So, back in January, it was cold. Not unusual. One night, it was like 15 degrees out, but I was cozy in my bed so I didn't care. As I was falling asleep, Mr. Man came in and said something that sounded like "words words words thermostat downstairs more words". I muttered something like "that's nice dear" and snuggled under the covers. Sometime later, Mr. Man came back upstairs and said something about "words words dishwasher words water". Again, I said something incredibly witty like "oh, good". (What I really meant was "I am cozy, leave me in peace" but I am trying to be a kinder, gentler person.)
The next morning, when I went downstairs, I could see my breath in the living room. This was unusual, as the living room didn't come with a "meat locker" setting. Mr. Man asked if I had called my plumber, yet. It would seem I missed something. Evidently, there had been a leak under the dishwasher, and coincidently, the thermostat died. So, I called the plumber, who said he'd be right over, despite the ice and snow and cold. I felt bad, but he insisted.
The plumber arrived and got down to look under the dishwasher. "Huh." A half turn with the wrench and he was done. Then he asked why it was so cold inside the house. "Well, that's a weird situation," Mr. Man told him, then they went down to the mechanical room to do...man stuff. (Girl power is great and all that, but I think occasionally men like to think there is "man stuff" to be done, like back in the good old days. The division of labor in our household does not follow stereotypical gender roles. He cooks and I do yard work. I take out the trash and he picks out the pillows and the paint colors for the house. He does yoga and I play death sniper killer video games. We do what we want.)
Anyway, it turns out the water soaked the duct insulation in the floor below the dishwasher and ran over to the downstairs furnace, causing some sort of something that screwed up the thermostat somehow. The plumber said he wasn't going to charge us, but he suggested we let him call the water removal crew and see if the repairs would meet our insurance deductible. Based on what I saw, I doubted it, but I wasn't really sure what our deductible even was. (Mr. Financial Man handles all financial aspects of our lives, so I am blissfully ignorant beyond knowing where the firebox containing all the important documents lives.)
Later that afternoon, Mr. Water Remover Man showed up and said "hmmm" a few times. Then he asked who our insurance company was. Mr. Man told him, and he got this sort of weird smile on his face and said "I think we are looking at a minimum of $12,000 worth of damage, probably more. Let's call the insurance company and get this started!". Um, what? By the time my slow little brain had processed it, Mindy, the insurance lady, had a case file number for us and a list of all the damage that had been uncovered thus far. Our floor is red oak, and the entire main level of the house is contiguous. Water Guy said it was impossible to replace just the 100 square feet of damaged wood and have the stain match, so the whole main level was to be refinished or replaced. Wait, what? "Don't worry, we got a guy that does the restoration." Uh huh.
Water removal guy said he would send a crew out to place fans and dehumidifiers for both the kitchen and the mechanical area. Wait, what? (I find myself saying that a lot lately.) There was no standing water! "But there is wet wood and wet insulation. Can't be too careful." Shortly thereafter, a truck pulled up and started offloading huge fans and things I suspected were Daleks in disguise. They said they need to put 5 fans in the kitchen, plus a Dalek dehumidifier, and the same downstairs. I asked how they thought they could possibly fit all that, and still allow us to move around the kitchen. "Just watch". They put them around, turned everything on, and suddenly there was a sound similar to a jet engine and my cabinet doors were flying open. "You'll get used to it!" Yeah, right. The cats were not impressed. I had the Fan Man show me how to turn them off, "just in case".
The next day we got a call from our insurance adjuster, who was very nice. He said if the fans got to be too much, we should just go to a hotel and they would cover it, even the pet fees. Nice, but not necessary, especially since I could turn them off periodically to get some peace. I didn't mention that. He said he'd be by next week to take a look, but not to worry, we were covered and everything would be handled.That was a load off my mind.
The next week, when Insurance Guy did drop by, he pointed to the house behind us and told us his sister owned that house, but sold it a few years ago. His parents still live a few doors down. We were practically family! Then he did his inspection, showed me photos of his adorable goats (Long story), and again told us not to worry. We'd probably only have to leave for 4 or 5 days while they did the sand and refinish on the wood, but they would cover hotel and food, along with any incidentals that we needed while away from home. (They would either pay pet fees as part of the hotel costs, or kennel costs if we would prefer to go that route. As if! The cats go where we go!) Um, what? Leave...for days? No. Not going to happen. Strangers in my house while we are off at some hotel? I don't think so!
Next, we got a visit from a restoration guy connected to the water removal guy. He looked around and said "hmmm" a lot, which I am coming to believe is code for "how much can I get out of this job?". When his bid came back, it was $18,000...for a floor...that only has 100 square feet of damage. He claimed he needed to take out the built-in bookcases in the living room, replace this kick plate, that toe plate and other random things I am not sure are actually things. So, we called a company we found online that had a good reputation locally, and they sent out a guy who gave us a bid that was much more in line with what Mr. Man had figured. He never mentioned removing bookcases or any of the other obscure obstacles that raised the quote from the other fellow. This guy knew his stuff and wasn't obnoxious. We had our man. Time for the big decisions.
The problem we encountered was that our floors were currently oriented the "wrong way," which bugs Mr. Picky Man, but they could be refinished 3 or 4 more times before they needed to be replaced. That's a lot of "good" wood to throw in a landfill just to get planks that go north-south instead of east-west. However, we knew we really didn't want to deal with this again should something leak, so we agreed to do the "wet" areas in tile or something waterproof/ resistant, and just refinish the rest. This means kitchen, guest bath, laundry room, and while we're at it, we would pay out of pocket to have the sunroom and pantry floors replaced with tile. With those decisions made, we headed off to the flooring store...
And hated everything. It's all so obviously manufactured and ugly and cookie cutter and ugly and had no warmth and was quite honestly quite ugly. We finally decided we liked the slate, but the contractor said it was harder to lay and when chipped could become very sharp, Since we hate shoes, that wasn't an option. Eventually, a tile that looked very much like slate was located, but without the death and foot destruction capabilities.
We looked at every wood color under the sun, and then we looked at them again. We took samples home, only to find out we didn't really like them, so we agreed to get the tile in, and let the wood refinishers sand the remaining stuff and then we could try different stains and see what we liked. It would be up against the tile, and we could see how the light would hit the color, which actually makes a difference.
So, now we meet the tile guy.
To be continued...
6/17/18
3/9/18
Cat Tree
It was the only one I could find in black that would support both of them...as long as it is braced against the corner. He could knock it over otherwise. It's heavy duty, but so is Jem. I am thinking about ordering another one once the sunroom is finished. Oh, yeah, the floor is going down in the sunroom in a week or so. That's a story for another post.Anyway, cats are no longer tree-less, because they get what they want.
Kitchen Rebellion
What?...There are? Oh, you call them recipes? Thought those were like guidelines. No? Very specific...huh. Who knew?
Anyway, back to me, I washed the veggies and reached over to the trusty old knife block and out came the big, Buggidy-Buggidy Knife. I call it that because that's the noise it makes when it slices my skin, unlike the smooth "swip" sound of the un-serrated type of WMD cleaving through my fingers or in one instance, the skin slightly above my knee. Long story, don't ask. The kitchen is full of Weapons of My Destruction, trust me. Everything within 20 feet of the hotbox hates me.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, so instead of putting it back and choosing a smaller and probably more appropriate knife, I went with my bad self and chopped those suckers up. I even made up a song about it, which I will spare you from, but just know that I was feeling pretty full of myself. Then the cat started fussing at me. (No, it had nothing to do with my singing. Jerk.) She started staring at me and yelling all bossy-like. I admit it. I gave the cat an extra can of meat so she wouldn't tell Mr. Fancy Chef what I did.The last time Mr. Fancy Chef was around while I was forced to make my own eggs lest I starve to death, he made some comment about my cooking being similar to when a demon touches a bible: all smoke and sizzle, but no one wants to touch the results. I am sure he meant that with the utmost love and respect. And I'd like to say this is a case of "if you can prove you are all thumbs you don't have to lift a finger", but it's not. I can't cook. (We've covered this.)
I have issues beyond that which modern medical therapies can handle, but I do what I want. (And I want to stay out of the kitchen,)
The Googles vs. an Actual MD.
So, it's been awhile...stuff happens. (Cats are OK. Oh, and so are kids and husband.)
NOTE: this isn't a "poor me" post. I am just babbling about what a weird thing this was and how maybe when the internet tells you something can't possibly be the case, check with a trained professional.
Sometime shortly after my last post, I got "the flu". That's what I call anything that involves body aches. After about a week, I got better. Phew. That sucked. A friend and I had started walking a few days a week, and as time wore on, I noticed I was getting really sore after my walks. I figured I was still getting over "the flu". It finally got to the point that "Killer Hill" was too much for me. One night I got home from our walk and struggled to go up the stairs. My legs burned and I felt like I had done a 40-mile hike through the mountains instead of a couple of miles of gentle walking in the neighborhood. (Not that I would actually know what a 40-mile hike would feel like since I don't even like driving for 40 miles. Someone else can have my spot on the AT.) I was still sore a few days later, which was odd, and it became harder and harder to walk up the stairs or even up the driveway to the mailbox. I also started noticing that I wasn't able to lift as much as I could a month or so before. Crap, I am getting old.
During this time, I was also having what we assumed were side effects from something I had taken unrelated to my "oldness". My hairdresser commented that my hair was thinner and I was finding hair in the shower and in my comb. I had tremors and some funky memory issues. I can't even remember all the weird things that were going on, but they all seemed completely unrelated. So, TO THE GOOGLES! Yes, I know, Google is not my friend, at least when it comes to medical stuff. (My vet loves when I call and say the Googles says the cat either has a hairball or esophageal cancer. ) The Googles is amazing when I can't remember who played Floyd Smoot on Petticoat Junction or what year Roosevelt Brown was inducted into the HOF. How to make a Singapore Sling? How much will the door lock actuator cost for a Ford Fairlane? What was the name of the Egyptian dancer in that Gunnar Berndtson painting? Google's got you covered. Anyway, we came to the conclusion that I had several things all at once, possibly MS, thyroid issues, sleep apnea, and allergic reaction to alien abduction probes. CDC said we don't have deer ticks, so no Lyme disease. Ugh. What the heck was going on?
When we got to the point where I couldn't lift my 22-pound cat (what? he's big boned!), we decided to see what someone who actually went to med school had to say. We told my doctor all the crazy symptoms, and she said: "I am thinking Lyme disease is likely." No MS? "Nope." No aliens? "Probably not." But we don't have deer ticks here! "The CDC keeps telling us that, and I keep finding people with Lyme disease who haven't left the state. 6 so far this year. Let's do some bloodwork." So, we ran every test known to modern science, and everything came back normal...except I tested positive for Lyme. Go figure. I never noticed a tick. "Only 30 % of people actually see a tick". Am I gonna die? "Eventually, but not from this." So what do I do now? "Take antibiotics for a really long time and rest."
So, I spent the next couple of months napping and being a waste of space, but the drugs she gave me made me immune to malaria, and I could snort lines of anthrax with no ill effects. (I didn't test that theory, but the Googles said I could.) Eventually, I started to feel better. My hair stopped falling out, the tremors stopped (mostly), my memory improved, and I could do the stairs without napping afterward.
