended.

 

A life lesson

 This post is for those of you amongst my Tribe who tend to procrastinate and then get fired up (almost as if someone had lit a fire under one's nevermind) and tackle a bunch of stuff at once, because you are My People and you'll get this.

Last year, I never hung our heavy drapes in the Old Lady Room. I left up the sheer cream and wine colored curtains because I wanted more light in a room that has a wine colored carpet and greenblack walls and no overhead light. What the builders were thinking when they left no light fixture is beyond me. We've since found wine colored lamp shades for two of the table lamps in addition to the halogen lamp stationed in the corner. It's still darker that we'd like most of the time, hence the light-penetrating curtains.

However, this week it got down into the 30s at night and I definitely noticed a chill on the back of my neck and shoulders whilst I was sitting on the couch which abuts the big windows. I figured I should probably rehang the cream colored, insulated drapes. Sometime. Soonish. Probably.

For some reason, I decided that time would be this morning.

Before I had taken my allergy meds.

Before I vacummed up what used to be spider webs and moths and stinkbugs.

Before I remembered that drapes require curtain hooks, I was already behind the couch, but before that I had said, "move, Couch."

Couch merely snickered at me and said, "yo, move this."

So I attempted a shove. Not a big one, just a "get outta my way so I can hang the dang curtains" shove. 

Couch wasn't having it.

I realized, in fact, the slider thingies were not permanently under Couch, something I should have checked first. 

"Fine. I will get behind you and do this anyway."

Lest you think the other members of my household are awful people who could have lent a hand, they were already working on the sink in the loo which has been dripping and dripping faster and is now drippingdrippingdripping alarmingly fast. We've kept a mixing bowl underneath and have been using the water to keep the water bowls full for the dogs and have been watering plants with it but I know we are losing some down the drain. I didn't want to deter that progress.

So there's me, squashed in the less than a foot of space behind Couch and the window wall. I'd had the foresight to dump all the drapes onto Couch, but they were still all folded into each other from two springs ago when I put them away. I'm twisting to reach and detangle the drapes when I realized, "oh *insert pirate-y talk here*, these need the dang hooks!"

I holler to Damon, who is in the room we call the Library as he has the day off school, and he appears in only his underpants, device in hand, as I try to twist further to gesture to what I need and where they are across the room from me. As he retrieves the plastic cup containing all the hooks (yes, we run a classy establishment around here, I know), they dump out and he's trying to simultaneously stuff them back into the cup whilst watching his video. 

Eventually, he hands me the cup (and had fetched me the vacuum, as well) and I start threading those into the drapes, all the while cursing living in a climate where anyone even needs to have summer and winter curtains and the fact that I was smashing the Count Chocula that I'd had after my Cheerios and that I probably should have pooped first.

I'm reminded of something my Mary Alice had shown me years ago; a sign that started off in huge letters cautioning PLAN AHEAd with a tiny, smashed letter d because they ran out of room. Somedays that is my life.

But the drapes are up! Just in time for it to be in the 70s again most of this week. If anyone needs me I'll be washing the sheers.

SitRep

It's just after 9 AM. I have a load of boy laundry in the washer, a dish full of dishes but the dishwasher is half full, dinner is in the crock pot, and the cookie dough for Damon's presentation tomorrow is chilling in the fridge. I figured I better blog now before I get busy again with the latest project. What dummy decided removing wallpaper and painting during the end of the school year would be a good idea, again? 

I blame Delores.

Before-ish

The boys are definitely related to me in that they appreciate destruction. Teehee. 

Carrie, and Precious, unfazed by the mess.

The current state of affairs:

Having a hard time removing the adhesive at the top of that wine colored wall where the border had affixed straight to the paint. We've tried the water-and-fabric-softener route, and plain water, and soapy water, and the Goo Gone followed by soapy water already. Guess it's time to tear down the wall and start over.

If you need me, I'll be chiseling away the last  (hopefully) of the dried glue, sanding (yes, Mommee, I have a dust mask), scrubbing, and otherwise dancing around on my step ladder.

