Random Acts of Blogging

The hardest thing about being a daily (er ... weekdaily?) blogger is not coming up with ideas.  No, funny stuff happens to me all the time.  The hardest part is coming up with cohesive stories I can tell you in more than one paragraph and in only one sitting.

The second hardest thing is not getting stuck in a rut when my life gets stuck in a rut.  We all have that from time to time, don't we?  This problem isn't exclusive to any occupation.  Some days, if you have to get up and do the (insert monotonous task) one more day, you might fall over from sheer bordeom.  Even if you aren't bored quite yet, after so many days of the same thing, sometimes finding an original blog entry can be a challenge.

Take my past two weeks, for example.  I have been rather dominated by two primary tasks - getting my kid to poop on the potty so we can declare daytime potty training over, and getting ready for a garage sale next month.  Of course, if I weren't stuck in or near the house for the first one, I would probably not be bothering too much with the second one, but that's life.  Anyway, most of what ends up happening around here these days involves potty stories and stories about dirt and junk.  Sure, poop, dirt, and junk have their moments, but I think I have used up all of those moments for several years to come.  I don't doubt that most of you are bored with those topics, because, candidly, I am bored with those topics. 

So, on days like this, as I think I have said before in this blog, the best we can do is to embrace the randomness.  Like this:

Big Black Cat just came down the stairs, yowling like he was sitting on the fence outside his girlfriend's litterbox just waiting for a date.  (Not that he is interested in that sort of thing anymore, I should add.)  Once upon a time, I used to think this horrible cat-erwauling sound was the sign of a feline in the house about to drop dead of some fit, but now I know the truth.  I know that Big Black Cat has triumphed over a mean and viscious predator, and he is waiting in the entranceway for me to come and praise his fighting and pouncing ability.  He only graces us with this performance once every few months, so we should enjoy the moment when it comes.  Today's prey?  A green spongy bath toy he found in Toddler's bathroom.  He even managed to drop it in front of me without leaving any teeth marks -- he's just that good.

Today, I have finally decided to embrace the great Easter egg decoration tradition.  I know -- for you Easter was last week, but I wasn't organized enough to get this post up last week, so you'll have to read about it this week.  I have the vinegar, the egg dye kit, and I know where the coffee cups are.  Yet, I hesitate.  Me and a not quite three-year old working around food dye, eggs, and ceramics ... I think I might very well be nuts.

Of course, thinking about Easter egg kits makes me think of my own childhood, and how I begged my mother to please buy me the  ... let's call it the "Humpty Dumpty" Easter Egg decorating kit I saw on TV every day.  (Yes, that's a fake name, in case you didn't catch on.)  The Humpty Dumpty kit was the only one I wanted because it made neat blotchy egss from shaking (I think.  That was a long time ago.)  Either way, my mom bought the classic ... let's call it "Paws" kit that year.  She probably bought them because they were what she knew, and in the small town we lived in, Humpty Dumpty probably hadn't yet made it to the shelves.  Either way, I was disappointed.  Interestingly enough, while I was shopping for my own supplies this year, I was bemused to note that in at least one store, I found only Humpty Dumpty kits and no Paws.  Of course, I didn't find a single kit anywhere that had any Mickey Mouse Clubhouse characters involved.  Marvel Comics? Sure.  Disney Princesses?  Absolutely.  Mickey Mouse?  No, sir.  As an avid Mouse Fan and mother of an even bigger Mouse Fan, I remain disappointed.  Oh, well.  I'm sure they will come out with them around the time Toddler has moved on to prefer Spiderman.  Life has a way of working out like that.

On to other fun topics, we have finally finished getting our back yard regraded and drained, with all the downspouts and sump pumps hooked together in an underground system running to the nearest municipal drainage ditch ... just in time for the gutters to fall off the house from the damage from the last few storms.  Of course, no gutter guys are returning our calls, because everone else's gutters have fallen off, too.  No one installed gutters rated for two 20 inch snowfalls and general rain forest conditions in Virginia.  One guy did stop by the other day to talk about gutters.  He was going door to door, trying to sell me on his gutter-replacement services like I didn't know that having the wood rot and the trenches dangling from the roof was a bad thing.  (Yeah, I knew that.)  My question?  If he is that good, how come he is the only gutter guy going door to door these days when everyone else is too busy actually doing jobs to bother to return phone calls?  Yeah.  That.