I am now walking with my husband 6 days a week. I started out struggling to get to the end of the driveway, and I am now up to 3 miles a day at a brisk pace. I have done Killer Hill twice, but neither time was pretty. I can carry a hamper of laundry up the stairs and can tote my cat around like he weighs...less. There are good days and bad days, and I may never get back to full strength, but I am so much better. I thank my lucky stars every day that I had the ability to relax and get better. I didn't have to hold down a job, get the kids to school, cook dinner, or worry about paying my bills. Also, I don't think I got it as bad as some people have. I have heard stories of hearing loss, permanent disabilities, and all sorts of other really unfortunate symptoms. I have no idea how long I had it, but I think that week of "the flu" was somehow related. People go years without a proper diagnosis, especially in states where there aren't suppose to be deer ticks. And honestly, with all the seemingly unrelated symptoms, it kinda feels like you are a hypochondriac nutcase. Who gets all that stuff at once? So, when in doubt, check with a professional who is willing to look outside the textbook. Had she not run the Lyme panel, I would still be sick and freaking out.
Now, about that Singapore Sling...because I do what I want.
NOTE: this isn't a "poor me" post. I am just babbling about what a weird thing this was and how maybe when the internet tells you something can't possibly be the case, check with a trained professional.
Sometime shortly after my last post, I got "the flu". That's what I call anything that involves body aches. After about a week, I got better. Phew. That sucked. A friend and I had started walking a few days a week, and as time wore on, I noticed I was getting really sore after my walks. I figured I was still getting over "the flu". It finally got to the point that "Killer Hill" was too much for me. One night I got home from our walk and struggled to go up the stairs. My legs burned and I felt like I had done a 40-mile hike through the mountains instead of a couple of miles of gentle walking in the neighborhood. (Not that I would actually know what a 40-mile hike would feel like since I don't even like driving for 40 miles. Someone else can have my spot on the AT.) I was still sore a few days later, which was odd, and it became harder and harder to walk up the stairs or even up the driveway to the mailbox. I also started noticing that I wasn't able to lift as much as I could a month or so before. Crap, I am getting old.
During this time, I was also having what we assumed were side effects from something I had taken unrelated to my "oldness". My hairdresser commented that my hair was thinner and I was finding hair in the shower and in my comb. I had tremors and some funky memory issues. I can't even remember all the weird things that were going on, but they all seemed completely unrelated. So, TO THE GOOGLES! Yes, I know, Google is not my friend, at least when it comes to medical stuff. (My vet loves when I call and say the Googles says the cat either has a hairball or esophageal cancer. ) The Googles is amazing when I can't remember who played Floyd Smoot on Petticoat Junction or what year Roosevelt Brown was inducted into the HOF. How to make a Singapore Sling? How much will the door lock actuator cost for a Ford Fairlane? What was the name of the Egyptian dancer in that Gunnar Berndtson painting? Google's got you covered. Anyway, we came to the conclusion that I had several things all at once, possibly MS, thyroid issues, sleep apnea, and allergic reaction to alien abduction probes. CDC said we don't have deer ticks, so no Lyme disease. Ugh. What the heck was going on?
When we got to the point where I couldn't lift my 22-pound cat (what? he's big boned!), we decided to see what someone who actually went to med school had to say. We told my doctor all the crazy symptoms, and she said: "I am thinking Lyme disease is likely." No MS? "Nope." No aliens? "Probably not." But we don't have deer ticks here! "The CDC keeps telling us that, and I keep finding people with Lyme disease who haven't left the state. 6 so far this year. Let's do some bloodwork." So, we ran every test known to modern science, and everything came back normal...except I tested positive for Lyme. Go figure. I never noticed a tick. "Only 30 % of people actually see a tick". Am I gonna die? "Eventually, but not from this." So what do I do now? "Take antibiotics for a really long time and rest."
So, I spent the next couple of months napping and being a waste of space, but the drugs she gave me made me immune to malaria, and I could snort lines of anthrax with no ill effects. (I didn't test that theory, but the Googles said I could.) Eventually, I started to feel better. My hair stopped falling out, the tremors stopped (mostly), my memory improved, and I could do the stairs without napping afterward.
I am now walking with my husband 6 days a week. I started out struggling to get to the end of the driveway, and I am now up to 3 miles a day at a brisk pace. I have done Killer Hill twice, but neither time was pretty. I can carry a hamper of laundry up the stairs and can tote my cat around like he weighs...less. There are good days and bad days, and I may never get back to full strength, but I am so much better. I thank my lucky stars every day that I had the ability to relax and get better. I didn't have to hold down a job, get the kids to school, cook dinner, or worry about paying my bills. Also, I don't think I got it as bad as some people have. I have heard stories of hearing loss, permanent disabilities, and all sorts of other really unfortunate symptoms. I have no idea how long I had it, but I think that week of "the flu" was somehow related. People go years without a proper diagnosis, especially in states where there aren't suppose to be deer ticks. And honestly, with all the seemingly unrelated symptoms, it kinda feels like you are a hypochondriac nutcase. Who gets all that stuff at once? So, when in doubt, check with a professional who is willing to look outside the textbook. Had she not run the Lyme panel, I would still be sick and freaking out.
Now, about that Singapore Sling...because I do what I want.
5/2/17
Customer Service Update!
You may remember a few months back when I was complaining about what a pain it was trying to close all of my Mother's accounts after she died. Remember how they didn't actually cancel that one account, just rolled it over to my even more deceased Father, and sent him a shiny new card with a $19,000 limit, even though I told them everyone was dead? I threatened that if a new card showed up for Mom because Daddy was dead, I was going to go ahead and use it to buy a Mini Cooper?
Well...
Well...
How do we feel about a black one? Are the stripes too much?
Yes, I did indeed get a notification that a new card was on its way to my Mother.(The USPS is good, but I am guessing they aren't going to find her.) I called the card company and eventually got to some inheritance estate department, where Vincent explained that I wasn't actually allowed to buy a Mini with the card, even a slightly used Mini. I called him a meanie and we proceeded to REALLY TRULY HONESTLY close the account. Again. Some more. Probably for sure this time.
I probably would just get a speeding ticket if I drove a Mini, anyway. I've never gotten a ticket, but something about those stripes makes me think anything is possible, and I tend to do what I want.
3/29/17
Bear
I may have mentioned that I am not a people person. I am, however, an animal person. Miss Bella is still my favorite neighbor. (She says "hi".)
We have been blessed with some pretty interesting neighbors over the years. One of my favorites was from 2 houses ago. We lived in a house that backed up to some state owned forest and part of a horse pasture. Naturally, we adopted the horses and disregarded the 'trespassing on state land punishable by death' signs. I do what I want.
One day, we walked out to the area between the pasture fence and the woods. The horses spotted us and started heading up the hill. As they got closer, they slowed down, and finally stopped walking. We could tell they wanted to come over, but something was definitely making them nervous. I noticed a huge hole under the fence a couple of feet down from us. Horses aren't known to be great diggers, and our resident gopher tortoise's holes aren't usually large enough to accommodate a human, so I decided it was either loose dogs or possibly a yeti. Since it was 89 degrees out, the yeti was unlikely, and I hadn't heard any dogs, so I decided to look around. After giving the kids the "sit, stay" command, I headed into the woods. (Yes, it has been brought to my attention that I am that dumb white girl in the horror movie who gets killed in the first 5 minutes because she has to go investigating the weird noise.)
I got a about a dozen feet inside the tree line when I heard a noise above me. I looked up and saw a big dark thing. I wandered around the tree and finally discovered the big dark thing had a face. It was a very handsome bear! (A mostly harmless black bear, not a human eating death machine bear.)
Already well on my way to Mother of the Year, I did what any good parent would do. I sent the kids back to the house...for my camera! They returned with it, and I instructed them to go back inside and hide under the bed, mostly because I thought it would be funny. They went in and made cookies, completely disregarding my orders. Hard to get mad when there are cookies, though.
So, Little Bear and I spent quite a bit of time together. He didn't seem to care too much about me, but I opted to keep my distance. After all, I was in his house and didn't want to be rude.
A couple of my neighbors thought shooting it was the thing to do, so I called the state biologist and told on them. She said there were in fact 5 bears in our vicinity, and the wooded areas surrounding our little community were perfect for them. I asked if I could shoot anyone who threatened a bear. She said that technically she couldn't stop me (and would actually applaud), but killing someone for threatening a 300 lb bear probably wasn't going to go over well with a jury. I suggested a little kneecapping. (Found out later that a little kneecapping was like being a little pregnant. Do or do not, there is no "little".)
Anyway, apart from the being the occasional litter bug, the bear mostly just hung out in the woods. He used our side yard as his point of entry, so whenever he took a full trash bag, he usually emptied it out on our lawn. Based on my experiences cleaning up after him, our bear loved grapes and nuts, but hated onions, garlic, and anything with golden arches. We were advised to put our trash out the morning of trash day, but some of my neighbors insisted on doing it the night before. One chap decided to thwart the bear's attempt by wedging his trash between the garage door and the car. He ended up with a dent in his hood shaped like a bear's bottom and trash everywhere. Some people just don't get it.
At the end of the day, the horses stopped freaking out and ate the apple slices I had, the bear sort of snored/ snorted, and I went back inside, ate cookies, and texted Mr. Pet Police about getting a real life teddy bear. (He said no. Meanie!)
This little guy stopped by our yard a couple of weeks before we left the bear house. He was actually adorable. I escorted him (at a safe distance) across the golf course until we met up with a firefighter who offered to walk our friend the rest of the way. He was headed to a pond on the other side of the 7th hole. You know, because gators also do what they want, even when they aren't real big.
One day, we walked out to the area between the pasture fence and the woods. The horses spotted us and started heading up the hill. As they got closer, they slowed down, and finally stopped walking. We could tell they wanted to come over, but something was definitely making them nervous. I noticed a huge hole under the fence a couple of feet down from us. Horses aren't known to be great diggers, and our resident gopher tortoise's holes aren't usually large enough to accommodate a human, so I decided it was either loose dogs or possibly a yeti. Since it was 89 degrees out, the yeti was unlikely, and I hadn't heard any dogs, so I decided to look around. After giving the kids the "sit, stay" command, I headed into the woods. (Yes, it has been brought to my attention that I am that dumb white girl in the horror movie who gets killed in the first 5 minutes because she has to go investigating the weird noise.) I got a about a dozen feet inside the tree line when I heard a noise above me. I looked up and saw a big dark thing. I wandered around the tree and finally discovered the big dark thing had a face. It was a very handsome bear! (A mostly harmless black bear, not a human eating death machine bear.)
Already well on my way to Mother of the Year, I did what any good parent would do. I sent the kids back to the house...for my camera! They returned with it, and I instructed them to go back inside and hide under the bed, mostly because I thought it would be funny. They went in and made cookies, completely disregarding my orders. Hard to get mad when there are cookies, though.
So, Little Bear and I spent quite a bit of time together. He didn't seem to care too much about me, but I opted to keep my distance. After all, I was in his house and didn't want to be rude.