At least until it's time to drop everything to run Carrie to karate, bake Damon's cookies and help him put the finishing touches on his presentation for tomorrow and then the wax museum one on Friday, along with the myriad of other things that I hope to cross off my list. Yesterday I got all the sunroom curtains washed and hung outside to dry. They're on the guest bed in the hopes that they'll stay tidy until we've painted, but as we have at least one boy who vaults on big beds to do backflips no matter how many times we've admonished him not to, my hopes are not terribly high for them staying wrinkle-free. At least they smell good.

Quotes

It is becoming overwhelming to do an entire quote board at once on here, so I'm going to give you a few funnies today. I do have more pictures to upload, but this isn't the best time for that, so you'll just have to deal with using your imaginations and words. Hehe!

This one happened just this morning. I was talking with Liam about how he went to bed first last night and then Damon went to bed. Liam got up first and then Damon got up. Liam, Damon, Liam, Damon. That's an AB pattern, I explained. "No, Mama. That's an LD pattern. I'm an L and Damon starts with D."

Dada: Liam, Please pee and wash up for dinner.
Liam: I DID! (long pause) Yesterday.

We've called Damon a Doodlebug for forever now...
Liam: Damon's a dude-el-bug! He's a dude.

LIam: Hey Mama, the lower case 4 looks like an upside down chair.

Mama: Liam, is that... pizza sauce on your shirt??
Liam, matter-of-factly: No, it's just blood.

Checking out Dada's spine, Liam: Dada, how come you've got dinosaur bones on you?

On the way to preschool, Liam points out clouds: Look, Mama. There's God's foot. See it? And his other leg is on the other side. He's exercising.

Liam, 5, blowing his nose: That made my eye throw up.

Carrie, 7.5, at dinner: IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII am not drinking that wine, am I?
Dada: No, you're not. It's mine.
Liam: It's not lime.

Carrie, eating macaroni shells: Mama, before these were cooked, were these real seashells?

Mama: Did you do your chapstick?
Liam: I accidentally got it on my eye because I wasn't paying attention, but I can fix that...

Carrie, 7.5, doing homework: I need to circle the nerds. (pause) Nerves. (pause) Verbs!

Following that, Carrie: Sometimes my words don't come out the way my brain does it. As they say, "sometimes your brain works faster than your hand!"

Carrie, chattering about birthday parties: McKinnia invited 4 girls- that's a total of 5 girls- and guess what? Isaac said I count as a boy.

Post-breaking of the bunk beds, Liam, 5: I was tempted. (He was -we think- traversing along the bottom bunk while hanging onto the safety side of the top bunk. It sheared off along the clippy parts- yes, I realize I have no idea what the technical term for that is- and didn't do any lasting damage to Liam. It DID make an almighty crash, though!)

And speaking of noise, PaPa was putting cinnamon on his Crispy Rice: Now they'll say, "Snap Crackle Pop and BOOM!" Liam falls over laughing.

Carrie, 7.5: Dear Santa,
Mama, interrupting: Dear Carrie, don't even bother...
Dada, also interrupting: Dear Carrie, "we are men of action. Lies do not become us."
(That quote is from "The Princess Bride" for those of you who were trying to place it.)

Liam,5, to dental hygienist Cindy: Now watch it. Don't get all scrape-y by my gummies!

Carrie, 7.5: A leasenoveda*** (this one will be translated at the end of the post. Pretend you're playing Mad Gab and try to figure it out by closing your eyes and having someone say it slowly out loud. Some of you will get it!)

Carrie,7, to Mama: How do you know all this STUFF?! I thought IIIIIII knew everything!

Grandmama: This baby sounds like a treeful of drunken parrots! (AAAACK! SCRAWK! YAAH!)

Liam to Mama: I'm stuck in the curtains! (only Carrie documented that one as: I'm stuk in the crtin's!")

Liam to Carrie at Bob Evans: Why don't you have your straw twisted?
Carrie: I'm not a fancy kid. I just like regular things.

Mama to Dada: I love you. Just because.
Dada: I hope so.
Mama: After a dozen years you doubt it?
Dada: Some people have a higher pain tolerance than others.