Moving on ... I think a scientific miracle might be happening in my garage.  I think the cardboard boxes in my garage are actually multiplying.  I take them out on recycling day, but I always seem to find more the next week than the week before.  No matter how hard I try, though, I cannot think of any good biological reason why boxes would want to multiply so effectively in a contained space, and I am forced to wonder if perhaps Entropy has played an April Fool's Day joke on me ... except it never stops.

Finally, as I am typing this paragraph, Big Black Cat has once again triumphed over his green sponge and is yowling at me to come tell him what a good job he has done, once again, in defending this family.  I think now is as good a time as any to end today's post.

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Do You Smell That?

We took a quick 3 day trip to the deep South last week. With such a short trip, especially over the weekend, there is a whole lot less you have to do to get ready. I'm still of the philosophy that everything should be neat and clean before you leave so you don't get discouraged when you get home, but there is only so much I can do in this family. I mean, after all, pets and a small child live here.

When we finally got home, it was very late, and we were tired. The yard was looking a little long in the tooth when we left, but with all the rain (you know what I mean), there wasn't a whole lot we could do about it. Obviously, the rain continued while we were gone. I know this because the tarps covering the kid's playset were sunk under the weight of about a foot of water, the yard was a yard deep, and my mother called me while I was gone to say it was still raining.

We opened up the door, came inside, carried the sleeping bub upstairs, and looked around. Something wasn't right. "Do you smell that?" I asked Darling Husband. He said, "I was about to ask you the same thing." It isn't the toddler, and it doesn't smell like the cats." (These are the first two things a parent and pet owner blame -- the diaper, and the pets.) Oh boy. What fun! We were about to embark on a potentially lengthy game of "Find the Funk."

The Funk was apparent the moment we opened the door, but it permeated the entire house. We couldn't even find a point of origin, and it smelled like mold. Ooh, this was going to be a good one. Where could it be? What could it be?

Check the litter. Nope. No spills, near misses. Empty the litter. Nothing improves. We did find three hairballs in three different rooms, but cleaning those up had no effect on the smell. Hmm.

Cat food bowls. Okay, they are looking a little bit green after three days. Maybe that's it. Soak bowls in sink, and odor improves. Keep looking.

It has been raining for years now ... maybe the air conditioner needs to run a little higher. Okay, turn it up. We can sleep under blankets tonight. Smell diffuses, but it doesn't go away.

By now its midnight, and we're beat. So, we retire and hope for the best. By morning, nothing has changed. Still Funky. The game continues.

Cat accident in the corner ... okay, we missed that last night. Still no improvement. Open dishwasher to put in cat dishes. YIKES! Can dishes really mold in 3 days? Obviously, in this rainforest, it can. Hmm. I think we're on to something. Wash dishes again. Okay, that's much better.

But wait ... there is still Funk. Check garbage. Nope. Not that. Refrigerator? Ummm, don't go there. I'm sure that isn't it. Feed baby, spill baby food on self, remove shirt, pretreat, open laundry machine ... wait. How long have those towels been in there?

Hopefully by running the dishwasher and doing the laundry again we have finally finished the game of "Find the Funk." I sure hope so. I'm running out of ideas, and we are out of scented candles.

Now, what to do about that yard? Well, by this time I think we have few options. I could call for an early hay bailing. Instead, though, I'm seriously considering just posting a sign in the yard that says I'm reducing my carbon footprint. That should solve it.

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Guess What

I just arrived in Florida, and you won't believe what happened.

It's raining.

Enough said.

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Everywhere I Go it Rains

As I type this blog, I have to warn you that not only is rain falling outside, but hail is piling on the roadway. I wish I were kidding.

I left Virginia last week soaking wet, after three weeks of rain. We are breeding mosquitos in our backyard pond, and the neighbor children came over to launch their toy boats. One of them even brought a bottle with a message to see how long it takes to reach the ponies on Assateague Island.

We boarded a plane and flew across the country to Denver, where we landed in the rain. We boarded another plane to keep going to Reno, where we woke up to rain. We drove to Lake Tahoe (in the rain) to spend a full day in the rain before getting a reprieve, only to end said reprieve with a major hail storm.