A couple of my neighbors thought shooting it was the thing to do, so I called the state biologist and told on them. She said there were in fact 5 bears in our vicinity, and the wooded areas surrounding our little community were perfect for them. I asked if I could shoot anyone who threatened a bear. She said that technically she couldn't stop me (and would actually applaud), but killing someone for threatening a 300 lb bear probably wasn't going to go over well with a jury. I suggested a little kneecapping. (Found out later that a little kneecapping was like being a little pregnant. Do or do not, there is no "little".)
Anyway, apart from the being the occasional litter bug, the bear mostly just hung out in the woods. He used our side yard as his point of entry, so whenever he took a full trash bag, he usually emptied it out on our lawn. Based on my experiences cleaning up after him, our bear loved grapes and nuts, but hated onions, garlic, and anything with golden arches. We were advised to put our trash out the morning of trash day, but some of my neighbors insisted on doing it the night before. One chap decided to thwart the bear's attempt by wedging his trash between the garage door and the car. He ended up with a dent in his hood shaped like a bear's bottom and trash everywhere. Some people just don't get it. At the end of the day, the horses stopped freaking out and ate the apple slices I had, the bear sort of snored/ snorted, and I went back inside, ate cookies, and texted Mr. Pet Police about getting a real life teddy bear. (He said no. Meanie!)
3/25/17
Scout Update
In case you were keeping track, Scout weighed in at a solid 15 lbs this morning. I was putting in my contacts and she hopped on the scale. Convenient.
Still smaller than Brother, but the biggest she has ever been. They have gone through several cat gym/climber/tree things, but Mr. Ugly Cat Tree Hater tends to get a little twitchy when cat toys get scraggly, especially when they are the last things he sees as he goes to sleep at night. Anyway, the kids are currently between models, and now get no exercise. (Other than playing with the eleventy-seven toys and running up and down the stairs like maniacs.) Guess I need to get a new climbing gym...
Mr. Ugly Cat Tree Hater likes one that reminds me of an IKEA highchair, has no scratchy bits at all, and is roughly 3 feet tall. At $695 it must be the greatest cat thing of all time. I am pretty sure Jem enjoys the empty La Croix box more than he would that thing.
I am looking at one that is 8 feet tall, 6 feet wide, has eleventy-one ledges and a hammock, all for $119. The description says "Top Quality". Maybe I will keep looking....
We moved an armoire, so it now sits in front and below the landing on the back stairs. I thought that would be the coolest cat spot ever. The front even has an arch that they can hide behind. I kid you not, the only time they use it is when Scout wants to take a shortcut. If Mr. Cat Perch is nearby, she will hop down on it, and wait for him. Then she hops down onto his shoulder and goes on patrol. It is like one of my favorite things
Still smaller than Brother, but the biggest she has ever been. They have gone through several cat gym/climber/tree things, but Mr. Ugly Cat Tree Hater tends to get a little twitchy when cat toys get scraggly, especially when they are the last things he sees as he goes to sleep at night. Anyway, the kids are currently between models, and now get no exercise. (Other than playing with the eleventy-seven toys and running up and down the stairs like maniacs.) Guess I need to get a new climbing gym...
Mr. Ugly Cat Tree Hater likes one that reminds me of an IKEA highchair, has no scratchy bits at all, and is roughly 3 feet tall. At $695 it must be the greatest cat thing of all time. I am pretty sure Jem enjoys the empty La Croix box more than he would that thing.
I am looking at one that is 8 feet tall, 6 feet wide, has eleventy-one ledges and a hammock, all for $119. The description says "Top Quality". Maybe I will keep looking....
 |
| Scout on Patrol |
We moved an armoire, so it now sits in front and below the landing on the back stairs. I thought that would be the coolest cat spot ever. The front even has an arch that they can hide behind. I kid you not, the only time they use it is when Scout wants to take a shortcut. If Mr. Cat Perch is nearby, she will hop down on it, and wait for him. Then she hops down onto his shoulder and goes on patrol. It is like one of my favorite things
Scout's Personal Person hates "stuff". He might be allergic if not for his vastly superior genes that prevent such atrocities. (A family joke because Mr. Husband is practically perfect and it sometimes can be a bit annoying.) So, while I was attempting to get out Easter decorations, he was threatening to light them on fire. "Seriously, I can't look at this stuff all day! Can't you put out a few nice things in a little grouping somewhere clear of my field of vision?" This was followed up by "and no dumb baskets!" because I found the bin of Easter baskets. What? Every year the girls need new ones and I usually keep them. It is completely normal. Anyway, I set one of the baskets on the ground and Scout immediately jumped in it. Shocking behavior by a cat, I know. Mr. Fussy had stomped off to his office just as she did it, so I grabbed my phone and took a photo to send to him. His response? "We obviously need to acquire an appropriately sized basket for The Girl. Add it to your list."
Scout gets what she wants.
My (less than) Super Power
I have a superpower. Well, I think I have several, but this one is really powerful lately.
I manage to blurt out inappropriate things at inopportune times.
The other night we had a bad storm and lost power. So, what do you do when the power is out? Play spades by candlelight, of course.
So, Mr. Cardshark was shuffling the deck and out of my mouth came "so, anyone wanna break out the old planchette and see how Mom's doing?" The older child almost fell out of her chair laughing. I didn't mean to say it, but Mom would have thought it was funny, and I am pretty sure she bought the Ouija board as a Halloween present for us one year. (For those new here, Mom is dead.)
We all got the plague (yeah, yeah, karma for the whole "disrespecting the dead" thing), or maybe it was a mild flu. There was much whining and complaining and napping and complaining and whining, but mostly by me. Everyone else just dealt with it. While still not fully recovered from the plague, we went to the store because stupid Amazon still won't deliver frozen stuff. (I love you Amazon, but I also love ice cream!) The smaller child was bugging me about something. I finally snapped (goofy-frustrated, not angry rage monster Mom) and told her that if she didn't stop (whatever it was) I was going to chuck bagels at her and follow it up with really terrible idle threats. She started laughing because she knew bagels wouldn't hurt, I was in no condition to come up with good idle threats, and she was pretty sure I was kidding. The old woman standing across the aisle wasn't. Oops. (Baked goods are a perfectly acceptable weapon, just ask the child. However, we don't hit our children with baked goods or anything else for that matter. At least not intentionally. Unless it sounds like fun. I mean, snowballs don't count, right?)
Mr. Halloween has a skeleton dog. It was a resin statue planter of a dog holding a flower pot that he fancied up beautifully as only he could, and now we call it "Jaunty". He lives in our pirate room/pub and is a prized possession in our household. (We're weird) A few years ago, I broke him. I cried for a week, but Mr. Fix-It reattached his head and he is back to his former Jauntiness. During a recent trip to the grocery store, I noticed the Easter decor. There were a couple of rather large but incredibly handsome rabbit statues that I felt might need a good home. One of the children suggested that Mr. Great Pumpkin might not approve because A) Halloween is the only true holiday worth spending money on for decorations, and B) he hates decorations that aren't for Halloween. (He enjoys Christmas stuff, too, I guess.) Then she mentioned that he might "pull a Jaunty" on the rabbit. I said (louder than was probably necessary), "your father is not going to kill the rabbit just because I decapitated his dog!". An old man beside me whipped around. "No, no, we glued it back on!" That didn't help as much as I had hoped. "We're vegetarian, we love animals!" Then we left. Quickly.
I did go back for one of the rabbits, though. He is still in one piece and I don't even think Mr. Picky hates him that much. I will get the other rabbit next time. You know, because I do what I want.
Follow up: So, the rabbits sort of went on sale, and now I have a total of 3. They were lonely and sad and desperate for a home. I do what I can to help the sad and homeless holiday decorations.
I manage to blurt out inappropriate things at inopportune times.
The other night we had a bad storm and lost power. So, what do you do when the power is out? Play spades by candlelight, of course.
So, Mr. Cardshark was shuffling the deck and out of my mouth came "so, anyone wanna break out the old planchette and see how Mom's doing?" The older child almost fell out of her chair laughing. I didn't mean to say it, but Mom would have thought it was funny, and I am pretty sure she bought the Ouija board as a Halloween present for us one year. (For those new here, Mom is dead.)
We all got the plague (yeah, yeah, karma for the whole "disrespecting the dead" thing), or maybe it was a mild flu. There was much whining and complaining and napping and complaining and whining, but mostly by me. Everyone else just dealt with it. While still not fully recovered from the plague, we went to the store because stupid Amazon still won't deliver frozen stuff. (I love you Amazon, but I also love ice cream!) The smaller child was bugging me about something. I finally snapped (goofy-frustrated, not angry rage monster Mom) and told her that if she didn't stop (whatever it was) I was going to chuck bagels at her and follow it up with really terrible idle threats. She started laughing because she knew bagels wouldn't hurt, I was in no condition to come up with good idle threats, and she was pretty sure I was kidding. The old woman standing across the aisle wasn't. Oops. (Baked goods are a perfectly acceptable weapon, just ask the child. However, we don't hit our children with baked goods or anything else for that matter. At least not intentionally. Unless it sounds like fun. I mean, snowballs don't count, right?)
 |
| Jaunty, pre-decapitation |
I did go back for one of the rabbits, though. He is still in one piece and I don't even think Mr. Picky hates him that much. I will get the other rabbit next time. You know, because I do what I want.
Follow up: So, the rabbits sort of went on sale, and now I have a total of 3. They were lonely and sad and desperate for a home. I do what I can to help the sad and homeless holiday decorations.
3/2/17
I Kill People..sort of.
I killed Abe Vigoda.
I had forgotten I killed him until I brought up some other person out of the blue and the kids shushed me. "Remember Vigoda!" Seriously, for some reason one night I asked if he was still alive. I have never seen The Godfather, but I did watch Barney Miller with my Dad when I was young. We Googled it and he was alive and well. The next morning he was dead. I would like to apologize to his friends and loved ones.
This has happened to me before, too. I know it is coincidence and I don't actually have death mind or psychic powers, but it is weird. I am sure it happens to people all the time. I still feel really, really bad. At least Mr. Vigoda died in his sleep. Paul Walker didn't get as lucky, not that I am claiming responsibility.
If only I would learn to think before I speak, the world might be a safer place.
Also, someone in my family may or may not have offered me a dollar to talk about a certain young troubled singer because he was a punk and made her mad. Naturally, I turned down the offer and gave her a stern talking to once I stopped laughing because I am a horrible human being. ((What was said wasn't funny, but the fact that it came out of my delicate little flower cracked me up.)) The performer in question is still alive as far as I know, but I am not gonna Google it.
It is not my intention to offend or make light of suffering and loss. It is painful for loved ones regardless of who or how. I would never wish death on anyone, even the really bad people who kick puppies. (The obvious solution there is torture.) I cried when I heard about Fish. While I make mean comments on a daily basis about smacking people upside the head for being dumb, I am not actually going to do it...probably.
But I do what I want...
*UPDATE: Crap. After I wrote this, I killed Chuck Berry, and it only took about 3 hours from mention to death.
I had forgotten I killed him until I brought up some other person out of the blue and the kids shushed me. "Remember Vigoda!" Seriously, for some reason one night I asked if he was still alive. I have never seen The Godfather, but I did watch Barney Miller with my Dad when I was young. We Googled it and he was alive and well. The next morning he was dead. I would like to apologize to his friends and loved ones.