Liam, 5: The silos were making me sigh.

Liam, 5, to uncle Doug (stay with me... this is Dada's cousin's husband Doug. For all intents and purposes, to the kids they are aunt Sherri and uncle Doug. Their youngest child is in high school): PaPa has silver hair like you!
Doug: You know what, come here, you little turkey!

Dear Santa, This year I was a dingbat. Please bring me nothing. Love, Carrie.

***We THINK she was trying to spell "Feliz Navidad". Did anyone get it right? Without cheating?

To borrow from Stephen King

Oh boy, where do I even begin? Maybe I should mention how someone always gets sick before our annual Christmas party, and I debate, "should we cancel, or not cancel? Cancel or not?" This year I was thrown for a loop. Nobody got sick! Amazing! Rejoice! I LIKE this having a Christmas party in the summer weather and fewer viruses and not competing with shopping and...

Let me tell you about this week. Dada's been in Maryland since Monday. He got home last night, but still. Two mornings ago, Liam bounces out of bed and I go to see if Carrie is also awake. She is. She tells me that she threw up three times in her dreams. I ask if she also threw up in real life. She informs me, "yes. In my curtains."

It's been that kind of week.

Yes, you read that right. That previous night, I'd turned off the A/C finally and opened up the house. Since the curtain rods in the kids' rooms both had been "helped" off the wall more than once, I've given up and used push pins to hang sheets up as curtains. Since I opened the window in their room, I'd draped the sheets over the headboard of Liam's bottom bunk. She'd vomited over the end of her headboard and the curtains caught it nicely before it hit the floor. Not a huge deal. Simply unpin the push pins, shake out the excess into the trash, and wash, dry, and rehang. She went back to bed until 10 AM which is about unheard of for her.

She had a fever of 101.1 which was gone the next day and today she is her completely usual spirited self. Her curtains are fresh and clean.

Today is sheet day. Fridays I usually wash all our sheets. The kids love to help. This morning Liam was the pokey one and didn't get me his sheets until about 10 AM. Mine were already done and back on the bed at that point. (It helped that they just did the washer & dryer this time... I prefer to hang them outside, but our party tent is in the way of my clothesline space. Dada is secretly rejoicing over this.) At any rate, the kids' beds are re-made and I have her on the couch downstairs with me while he's on the top bunk for his break. About an hour into break I hear a THUMP. Carrie rolls over, looks at me and says, "what's that?" I say, more than a little bit aggravated-ly, "that's what it sounds like when you guys crash around upstairs!"

Then I hear this pitiful, near-tears voice claim, "Mama, I pooped!"

Here's where the title comes in. If you've read a fairly serious amount of Stephen King, you've probably more than once come across something like this:

Mainers have an expression for when something goes wrong, stops working, or goes to hell. They like to say, "the damn thing shit the bed," and everyone knows what they mean.

That's roughly translated by me. Since I've never been to New England and don't know anyone from Maine, I can't say for sure, but if it works for Stephen King, it's good enough for me. I've always thought it was a funny saying. I've secretly always wanted to hear someone use it in context. Sometimes I wish real life was fiction. I'd love to be an Elf in Middle Earth, but that's another story altogether...

I've SEEN the damn thing shit the bed, and it ain't pretty. I had a talk with myself last night about that verse in the Bible where you give thanks in all circumstances, so while I was cleaning the carpet and the sheets and the ladder to the bunk bed and the mattress cover and the boy, I was thankful for my washer and dryer, thankful for this sweet baby who looked all the world like he was listening when I told him he needed a nap so I could clean up a mess, and mostly thankful that I'd had the boy poop last night before bed or dear God, what a mess I WOULD have had. The one I DID have was quite enough, thanks very much.

So now when someone says they've had a shitty day, I will completely be able to empathize. I don't know how nurses do it. You nurses have all my admiration, and for reasons more than that.

So no, nobody was sick before the Christmas party, but this week of recovery from said Christmas party has been unexpected, to say the least. Oh, there's my washer beeping at me.