Ironically, I don't own a working umbrella, or waterproof eye makeup, but I guess I will have to invest in some. There is no rhyme or reason ... just rain.

What puzzles me about rain, though, is why no matter how much rain we have, there is always some talking head explaining how it isn't enough to solve our drought. Our water table is overflowing into my sump pump, but we are always in a drought. Once, many years ago, it rained for the first time in several weeks and we were on water rations. It rained and rained and rained, but the weather man actually said none of the several inches of rain, "counted" because the soil was too dry and all the water just ran off without soaking in. Our drought remined unchanged.

The way I figure things, a long, long time ago a drought started, and we never got out of it because ever since it has rained too little or too much and there is no way out now. But hey, what do I know, right? I just walk along under the clouds remembering the sun as a distant but happy memory. I'm sure the weatherman is right, and the crops need it. If not, then we'll have a bumper crop of desert wines when the grapes rot on the vine this summer. Tasty. Hey ... maybe those are the crops the weatherman means.

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Airplanes and Timetables

I think when it comes to airplanes and their timetables, I am in the running for the worst luck on the planet. If I had a mere nickle for every time my plane was delayed by hours, cancelled after hours on the runway, or shut down along with the whole city, I could go to dinner.

But, this is not a big deal to me. Truly, it isn't. I think it is far bigger a deal to all the family members who had to pick me up over the years, never knowing when, or if, my plane would land. (Ok, the one time my flight was cancelled and I was trying to get back to school for finals was a problem. We ended up landing in a different airport, in a different state.... the things I do for final exams.)

Changing planes, though ... that is a different story. My luck with having to at least jog, if not run full speed, through any number of airports has made me vow again and again to always fly nonstop. My plus size posterier does not look good jiggling through the airports at top speed, and one of these days Darling Husband will have a heart attack trying to get to the gate on time. Never again, I have said over and over, especially now that I have a toddler.

Sadly, some places you cannot get to from here without changing planes somewhere. (Who was it who said that on the way to heaven you have to change planes in Chicago?) So, to the best of my ability, I am limiting the airports I will agree to layover and change planes. St. Louis ... ok. Chicago ... never again. Dallas, not on your life. Pittsburgh ... if I must. Boston ... do you still have to go outside to switch terminals?

Reno, Nevada is one of those places you can't get to from here without changing planes someplace. (Well, Donald Trump could, but not me.) So, on my way to Reno last week, Darling Husband, the almost-two-year-old and I boarded a plane late at night, knowing we had the dreaded plane change in Denver with two carry-on bags, a carseat, and an exhausted child who will think it is 11 PM. We shake hands and say, "What will be will be." We have the hotel number to call if we don't make our connection. We already know the rental car will honor our reservation a day late. We have an hour between planes, and our scheduled gates are only 4 apart when we land. And yet ... we know. Something will go on. Something will happen to make us miss the plane, but not before we run from one end of the airport to the other.

Oddly enough, we took off on time. Even more strange, we land on time, even in the rain. (Every where I go, it rains. I think these problems may be connected.) As the plane is making its way to the terminal, I was getting hopeful, but I made a mistake. I actually thought to myself, "Hey, maybe we will make it this time!" Why, oh why do I tempt fate like this?

A few seconds after I had this clearly articulated thought, the plane rolls to a stop. I can SEE the terminal from the window. Then the pilot comes on the speaker and says, "This is as far as we can go for the time being, ladies and gentlemen. The airport has called all the crews inside for safety because of the lightning, so we will be waiting here for some time." DOH! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Then the flight attendant comes on and says that our gate will probably be changing, as will the gates of all connecting flights. Sigh. Of course they will.

Sure enough, by the time we got into the airport, our connecting flight was listed as, "Now Boarding." We didn't even have time to strap the carseat to the luggage cart, so it was the two of us, one carseat, one toddler in a stroller, one folded up luggage cart (and did I mention one giant carseat?) panting through the airport with our love handles wiggling all the way. We made it, but you know things are bad when the airline personnel greet you by name as you approach the gate. This is how it will always be, I'm afraid. Don't change planes with me. In fact, don't fly with me. It is a curse.

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