This has happened to me before, too. I know it is coincidence and I don't actually have death mind or psychic powers, but it is weird. I am sure it happens to people all the time. I still feel really, really bad. At least Mr. Vigoda died in his sleep. Paul Walker didn't get as lucky, not that I am claiming responsibility.
If only I would learn to think before I speak, the world might be a safer place.
Also, someone in my family may or may not have offered me a dollar to talk about a certain young troubled singer because he was a punk and made her mad. Naturally, I turned down the offer and gave her a stern talking to once I stopped laughing because I am a horrible human being. ((What was said wasn't funny, but the fact that it came out of my delicate little flower cracked me up.)) The performer in question is still alive as far as I know, but I am not gonna Google it.
Rest in peace, Fish.
It is not my intention to offend or make light of suffering and loss. It is painful for loved ones regardless of who or how. I would never wish death on anyone, even the really bad people who kick puppies. (The obvious solution there is torture.) I cried when I heard about Fish. While I make mean comments on a daily basis about smacking people upside the head for being dumb, I am not actually going to do it...probably.
But I do what I want...
*UPDATE: Crap. After I wrote this, I killed Chuck Berry, and it only took about 3 hours from mention to death.
Six Million Dollar Squirrel Update and Luck
"I believe in luck."
That would be great, but we were talking about investing for retirement at the time.
Anyway, the Wildlife folks came back and removed the traps. There was nothing in the attic and hadn't been for quite some time. They said the tree guy scared the squirrels away. So, basically, I could have stomped around in the attic and put some wood over the hole and saved myself eleventy million dollars twice. Mr. I Told You So is trying really hard NOT to remind me that he said that six million dollars and 3 months ago, which I appreciate.
Now, back to luck.
Was I unlucky because I "wasted" all that money for nothing?
Or was I lucky because no animals were harmed and a tree crisis was averted?
I am gonna go with:
"I am happy it is over and it was only inconvenient, not devastating, and the tree was splitting, anyway."
I will leave luck to traffic jams and pennies on the sidewalk, but nowhere near my retirement funds!
2/22/17
Customer Service
(For the record, I was able to see the humor in this, which is why I am posting it. It is OK to laugh.)
So, both of my parents are now dead. (yes, yes, sorry for your loss, thanks, moving on) My husband insists a 40 something-year-old is not actually called an orphan, but I figure I can say it if I want. Yeah, we have had some pretty weird conversations. ("Well, she's dead so I can return her Christmas gift!") Maybe I will get into the funny family stuff sometime. There are some whoppers in there, like the time I had to drive Mom to the funeral home to make arrangements for Daddy, but hadn't driven an automatic in forever, so trying to back their car out of the drive, between two columns, was a mess. Her seatbelt worked so she didn't actually go through the windshield, and we laughed/cried the rest of the way there. I took back streets, just to be safe. Never did get used to not having a clutch. That doesn't even touch on the adventure that led me to be driving their car....
So, I am trying to get things sorted out. I called a credit card company and explained the situation. The agent was very nice, and we got it sorted out fairly quickly. She asked if I needed any cards left active, and I said no. She made a note that both card holders were deceased. All in all, it wasn't too bad. A couple of weeks later I got a letter in the mail with a credit card...in my Dad's name. Due to the recent death of the account holder, the account has rolled over to the spouse. I called the company and they were very sorry for my loss, read the notes left regarding both account holders being deceased and said they would shut the account if I was sure we wouldn't be using it. There was a zero balance and $19,000 available. I briefly considered using it to buy Mr. Frugal the cute low-mileage used Mini Cooper I saw him looking at online, but didn't do it. So, they shut the account. We shall see, but if they send Mom a card because Dad is dead, I am buying the dumb car. (The parents would totally approve, too. We are probably lucky Dad never got behind the wheel of one of those go-carts!)
I cancelled Mom's cable service for the third time. I explained the situation, telling them both Mom and Daddy were dead and the house was vacant and being prepped for sale. (Mostly a true statement, except those last bits. Not selling it and someone is living there, but otherwise 100% true.) We went through the whole song and dance about death certificates and all that, and the woman explained that they left the account open after Mom died so Dad could enjoy the service. He is more dead than Mom is!! "Yes, I can see that in the notes." Fine. Let's really cancel the account now. "The notes show a return label was sent out for the equipment several weeks ago." Yes, that would be when I cancelled the service during the previous call. "So, your Dad is sure he wants to cancel his service?" I would ask him, BUT HE IS STILL DEAD!!! Everyone is dead! The house is empty! There is NO money to pay the bills!! (thought that one might get her attention.) So she closed the account. She did more typing and more closing of the account and more note taking and I really have no idea why this was so difficult. I felt like we had finally reached an understanding when she offered her condolences on the loss of both of my parents. "Losing both parents at the same time must be so difficult." I didn't correct her, even though Dad has been gone for 3 years. Then she said, addressing me by my mother's name, "before we hang up, what if I told you I could get you and your spouse a special discounted rate to continue your service?" I simply declined and hung up. Then I laughed. I laughed a lot. I know it should have made me super sad to have to say my parents were dead eleventy million times, but each time it just got "stupider and stupider" and it was all I could do not to laugh while I was on the phone. What a circus! I know there is a script and certain rules they follow and retaining clients is paramount and all that but could you just pay a little attention? Please!
A couple of medical bills are still outstanding, so I called the companies and told them that Mom had passed and blah blah blah the estate will pay them blah blah blah... "That's fine, but you should know that if we have to turn this over to a collection agency it could impact your mother's credit score." At least that one caught herself. "Yeah, your Mom probably wouldn't care, would she?"
It is funny. I find myself getting irritated at people for basically using muscle memory and doing what they do a million times a day because they can't remember that Mom is dead...so I hang up and start to call Mom to tell her how funny it is that they can't remember that she is dead...
Yep...I'm an idiot. But she would have thought all of it was funny.
My parents seriously did what they wanted.
My parents seriously did what they wanted.
Outlook Good
So, Mr. Wildlife's team of squirrel-tamers came out. I told them I liked the squirrel and to just leave it. They said they would get in trouble and had driven two hours to get here, so pretty much needed to do the job. I almost started to cry.
I showed them the bare spot where my glorious tree once stood and informed them that their boss was to blame and I still hadn't forgiven him. They reminded me that he wasn't actually going to feed my squirrel to the homeless, so I should give him a break. I showed them the other tree that he wanted to be cut back, and how I rebelled because I do what I want, plus I wanted the squirrels to have an escape route, so Mr. Tree left it. By this point, they were giving each other little looks and stepping back slowly. Obviously intimidated by my rebellious streak and refusal to back down when faced with a bully Wildlife expert. Or they thought I was a bit crazy.
So, they did whatever they do, and fixed this and patched that and messed with that other thing, and then came the time to set the traps. I had been watching the weather for even the slightest change. If the temperature was going to get below 50, the squirrel would get stuck in the cage on the roof and be cold. The guys told me it would be fine. I asked if I could leave it a blanket. They looked at each other and said, "um, I guess...".
Finally, one of the guys told me that they really weren't seeing evidence of anything having used the openings recently. There certainly wasn't any indication that a nest was being built, so chances are they wouldn't catch anything. I was thrilled. He asked if we had heard anything in the attic in the last few weeks since the tree came down. I thought about it and there hadn't been any noises. At all... Then he did the greatest thing ever...or at least the greatest thing I could imagine right then. He said he would use the trap with the missing door for the roof, so it would be a one-way door. Since there wasn't a nest, the squirrel might just go off and squirrel somewhere else. Also, he should me how to open the trap I could reach, but warned me that he wasn't responsible if I got scared releasing the squirrel.(I think he was trying to say that if I got scratched he didn't want to hear about it, but was too nice to come out and say it.)
Once it was all done, we started talking about how I needed to check the traps and let them know if there was anything in them, but they would come by every couple of days, anyway. I asked why they didn't just have a little thing on the cage that notified them when something was in there, or like little webcams? One guy's face lit up. He said he was going to make an app that would message his phone when a trap was full. He said I couldn't steal his idea. I explained that the closest thing I could come to creating the app was to hire neighborhood children to sit up there and call me when something came out. Since that was unlikely to be approved by the HOA or the parents, he was pretty much it as far as Trapper Apps go.
So, it has been almost a week and nary a sound. I have been watching the squirrels, and they are all staying away from the house.I did sort of put the feeders waaaaaaay in the back, tucked behind a tree so no one could see it. Everyone seems very happy with it, and no one comes up to the house. The crew is coming back later this week to remove the traps and finish the job, so the outlook is good.
I will be so glad to have this whole thing done so I can focus on bringing in new plants.
I do what I want...sometimes.
I showed them the bare spot where my glorious tree once stood and informed them that their boss was to blame and I still hadn't forgiven him. They reminded me that he wasn't actually going to feed my squirrel to the homeless, so I should give him a break. I showed them the other tree that he wanted to be cut back, and how I rebelled because I do what I want, plus I wanted the squirrels to have an escape route, so Mr. Tree left it. By this point, they were giving each other little looks and stepping back slowly. Obviously intimidated by my rebellious streak and refusal to back down when faced with a bully Wildlife expert. Or they thought I was a bit crazy.
So, they did whatever they do, and fixed this and patched that and messed with that other thing, and then came the time to set the traps. I had been watching the weather for even the slightest change. If the temperature was going to get below 50, the squirrel would get stuck in the cage on the roof and be cold. The guys told me it would be fine. I asked if I could leave it a blanket. They looked at each other and said, "um, I guess...".
Once it was all done, we started talking about how I needed to check the traps and let them know if there was anything in them, but they would come by every couple of days, anyway. I asked why they didn't just have a little thing on the cage that notified them when something was in there, or like little webcams? One guy's face lit up. He said he was going to make an app that would message his phone when a trap was full. He said I couldn't steal his idea. I explained that the closest thing I could come to creating the app was to hire neighborhood children to sit up there and call me when something came out. Since that was unlikely to be approved by the HOA or the parents, he was pretty much it as far as Trapper Apps go.
So, it has been almost a week and nary a sound. I have been watching the squirrels, and they are all staying away from the house.I did sort of put the feeders waaaaaaay in the back, tucked behind a tree so no one could see it. Everyone seems very happy with it, and no one comes up to the house. The crew is coming back later this week to remove the traps and finish the job, so the outlook is good.
I will be so glad to have this whole thing done so I can focus on bringing in new plants.
I do what I want...sometimes.
2/10/17
Chaos, Destruction, and Death Part III
Death:
Let's just not. It is much easier to complain about tree killers and their evil henchmen and wildlife specialists who like taunting me than focus on real issues. I will say that death certificates do not make good Christmas gifts, so maybe go with a gift card to Lowe's or a Christmas cactus. Everyone loves those.
Cats are fine, the six million dollar squirrel is still with us, nursing homes are wickedly expensive, probate is a pain, and "lawyer" is yet another job I am either unwilling or unable to do.
We can add it to the ever-growing list:
..and diplomat. I am so not diplomatic.
Good thing I can do what I want...and have a good lawyer.
The end...
Let's just not. It is much easier to complain about tree killers and their evil henchmen and wildlife specialists who like taunting me than focus on real issues. I will say that death certificates do not make good Christmas gifts, so maybe go with a gift card to Lowe's or a Christmas cactus. Everyone loves those.
Cats are fine, the six million dollar squirrel is still with us, nursing homes are wickedly expensive, probate is a pain, and "lawyer" is yet another job I am either unwilling or unable to do.
We can add it to the ever-growing list:
- Vet
- Retirement actuarial consultant
- Sentry with the Queen's Guard
- Naval nuclear reactor engineer
- Smokejumper
- Welder
- Sous Chef
- Snake charmer
- Long haul trucker
- Bus driver
- Taxi driver
- Pre-K child wrangler
- Victoria's Secret model
- Role model
- Army general
- Anything involving pneumatic tools
- High-pressure salesman
- Plumber
- Cattle rancher
- Arachnid specialist
- Etiquette advisor
- Butcher
- Portrait painter
- Happy the Clown.
..and diplomat. I am so not diplomatic.
Good thing I can do what I want...and have a good lawyer.
The end...
Chaos, Destruction, and Death Part II
Destruction.
Mr. Tree showed up and we started walking around the house. We weren't even halfway there and he said "uh-oh". I said "no uh-oh. Slight trimming. We are not uh-ohing". Turns out "The Show" is something called "Bradford Pear" and this was not going to end well. Mr. Tree Expert said the tree was near the end of its lifespan and was about to crack. His crew could trim it back like I wanted, but he was fairly certain someone would be back within a couple of months when it cracked, probably landing on my roof. See, once they trimmed it, the tree would be unbalanced and the cracking would actually happen quicker. I asked him if the wood was also going to the hungry so they could have a fire to cook my squirrel? He said it could if I wanted it to.
We talked more. I told him "no" a lot. He said "sorry" a lot. I learned more about "inclusion" than I thought possible. Then I stupidly asked him to walk the rest of the property and show me what else he wanted to kill. Two of the large trees out front, the holly on the side of the house, drastic trimming of the few in the back by the stairs, take the young oak out and seriously cut back the ivy. "Really not that much. You will still have some trees." I laughed right at him. "Are you nuts? I bought this house for the trees! You are not taking my trees!" Then he explained that most of it could wait, but sometime in the next couple of years the ones out front would fall, this one would wreck the roof, that one will damage the foundation and the pipes for the irrigation system, and the other one just looked scraggly. (He's not wrong.) He told me how I could put in other trees that would really look fantastic and this and that and tried to make it look rosy and bright. Murderer.
We decided to start with the one tree. Then I cried. A lot.
Mr. Tree arrived bright and early on Death Day. He brought a band of guys that looked nice and friendly. I told Mr. Tree that they didn't look much like a death squad, so it was probably easy to
sneak up on unsuspecting trees. He said they only hired happy assassins. I told him I changed my mind. He said no. I told him he had better explain to me that the fate of my roof hung in the balance and if I didn't cut this tree down little children in Nepal wouldn't get Christmas and the sun probably wouldn't come back up. He said the kids in Nepal really liked Christmas. "Fine, but you aren't cutting it down. you are going to aggressively trim it...down to the stump. But you are not killing it. Got it?" He directed the death squad to aggressively trim it, but watch the skylights.
Next came the question of what to do with the wood and mulch. There was a rather intimidating chipper in the street, so evidently I could get some wood mulch from the tree and it would be like the circle of life thing and I could still have my tree..sort of. OK, fine. But how much mulch did I want? So, I went inside to ask Mr. Decider (who was Very Busy), and he told me he didn't know, but only taking half a truckload seemed a little silly considering how much I wanted to do around the house with paths and seating. "Just get the whole thing and let me get back to work." Hmmmm...the whole thing. Since I was expecting him to say I shouldn't take any, this was a bit shocking. I told Mr. Tree to dump it all, and he looked at me a little oddly but told the mulcher to put the pile over "there". You might be amazed to know how much wood mulch a small dump truck can hold. The pile was at least 8 feet tall. I couldn't stop laughing. I was like a crazed lunatic in the yard, pointing at the pile with tears rolling own my face. Once I got myself under control, I went inside to find my husband in an absolute rage. He thought I was talking about the F-150 or whatever Mr. Tree was driving. He hadn't noticed the rather large dump truck parked a little farther down. (Remember, he was Very Busy.) Too late now! So I scurried back outside. Mr. Tree asked how far down the trunk I wanted the trimming. I was disinclined to go back inside and face his wrath, so I said, "whatever you think". **When the option to check with someone called "Mr. Decider" presents itself, it is best for everyone involved if you do. ** As you can guess, it didn't go well. Evidently, Mr. Decider and I had spoken about the stump earlier in the week and he told me he wanted it (X) tall. It was now significantly shorter than (X). Mr. Decider and I agreed to never speak of it again.
So, before they left, Mr. Tree got out his personal (and very shiny) chainsaw and cut down the little oak...for my own good...no charge. He said he couldn't let it grow that close to the house. He was right, it was rightupagainstit. I told him his chainsaw was little and cute. He told me my wheelbarrow was childlike and we really needed to get me a bigger one. Low blow, Mister. I told Mr. Tree I had changed my mind and needed him to duct tape the tree back together because I hated not having it. He reminded me that there wasn't enough duct tape in the state to do that, and the kids in Nepal were grateful. Jerk. Mr. Tree sort of kicked the mulch around and told me it was pretty light and I could just pile it on a tarp and drag it where I wanted it. "Should be easy! That'll be eleventy thousand dollars, please." My yard was bare except for a giant pile of wood chips and I was starting to sink into despair, but then he reminded me that we were going to put in new trees. "30-foot tall ones?" He couldn't guarantee that. Double jerk.
Before I continue the story, I would like to say how amazing it was to watch this crew. It was like a ballet...but with chainsaws. We were so impressed. And scared. If they had been using butter knives they wouldn't have been less concerned about the blade. The saw was an extension of them, and between that and the ropes, it was like my personal Cirque du Soleil...of tree death. So, while it was traumatic and horrible and made me hate everything, I couldn't help but be fascinated. We ran around inside like morons trying to get to a window with a better view. I know the guys were laughing at us, but I didn't care. I did make sure to tell the foreman that we weren't inspecting their work, more like acting like groupies and being dumb. He said they knew that.
The next day my youngest and I went out to move mulch. Wow. Not quite as easy as Mr. Tree led me to believe. Oh, and the tarp thing? Yeah, we got some on there, but there was no way it was moving. Mr. Tree stopped by on his way to another job to see how we were doing. I said he was not even my favorite murderer anymore, and the tarp didn't work. He said he meant grown men could move it, but probably not us. Grrr. Then he made some snide comment about my wheelbarrow being the right size for my daughter at least. Jerk. For the record, this was all in good fun and not offensive or mean-spirited at all. Then we talked about his kids and virtual school and going home for Christmas and all sorts of stuff that helped me forget that I had 50 tons of mulch to move.
That night....it rained. Hard. Then it got really cold. Wet wood mulch is even less fun to move when it is 46 degrees outside, but it does do this cool steam thing. (yes, yes, thank you science.) Then there was Christmas, then the New Year, then Bowl games and Playoffs and Superbowl and...now we are getting back to the pile...Just in time for AT&T to come out and plant little flags and spray paint lines where I plan to put more of the mulch. Ugh.
Yesterday I finally called Mr. Wildlife back. I told him it was his fault that my yard was bare and I hated my back porch. I told him it was his fault that my cats have no Show and are bored stiff. (They actually got over it about the time the wood chipper shut down, and now have a better view of the Robins in the leaves. Oh, and more sun. ) I told him if there are baby squirrels the deal is off and I really don't want to do this and please just don't hurt anything. He is coming next week. The plan is for them to Pied Piper anything in the attic out the door, and I am going to plug my ears, sing show tunes and figure out where I want to plant flowers. They are going to make a bunch of noise going up there, and hopefully, the squirrels will be out...squirreling and everything will be fine. And don't tell me if it isn't. Seriously, don't. He has agreed to lie to me for no extra charge.
I am starting to see a pattern of me not getting to do what I want...not good.
Mr. Tree showed up and we started walking around the house. We weren't even halfway there and he said "uh-oh". I said "no uh-oh. Slight trimming. We are not uh-ohing". Turns out "The Show" is something called "Bradford Pear" and this was not going to end well. Mr. Tree Expert said the tree was near the end of its lifespan and was about to crack. His crew could trim it back like I wanted, but he was fairly certain someone would be back within a couple of months when it cracked, probably landing on my roof. See, once they trimmed it, the tree would be unbalanced and the cracking would actually happen quicker. I asked him if the wood was also going to the hungry so they could have a fire to cook my squirrel? He said it could if I wanted it to.
We talked more. I told him "no" a lot. He said "sorry" a lot. I learned more about "inclusion" than I thought possible. Then I stupidly asked him to walk the rest of the property and show me what else he wanted to kill. Two of the large trees out front, the holly on the side of the house, drastic trimming of the few in the back by the stairs, take the young oak out and seriously cut back the ivy. "Really not that much. You will still have some trees." I laughed right at him. "Are you nuts? I bought this house for the trees! You are not taking my trees!" Then he explained that most of it could wait, but sometime in the next couple of years the ones out front would fall, this one would wreck the roof, that one will damage the foundation and the pipes for the irrigation system, and the other one just looked scraggly. (He's not wrong.) He told me how I could put in other trees that would really look fantastic and this and that and tried to make it look rosy and bright. Murderer.
We decided to start with the one tree. Then I cried. A lot.
Mr. Tree arrived bright and early on Death Day. He brought a band of guys that looked nice and friendly. I told Mr. Tree that they didn't look much like a death squad, so it was probably easy to
 |
| The death bringer of tree death killer death...that was going somewhere. This is what they pulled out of the trucks. Honest. Maybe. |
Next came the question of what to do with the wood and mulch. There was a rather intimidating chipper in the street, so evidently I could get some wood mulch from the tree and it would be like the circle of life thing and I could still have my tree..sort of. OK, fine. But how much mulch did I want? So, I went inside to ask Mr. Decider (who was Very Busy), and he told me he didn't know, but only taking half a truckload seemed a little silly considering how much I wanted to do around the house with paths and seating. "Just get the whole thing and let me get back to work." Hmmmm...the whole thing. Since I was expecting him to say I shouldn't take any, this was a bit shocking. I told Mr. Tree to dump it all, and he looked at me a little oddly but told the mulcher to put the pile over "there". You might be amazed to know how much wood mulch a small dump truck can hold. The pile was at least 8 feet tall. I couldn't stop laughing. I was like a crazed lunatic in the yard, pointing at the pile with tears rolling own my face. Once I got myself under control, I went inside to find my husband in an absolute rage. He thought I was talking about the F-150 or whatever Mr. Tree was driving. He hadn't noticed the rather large dump truck parked a little farther down. (Remember, he was Very Busy.) Too late now! So I scurried back outside. Mr. Tree asked how far down the trunk I wanted the trimming. I was disinclined to go back inside and face his wrath, so I said, "whatever you think". **When the option to check with someone called "Mr. Decider" presents itself, it is best for everyone involved if you do. ** As you can guess, it didn't go well. Evidently, Mr. Decider and I had spoken about the stump earlier in the week and he told me he wanted it (X) tall. It was now significantly shorter than (X). Mr. Decider and I agreed to never speak of it again.
So, before they left, Mr. Tree got out his personal (and very shiny) chainsaw and cut down the little oak...for my own good...no charge. He said he couldn't let it grow that close to the house. He was right, it was rightupagainstit. I told him his chainsaw was little and cute. He told me my wheelbarrow was childlike and we really needed to get me a bigger one. Low blow, Mister. I told Mr. Tree I had changed my mind and needed him to duct tape the tree back together because I hated not having it. He reminded me that there wasn't enough duct tape in the state to do that, and the kids in Nepal were grateful. Jerk. Mr. Tree sort of kicked the mulch around and told me it was pretty light and I could just pile it on a tarp and drag it where I wanted it. "Should be easy! That'll be eleventy thousand dollars, please." My yard was bare except for a giant pile of wood chips and I was starting to sink into despair, but then he reminded me that we were going to put in new trees. "30-foot tall ones?" He couldn't guarantee that. Double jerk.
Before I continue the story, I would like to say how amazing it was to watch this crew. It was like a ballet...but with chainsaws. We were so impressed. And scared. If they had been using butter knives they wouldn't have been less concerned about the blade. The saw was an extension of them, and between that and the ropes, it was like my personal Cirque du Soleil...of tree death. So, while it was traumatic and horrible and made me hate everything, I couldn't help but be fascinated. We ran around inside like morons trying to get to a window with a better view. I know the guys were laughing at us, but I didn't care. I did make sure to tell the foreman that we weren't inspecting their work, more like acting like groupies and being dumb. He said they knew that.
The next day my youngest and I went out to move mulch. Wow. Not quite as easy as Mr. Tree led me to believe. Oh, and the tarp thing? Yeah, we got some on there, but there was no way it was moving. Mr. Tree stopped by on his way to another job to see how we were doing. I said he was not even my favorite murderer anymore, and the tarp didn't work. He said he meant grown men could move it, but probably not us. Grrr. Then he made some snide comment about my wheelbarrow being the right size for my daughter at least. Jerk. For the record, this was all in good fun and not offensive or mean-spirited at all. Then we talked about his kids and virtual school and going home for Christmas and all sorts of stuff that helped me forget that I had 50 tons of mulch to move.
That night....it rained. Hard. Then it got really cold. Wet wood mulch is even less fun to move when it is 46 degrees outside, but it does do this cool steam thing. (yes, yes, thank you science.) Then there was Christmas, then the New Year, then Bowl games and Playoffs and Superbowl and...now we are getting back to the pile...Just in time for AT&T to come out and plant little flags and spray paint lines where I plan to put more of the mulch. Ugh.
Yesterday I finally called Mr. Wildlife back. I told him it was his fault that my yard was bare and I hated my back porch. I told him it was his fault that my cats have no Show and are bored stiff. (They actually got over it about the time the wood chipper shut down, and now have a better view of the Robins in the leaves. Oh, and more sun. ) I told him if there are baby squirrels the deal is off and I really don't want to do this and please just don't hurt anything. He is coming next week. The plan is for them to Pied Piper anything in the attic out the door, and I am going to plug my ears, sing show tunes and figure out where I want to plant flowers. They are going to make a bunch of noise going up there, and hopefully, the squirrels will be out...squirreling and everything will be fine. And don't tell me if it isn't. Seriously, don't. He has agreed to lie to me for no extra charge.
I am starting to see a pattern of me not getting to do what I want...not good.
Chaos, Destruction, and Death Part I
Chaos, Destruction, Death. Sounds fun, doesn't it?
First off, the cats are fine. Everyone knows you start there. Cats are fine, kids and husband are fine, and on down the line.
Now that we have that out of the way, let's get on with the story.
PART 1:
Chaos. Remember how I talked about "The Show" and the tree and the yard and the cats and their love of "The Show"? Well, silly me. When you take a tree leaning on your roof and add to it a lovely bird feeder and birdbath, sprinkle in a bit of a drought and an oncoming winter, you get...guests. Yes, we had a squirrel in the attic.Guess part of the stories were true! Stupid me, I thought it was cute because he was warm and cozy and like that pet you just couldn't cuddle. Then the cats noticed him. They started climbing walls and standing on very tall things and risking life and tail to reach the ceiling so they could claw through and play with their friend. The cats were seriously annoyed. So, it was time to do something.
I called a wildlife expert who looked nice and kind and caring on his website. I said I had this issue and wanted the squirrel removed and returned to the yard where he could make a new home and stay out of mine. Under no circumstances was the squirrel to be harmed. Mr. Wildlife Man said of course not, stuff stuff stuff poison inside is illegal...can't kill...relocate...stuff. Phew. OK, so he is a humane wildlife guy. Perfect. They would have to relocate him at least 5 miles away or he will get back in. That stinks, but at least he will be OK. We talked about when and how and my stupid brain kept slipping back to what happens after. I finally blurted it out. "What seriously happens after you take him? Will he survive out there? Maybe we should just leave him be." I got a heavy sigh. "Well. ma'am, that's where it gets a little complicated. See, I actually use them to feed hungry families." My brain said "ACK BLAG GARR WHA WHO ACK GLARB". My mouth made a sound I have been told sounded like a cross between a sick duck and badly played bagpipes. My phone said "HAHAHAHAHAH!Oh, that was a good one!" Mr. Wildlife was practically falling out of his chair laughing at me. I was having a complete meltdown, trying to figure out if I could choose between a squirrel and starving children and maybe I could just buy those people food to save my squirrel and oh, gosh I had no idea! And this guy was LAUGHING. So I started laughing. Holy cow, I did not know what to do with myself, but at least I found someone with a sense of humor who would take care of my "problem". Once my heart stopped racing I found the whole thing absurdly funny.
So, Mr. Wildlife came out to the house to check on my squirrel. I didn't even kick him. We did laugh. I showed him the bird feeder I had right against the house so the cats could see it well. I showed him The Show feeder, hanging in the tree that kept rubbing against the roof. I showed him the pole feeder system I wanted to put up near the big window. Then I asked if I was the dumbest client he had ever had. He said, "Well....would you like me to throw those feeders away or are you gonna?" I told him the whole story about why I bought the house and how The Show was essential and how it was his job to make my house secure from wildlife intrusions. He said, "well, do you wanna throw away the feeders or should I?" Evidently, the feeders had to go. I was devastated. He said that if I felt like I just HAD to have them, I needed to wait 6 months before I put them back out, and then they needed to be at the very edge of the property. I thought that was kind of clever. I don't have a squirrel problem, but my neighbors get one and Mr. Wildlife gets more business. Ha!
He checked everything out, told me he had done some other work in the neighborhood, and I was not alone, and he could handle this pretty easily. (And replace this, patch this, cover that, clean this, do that, and don't forget the other thing.) "That'll be eleventy thousand dollars, please. Oh, and that tree in the back? Yeah, it has to be trimmed way back before my guys can do anything." Um, that is "The Show" tree, so no. "Well, enjoy your squirrel." At this point my Google research popped back into my head with visions of the house on fire and children with rabies and all the other things the evil internet suggested could happen. Mr.Wildlife gave me a general idea of what he needed, told me it was best for the house and to prevent additional guests, and asked me to give him a call when it was done. Ugh, Fine.
So, I called Mr. Tree Specialist. I explained my situation, told him that I wanted as little removed from the tree as possible, and maybe he could call Mr. Wildlife to discuss. Then I told him about the starving people and how Mr. Wildlife thinks I am an idiot. Mr. Tree also thought it was hysterically funny, but decided to come out and take a look around before he called Mr. Wildlife.
Next stop: Destruction!
First off, the cats are fine. Everyone knows you start there. Cats are fine, kids and husband are fine, and on down the line.
Now that we have that out of the way, let's get on with the story.
PART 1:
Chaos. Remember how I talked about "The Show" and the tree and the yard and the cats and their love of "The Show"? Well, silly me. When you take a tree leaning on your roof and add to it a lovely bird feeder and birdbath, sprinkle in a bit of a drought and an oncoming winter, you get...guests. Yes, we had a squirrel in the attic.Guess part of the stories were true! Stupid me, I thought it was cute because he was warm and cozy and like that pet you just couldn't cuddle. Then the cats noticed him. They started climbing walls and standing on very tall things and risking life and tail to reach the ceiling so they could claw through and play with their friend. The cats were seriously annoyed. So, it was time to do something.
 |
| Not the culprit, rather a cutie I photographed several houses ago. |
I called a wildlife expert who looked nice and kind and caring on his website. I said I had this issue and wanted the squirrel removed and returned to the yard where he could make a new home and stay out of mine. Under no circumstances was the squirrel to be harmed. Mr. Wildlife Man said of course not, stuff stuff stuff poison inside is illegal...can't kill...relocate...stuff. Phew. OK, so he is a humane wildlife guy. Perfect. They would have to relocate him at least 5 miles away or he will get back in. That stinks, but at least he will be OK. We talked about when and how and my stupid brain kept slipping back to what happens after. I finally blurted it out. "What seriously happens after you take him? Will he survive out there? Maybe we should just leave him be." I got a heavy sigh. "Well. ma'am, that's where it gets a little complicated. See, I actually use them to feed hungry families." My brain said "ACK BLAG GARR WHA WHO ACK GLARB". My mouth made a sound I have been told sounded like a cross between a sick duck and badly played bagpipes. My phone said "HAHAHAHAHAH!Oh, that was a good one!" Mr. Wildlife was practically falling out of his chair laughing at me. I was having a complete meltdown, trying to figure out if I could choose between a squirrel and starving children and maybe I could just buy those people food to save my squirrel and oh, gosh I had no idea! And this guy was LAUGHING. So I started laughing. Holy cow, I did not know what to do with myself, but at least I found someone with a sense of humor who would take care of my "problem". Once my heart stopped racing I found the whole thing absurdly funny.
So, Mr. Wildlife came out to the house to check on my squirrel. I didn't even kick him. We did laugh. I showed him the bird feeder I had right against the house so the cats could see it well. I showed him The Show feeder, hanging in the tree that kept rubbing against the roof. I showed him the pole feeder system I wanted to put up near the big window. Then I asked if I was the dumbest client he had ever had. He said, "Well....would you like me to throw those feeders away or are you gonna?" I told him the whole story about why I bought the house and how The Show was essential and how it was his job to make my house secure from wildlife intrusions. He said, "well, do you wanna throw away the feeders or should I?" Evidently, the feeders had to go. I was devastated. He said that if I felt like I just HAD to have them, I needed to wait 6 months before I put them back out, and then they needed to be at the very edge of the property. I thought that was kind of clever. I don't have a squirrel problem, but my neighbors get one and Mr. Wildlife gets more business. Ha!
He checked everything out, told me he had done some other work in the neighborhood, and I was not alone, and he could handle this pretty easily. (And replace this, patch this, cover that, clean this, do that, and don't forget the other thing.) "That'll be eleventy thousand dollars, please. Oh, and that tree in the back? Yeah, it has to be trimmed way back before my guys can do anything." Um, that is "The Show" tree, so no. "Well, enjoy your squirrel." At this point my Google research popped back into my head with visions of the house on fire and children with rabies and all the other things the evil internet suggested could happen. Mr.Wildlife gave me a general idea of what he needed, told me it was best for the house and to prevent additional guests, and asked me to give him a call when it was done. Ugh, Fine.
So, I called Mr. Tree Specialist. I explained my situation, told him that I wanted as little removed from the tree as possible, and maybe he could call Mr. Wildlife to discuss. Then I told him about the starving people and how Mr. Wildlife thinks I am an idiot. Mr. Tree also thought it was hysterically funny, but decided to come out and take a look around before he called Mr. Wildlife.
Next stop: Destruction!
7/6/16
Dill Kitten
My small child insists Scout smells like pretzels. I sort of get where she is coming from, but it isn't exactly pretzel. A couple of weeks ago, Jem started to smell like pickles. It took me much longer than it should have to figure out why...
Evidently, if you replant your Earthbox, place it in a sunny spot, and forget to use the mulch cover thing, it qualifies as a cat bed. So much for the dill. He did come back to crush the parsley and eventually the cucumbers, but at least he used it as a bed and not a litter box.
I am now going to re-re-plant the boxes, only I will use the covers this time. Little Man does what he wants, but maybe the covers will make the box less inviting.
5/24/16
The Great Pine Straw Adventure 2016
The Great Pine Straw Adventure of 2016
I grew up in a state where we used mulch to edge flower beds and such. We had both regular wood mulch and some rubber mulch for around the playground equipment. Seems kids don't like falling on pointy chunks of wood. Wimps. Anyway, there were also pine trees on the property, so I spent as much time pulling pine needles out of the mulch as I did weeding out the garden. It was a mini obsession. When we moved to this neighborhood (in a different state), I discovered people here prefer pine straw to mulch. It made so much sense when I actually thought about it, since pine straw can be obtained without damaging trees, is much cheaper, comes in bales and NOT in plastic bags, and it actually breaks down to fertilize the soil. I guess if you have pine trees maybe you don't want to landscape with pine needles because you would just look like you hadn't raked the yard, so you go with mulch so people can tell you care. If you don't have many, or any, pine trees, then you are safe to go the cheaper route. All these "rules"!
When we first moved in, I decided to order fresh pine straw to brighten the existing beds. For the first week, I freaked out every time I looked out the window because what my brain said should be mulch was covered in the hated pine straw. I finally got accustomed to seeing it, just about the time the leaves started to fall. See, I also come from a state that doesn't have seasons, so I forgot fall actually meant "fall" in some places, and two weeks after it was delivered, my pine straw was being buried in leaves. Grrr. I felt so dumb. I bet my neighbors got quite the chuckle out of watching the newbie waste money....but not this year!
This time around, I ordered the pine straw early. OK, I should have ordered it at the beginning of April, and it is mid-May, but still not fall. I placed the order online Saturday morning, and they advised it would be 5-7 days for delivery, or up to 6 weeks if I wanted them to install it. Having watched a professional crew lay it last Autumn in a matter of minutes, I figured I would do it myself. Sounded both fun and way cheaper. My mom ordered me the wheelbarrow/dolly thing from Amazon, but unfortunately, the original wheelbarrow got lost somewhere in Kentucky, so Amazon had to ship me a new one. This meant that instead of arriving on Sunday, the wheelbarrow wouldn't arrive until Wednesday. Shouldn't matter, since I wasn't expecting pine straw until Thursday at the earliest, so I would still have plenty of time to assemble it and all that. Naturally, Monday morning the pine straw folks had a delivery to make on our street, so they tossed my stuff on the same truck and I got it less than 48 hours after I placed the order, well ahead of my predicted Thursday (best case) arrival. This thrilled me to my toes until I realized...no wheelbarrow. So, pine straw but no wheelbarrow just means more work, and as problems go, I am still a pretty lucky monkey. On with the show.
There was this lovely pine straw calculator online that allowed you to put in square footage, and it would tell you how many bales you needed. Since I am adding a new bed to the back, and I am not totally sure how large I want it, I decided to order what I knew I needed, plus some, for a total of 60 bales. With only a $5 delivery fee, I could always order more. You know something? 60 bales of pine straw stacked in your front yard is a little intimidating, especially when you are looking at hauling it without the benefit of a fancy wheelbarrow. Nonetheless, I pulled on my official yard work uniform (nasty t-shirt, jeans, boots, gloves, and a baseball cap) and headed out. I've learned a couple of very important things: I am super lucky to live where the high was 76 degrees at 2 pm, and pine straw does, in fact, weigh less than mulch...even though after hauling my 40th bale I was beginning to wonder. Also, a crew of trained professionals can do the yard in no time flat, but being neither a crew nor a professional, it took me considerably longer. However, I got probably 30 bales down, and the rest moved around to the side/back of the house...by hand...all in one afternoon.
My youngest child did "assist" by building a pretty cool bunker out of half the bales and a moving blanket. Not sure it was a ton of help, but it was pretty funny. I tell you, I was so exhausted by the time I got the stuff installed that I wasn't interested in moving the rest around back..and then the smallest of the small ones started talking about how she would help more when the wheelbarrow arrived, because going down the hill IN it would be awesome, and she was sure pine straw made excellent air bags. I suddenly found the motivation to haul the rest around the house and down the hill, thereby hopefully avoiding the whole wheelbarrow kamikaze experience. I am sure there will be other reasons to attempt it, but crisis averted this time.
Update: Wheelbarrow arrived, was assembled, and tested by the cats. When they finally got bored, I decided to take it outside to test it myself. Pretty awesome. Then I saw some weeds desperately in need of whacking, so when the small child asked if she could haul some rocks for me, I thought nothing of it. 30 seconds later I heard giggling and squealing and knew that the child was now accompanied by at least one other child, and they were careening down the hill. I told them they couldn't ride down the hill because it was dangerous and because the other neighbors didn't want to hear them screaming. About 7 minutes later I was knocking on the neighbor's door because her child was bleeding on my bench. Seems when I said they couldn't go down the hill in the wheelbarrow, they took that to mean they should go down the driveway, instead. Poor kid tried to stop herself from running into the back of our car, and her foot got stuck between it and the wheelbarrow. Soooo much blood. I felt horrible, but the child was back to playing about 20 minutes later. No stitches. What a trooper.
So, there are stacks of pine straw bales along the back of the house, and now it is raining. All three weather apps on my phone predict more rain this week. (And Weather Kittens are never wrong!) I guess if I can't go outside to play with my pine straw I can start looking into the sod vs. seed options for the remaining "lawn space" out front. Mr. Man thinks we could actually grow some grass out back, despite everyone saying there is too much shade. I WILL grow grass because I do what I want.
I grew up in a state where we used mulch to edge flower beds and such. We had both regular wood mulch and some rubber mulch for around the playground equipment. Seems kids don't like falling on pointy chunks of wood. Wimps. Anyway, there were also pine trees on the property, so I spent as much time pulling pine needles out of the mulch as I did weeding out the garden. It was a mini obsession. When we moved to this neighborhood (in a different state), I discovered people here prefer pine straw to mulch. It made so much sense when I actually thought about it, since pine straw can be obtained without damaging trees, is much cheaper, comes in bales and NOT in plastic bags, and it actually breaks down to fertilize the soil. I guess if you have pine trees maybe you don't want to landscape with pine needles because you would just look like you hadn't raked the yard, so you go with mulch so people can tell you care. If you don't have many, or any, pine trees, then you are safe to go the cheaper route. All these "rules"!
When we first moved in, I decided to order fresh pine straw to brighten the existing beds. For the first week, I freaked out every time I looked out the window because what my brain said should be mulch was covered in the hated pine straw. I finally got accustomed to seeing it, just about the time the leaves started to fall. See, I also come from a state that doesn't have seasons, so I forgot fall actually meant "fall" in some places, and two weeks after it was delivered, my pine straw was being buried in leaves. Grrr. I felt so dumb. I bet my neighbors got quite the chuckle out of watching the newbie waste money....but not this year!
This time around, I ordered the pine straw early. OK, I should have ordered it at the beginning of April, and it is mid-May, but still not fall. I placed the order online Saturday morning, and they advised it would be 5-7 days for delivery, or up to 6 weeks if I wanted them to install it. Having watched a professional crew lay it last Autumn in a matter of minutes, I figured I would do it myself. Sounded both fun and way cheaper. My mom ordered me the wheelbarrow/dolly thing from Amazon, but unfortunately, the original wheelbarrow got lost somewhere in Kentucky, so Amazon had to ship me a new one. This meant that instead of arriving on Sunday, the wheelbarrow wouldn't arrive until Wednesday. Shouldn't matter, since I wasn't expecting pine straw until Thursday at the earliest, so I would still have plenty of time to assemble it and all that. Naturally, Monday morning the pine straw folks had a delivery to make on our street, so they tossed my stuff on the same truck and I got it less than 48 hours after I placed the order, well ahead of my predicted Thursday (best case) arrival. This thrilled me to my toes until I realized...no wheelbarrow. So, pine straw but no wheelbarrow just means more work, and as problems go, I am still a pretty lucky monkey. On with the show.
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| The Great Wall of Pine Straw |
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| Bunker with moving blanket roof. |
Update: Wheelbarrow arrived, was assembled, and tested by the cats. When they finally got bored, I decided to take it outside to test it myself. Pretty awesome. Then I saw some weeds desperately in need of whacking, so when the small child asked if she could haul some rocks for me, I thought nothing of it. 30 seconds later I heard giggling and squealing and knew that the child was now accompanied by at least one other child, and they were careening down the hill. I told them they couldn't ride down the hill because it was dangerous and because the other neighbors didn't want to hear them screaming. About 7 minutes later I was knocking on the neighbor's door because her child was bleeding on my bench. Seems when I said they couldn't go down the hill in the wheelbarrow, they took that to mean they should go down the driveway, instead. Poor kid tried to stop herself from running into the back of our car, and her foot got stuck between it and the wheelbarrow. Soooo much blood. I felt horrible, but the child was back to playing about 20 minutes later. No stitches. What a trooper.
So, there are stacks of pine straw bales along the back of the house, and now it is raining. All three weather apps on my phone predict more rain this week. (And Weather Kittens are never wrong!) I guess if I can't go outside to play with my pine straw I can start looking into the sod vs. seed options for the remaining "lawn space" out front. Mr. Man thinks we could actually grow some grass out back, despite everyone saying there is too much shade. I WILL grow grass because I do what I want.
5/18/16
I Got a Present..or Two..or Three!
So, Mother's Day was a couple of weeks ago. I may not be Mother of the Year, but I think I got her gifts by accident! Are you sitting down? Brace yourself...my family gave me a cordless weed whacker and a cordless hedge trimmer! And their batteries are interchangeable! Go ahead, roll your eyes. You can even do that little groan thing because you think I should have gotten brunch and a new bonnet. (There is another post waiting in the wings about gift giving so I won't get into it right now...) I was thrilled. Not in the "it is a gift so I need to pretend" sort of way because I really wanted something pretty from Jimmy Choo, but in the real and true "this is spectacular and all mine and if you touch it I will bite your hand off " sort of way. Forget the "One Ring", that weed whacker is my precious.
Let me tell you, as soon as that battery was charged, out I went. I weed whacked until my arms wouldn't work. Had the battery not finally drained down, I would have whacked weeds and edged edges until I collapsed. It was SO MUCH FUN! Of course, I started out timidly, afraid to cut too close to the ground. And there was a little "oops" in the front ivy, sort of like when you cut your bangs a little too short on the left side and have to let it grow out, so it is gonna look weird for a week or so, but we're talking ivy so it will grow back pretty quickly. I still haven't tried the hedge trimmer. Since our hedge is in desperate need of a trim and is a complete monster, Mr. Manly asked that I wait until he can assist/supervise before I tackle it. I had used the old electric trimmer, but this one is fancier and a little scary. Also, I am 5'3" tall, and the hedge is over 9". Evidently, the HOA frowns upon blood splatter on the driveway, and I guess if I "oops" with the trimmer, we could be in for a nasty-gram or a fine or something. Oh, and I would likely bleed out and scar the neighborhood children for life. Whatever.
Between Mother's Day and today, my pine straw got delivered. More on that next post, because it is a bit of a story.. but aren't most things? I can never seem to just say "I'm fine". It has to be "today this thing happened and it was funny except I am telling it badly and you had to be there but you weren't so I guess I am fine despite all that even if you don't get what I am trying to say because I don't speak English so much as gibberish." Anyone else do that?
Today, my newest toy arrived! I got this really genius wheelbarrow/dolly thing. (Thanks, Mom!!) The small child is so irritated because she says she came up with the idea last year using our dolly and a cardboard box, but her's was more "ride down the hill to my doom" and less "dirt and mulch hauler." Anyway, this one has replaced the cardboard box with something that looks like a kitchen sink, at least in the photo. I haven't put it together, yet, but that is Task #1 for tomorrow morning. I think I scared the UPS man when he delivered it, though. The child had gotten a new Chubby Puppy toy as a reward for "helping" with the pine straw, and it came in the same delivery as my new toy, so naturally I elbowed her out of the way in the race to the curb. UPS driver gave me a weird look. I told him she would be fine and all that really mattered was my wheelbarrow was here. (The UPS guy is new. My FedEx guy knows me well enough now not to be surprised when I almost hug him for bringing my weed whacker or some other random yard whatsit. UPS guy will learn. He seems bright.)
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| Somehow my wheelbarrow turned into a potential Scout bed. I suspect she had help. |
So, between these lovelies and my fancy tools from Christmas, I am ready to take on any yard. However, as I have been forced to explain on numerous occasions, in this I have no delusions: I have enthusiasm, but maybe not so much in the way of skill. The landscaper I used last year told me that interest was actually more important because you can always learn to do something if you are enthusiastic. I think he may have just said that because I hadn't paid him, yet, but I choose to believe he was being honest. OK, so I have some delusions..but who cares? I do what I want.
Spring has Sprung, and It Brought Friends!
So, I haven't updated the blog in a couple of months due to technical difficulties, travel, and not a lot to talk about. However, I have a new Chromebook, we are home, and I have dumb thoughts to share! (And there was much rejoicing...)
The backyard population has had a spring surge. I have gone from a squirrel to 3, a couple of chipmunks to several, and my cardinal has a harem.
There are also other birds that I don't recognize. I need a good bird book for our portion of the state, or a good app on my phone that lets me snap a photo and tells me what bird it is, what they eat, where they nest, etc. I think I read somewhere that there is some app that lets you take photos of shoes and then tells you where you can buy them. Wizardry, I tell you, but if that works, why can't they do it for wildlife? Maybe they just really want the technology to identify mystery shoes, but haven't pulled it off, yet. Or, maybe I just made that up as wishful thinking but made it about shoes because I don't think I deserve to have something so magical benefit me...other than the elves that live in my phone and run text messages back and forth. Ahem..anyway, I need a quick and fool-proof way for identifying birds, because it seems like every week a new bird pops by. Unfortunately, the new birds either move too quickly that I can't get a good look, or they fly away long before I can navigate through my copy of Sibley's. I guess there are very cool people that can identify birds by their song, but since I still can't identify musical artists by their songs, even ones I really, really like, I don't know that there is much hope for me. .....
An episode of Dr. Who came on and one of the characters said he really loved ELO, but the song that was playing was one I always thought was by the Beatles. I am a failure. Just don't tell Mr. Music Snob that I still get confused by the whole ZZTop / Lynyrd Skynyrd thing. I mean, I know they aren't the same, and I am pretty sure ZZTop guys have beards because one of them was Angela's dad on Bones, but I seriously can't remember which songs go with which band, even though I am almost positive I like both. I haven't watched television in years so he may not be her Dad anymore. Billy Idol might be her Dad, or someone from Lynard Skynard paid Mr. ZZ top to pretend to be her Dad, in which case she might need therapy with Sweets. I probably screwed all that up and now feel the need to binge watch Bones on Netflix.
And none of that has anything to do with my yard or birds or cats or anything terribly relevant, but then again...I do what I want.
3/4/16
Miss Bella
Miss Bella owns our neighborhood. I mean, we bought our house, but the actual neighborhood belongs to Bella. She is quite pretty, super sweet, and most people can't help but love her. However, she is a bit odd. She's that neighbor that just assumes you are available, regardless of the hour. It never occurs to her that you might be in the middle of an important phone call, eating dinner, or even bleeding because the kitchen attacked you. You will still drop what you are doing, staunch your wound, and attend her because you are living on her land and she feels entitled to your adulation. There are days when you might have the weird feeling that someone is watching you, and sure enough, Bella is in the middle of the backyard, glaring at the house. There have been times when I have felt the tingle on the back of my neck, only to turn around and find Bella on the front porch, her face literally half an inch from the window, just staring at me. If she was prone to wearing weird Halloween masks, I would have died of fright at least 3 times. I have heard stories about how Bella will just walk into your home and curl up on the sofa, or better yet, stretch out on your bed, and make herself at home. She hasn't done that to us, yet, but I have sort of seen it once. My friend and I were on her porch, talking about something random when sweet Bella strolled right by and into the open front door. We just stood there in shock as she got about 8 feet down the hall. Unfortunately for Bella, there are two very large dogs that live there, and they came thundering around the corner, convinced they were being invaded by enemy hoards who must die. (There is a gate that prevents them from actually going down that hallway, so she was in no real danger, but I admit they are still intimidating.) Bella flew out of the house, down the stairs, and into the hedge, shooting us a nasty look as she went by. See, Bella is a cat...
...and Jem HATES her. My boy is the sweetest thing ever, but he hates her with a passion. If you have read previous posts, you might remember the cat who lured my sweet boy out into the backyard..that was Bella. And she knows he hates her. She not only knows it, she relishes it. She loves nothing more than to get us outside, doing her bidding, while he watches from the window. She rolls around in the grass, loves up on us and tells us stories, and basically acts like a total show off. The entire time, he is clawing frantically at the glass, howling, at least as much as his little boy voice allows. It is as if he is trapped in a burning building. She will glance up at him and purr/growl in her weird little way.
Scout is not a fan, either. She typically pulls a "Bella" and finds a window where she can just sit quietly...staring...and passing judgment on us for fraternizing with the enemy. If Jem happens to go crashing into the room where Scout sits, he will flip out at her, and I will have to vacuum up enough loose fur to make another cat. She is nowhere near as crazed as her brother, but still not a fan. I think eventually Bella and Scout might be able to live in the same house, as long as each of them had their own floor, with maybe a floor between them. I am fairly certain Jem would pull the house down.
Several months ago, Jem caught sight of Bella while he was sitting in the sunroom (we had already reinforced it after his original Bella sighting and subsequent chase). As usual, he lost his mind. My teenager tried to convince him to go inside and calm down. She will likely wear the scars on her arm forever. I am not kidding. She came walking up to me with blood dripping down her arm, babbling something about cats. Being 'Mother of the Year' that I am, I ignored her and immediately turned my attention to the cats. Poor kid. We would eventually laugh about it, but I think she gladly would have kicked me if she hadn't been trying so hard not to become completely hysterical. Two weeks later, my sweet gifted child once again tried to remove an angry Jem from his perch while he was attempting to rain death down upon Bella, only this time he got her neck. Those scars have mostly faded. This is what happens when children grow up in a household with an unhinged mother who thinks every action by a cat requires discussion, applause, or panic. I am an idiot, and my children believe they are second class citizens behind the cats.
This afternoon, my younger child gave up on her dream of getting a dog and decided she wanted her own cat. This despite the fact that traitor Jem often curls up with her on the bed and acts like he is HER cat. She kept making cat puns and giving me sad eyes and the whole shebang. I am a sucker for cats, and she knows it. So, I proposed this: she can get a kitten when she convinces Jem to be friends with Bella. Since she hasn't personally experienced the terror that is a Bella / Jem encounter just yet, she gladly accepted the deal and started thinking of names. Meanwhile, the older child was standing behind her laughing her head off, mostly because she knows it will never happen.
You can't tame the beasts...they do what they want.
...and Jem HATES her. My boy is the sweetest thing ever, but he hates her with a passion. If you have read previous posts, you might remember the cat who lured my sweet boy out into the backyard..that was Bella. And she knows he hates her. She not only knows it, she relishes it. She loves nothing more than to get us outside, doing her bidding, while he watches from the window. She rolls around in the grass, loves up on us and tells us stories, and basically acts like a total show off. The entire time, he is clawing frantically at the glass, howling, at least as much as his little boy voice allows. It is as if he is trapped in a burning building. She will glance up at him and purr/growl in her weird little way.
Scout is not a fan, either. She typically pulls a "Bella" and finds a window where she can just sit quietly...staring...and passing judgment on us for fraternizing with the enemy. If Jem happens to go crashing into the room where Scout sits, he will flip out at her, and I will have to vacuum up enough loose fur to make another cat. She is nowhere near as crazed as her brother, but still not a fan. I think eventually Bella and Scout might be able to live in the same house, as long as each of them had their own floor, with maybe a floor between them. I am fairly certain Jem would pull the house down.
Several months ago, Jem caught sight of Bella while he was sitting in the sunroom (we had already reinforced it after his original Bella sighting and subsequent chase). As usual, he lost his mind. My teenager tried to convince him to go inside and calm down. She will likely wear the scars on her arm forever. I am not kidding. She came walking up to me with blood dripping down her arm, babbling something about cats. Being 'Mother of the Year' that I am, I ignored her and immediately turned my attention to the cats. Poor kid. We would eventually laugh about it, but I think she gladly would have kicked me if she hadn't been trying so hard not to become completely hysterical. Two weeks later, my sweet gifted child once again tried to remove an angry Jem from his perch while he was attempting to rain death down upon Bella, only this time he got her neck. Those scars have mostly faded. This is what happens when children grow up in a household with an unhinged mother who thinks every action by a cat requires discussion, applause, or panic. I am an idiot, and my children believe they are second class citizens behind the cats.
This afternoon, my younger child gave up on her dream of getting a dog and decided she wanted her own cat. This despite the fact that traitor Jem often curls up with her on the bed and acts like he is HER cat. She kept making cat puns and giving me sad eyes and the whole shebang. I am a sucker for cats, and she knows it. So, I proposed this: she can get a kitten when she convinces Jem to be friends with Bella. Since she hasn't personally experienced the terror that is a Bella / Jem encounter just yet, she gladly accepted the deal and started thinking of names. Meanwhile, the older child was standing behind her laughing her head off, mostly because she knows it will never happen.
You can't tame the beasts...they do what they want.
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