It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Let me paint a picture for you. 

It's a beautiful fall (when did THAT happen?) day, the sun is shining, there's a nice breeze.  I've just been to the library and picked up 4 new books.  I'm driving home, Bella's riding shotgun, and I'm thinking how happy I am and how great my life is.

The seat belt alarm goes off because Bella is clearly not wearing her seat belt.  She hates this sound, so she moves to the back seat.  No big deal.

I continue driving, checking out how far all the farmers have gotten in their fields.  As I turn back to the road, I happen to look at the seat Bella just vacated.

Apparently Bella has yet to learn Skid's Greatest Life Lesson: Never Trust a Fart.  There on the seat are the remnants of a shart.

Reason #213 why I am glad to have leather seats.

I Don't Get It

I've been writing this blog in my head for about 3 months. I still don't think I can quite articulate my true feelings on the matter, but I'm going to try. What's a blog for if you can't fill it with all kinds of overly personal, TMI material? :)

How do you (as a woman) decide you're ready to have kids?

This may seem like a simple question to some of you. I suspect those of you who find it so simple are also people who have known for the vast majority of your lives that you wanted to be a mother. That must be nice.

I, on the other hand, have spent the vast majority of my life thinking it was a good possibility that I'd never have children, and I'd be ok with that. Contrary to popular opinion, I do not hate children. They are not at the top of my "fun things to do before you die" list, but I don't hate them. Hell, the fact that they're even ON the list is a huge step.

My supposed distaste for children, babies in particular, doesn't exist. It never has. Had you asked me about it 10 years ago, I might have disagreed, but only because I didn't understand. Look, no one is that excited about screaming, crying, throwing up, pooping your pants, and being incapable of self-preservation, whether we're talking about in infants or adults.

What I admit still confuses me regarding infants (and likely always will!) is not even the actual infant. It's the psycho women around them. My entire life, I've seriously believed something was wrong with me. Why? Because I, unlike the psychos mentioned above, do not have a big O every time there is a baby within a 50 mile radius. I don't get it.

It seems like society expects you, as a woman, to be OBSESSED with all babies, all the time. I'm just NOT. Sure babies are cute, but I don't spend every waking second thinking about them. I love my nieces and nephew, but I'm not dying to create one. When it happens, it happens, I just don't get the craziness.

My family is really big on roles, probably unknowingly. I was always the "book-smart, no common sense, baby hater." My sister was the "street-smart baby lover." Then I quit my job to help my husband on the farm and, presumably one day stay home w/ our imaginary children. My sister ends up having a baby around on a semi-regular basis and can't stand it. Go figure. Take those roles and shove them right up your ass, family. SICK OF IT.

I thought I had my bases covered. We all know that the night of your wedding reception, the questions start. "When are you going to have kids?" "How many kids do you want to have?" "Why do you want to wait a year?" Nosy, intrusive and overall inappropriate, but it happens. It's as if they're all hoping and praying you're already knocked up so they can start planning for the next major life event. Meanwhile, you spend half the time wishing you WERE pregnant so everyone would shut the hell up.

Not me, no no, I had all the answers. Of course I did. "I can't get pregnant now," I'd tell them. "Our maternity insurance doesn't kick in until May." This means I'm off the hook from your stupid fucking questions. Only, I recently learned it doesn't mean that at all, as my mother somehow figured (wishful thinking, perhaps?) that May=March and has been "telling all her friends." Not exactly sure WHAT she has been telling them, but she's telling them. Apparently, I'm just supposed to be knocked up March/May 1st.

Yet, in the midst of all this supposed desire for grandchildren, my entire family makes fun of me. I say we will have kids sooner rather than later, and they laugh and say I'll be the most obnoxious mom in the world. Why? Because I will love my child and think it's the best thing since sliced bread. SOUND THE ALARM!!!!! THE HORROR!!!!! So, maybe I don't know all there is to know about child rearing, but I'm fairly certain love and pride are sort of steps #1 & #2. What is so wrong with that? My own GRANDMOTHER, who I love and cherish dearly, told my mother that whenever I have kids, mom will have to move in with me for weeks because I will be so clueless and helpless. Again...I kinda thought that most new parents (not just moms!) don't know every single thing there is to know (how could they?), and you figure it out as you go. I didn't think you were supposed to be humiliated and ridiculed! But, they're all really desperate for grandchildren. Figure that one out. Sure seems tempting to get involved in that shit storm, doesn't it?

Back to my original question. How do you (as a woman) determine the right time to have children?

If it weren't for my wonderful husband, I know, without a doubt, I would likely remain childless. This isn't because he wants kids, or I don't, or anything of the sort. It's because he is the only person on this Earth that I feel comfortable with as my partner in becoming a parent. He doesn't think I'll be a shitty parent, or make fun of me, or think my questions/reservations are silly. He's not in a hurry. WE LIKE OUR LIVES. So how do you decide to give up the carefree, financially stable, traveling freely, AWESOME lifestyle? For diapers? For the Goofy Ridge educational system?

I keep hearing, "oh you just know." Bullshit. I don't buy it. Maybe someday I will look back at this and laugh. Until then, I call shenanigans!

I keep hearing, "well we're not using protection, so if it happens, it happens. If not, then ok." Shenanigans! You're not using protection. That means you've made the decision to have children, because that is what happens when you have unprotected sex. Just ask the parents of the millions of "surprise" babies! :)

I keep hearing, "isn't it the same way you made the decision to get married?" NO! First of all, there was expensive jewelry, a big party and an awesome tropical vacation involved in my decision to get married. (JOKING, people, relax!) But seriously, getting married meant spending the rest of my life doing the same things I was already doing, with someone I loved. It didn't mean extra financial stress. It didn't mean waking up every 2 hours. It didn't mean shelving my vacations and shoes for braces and college tuition.

I look at all the parents out there, parents who I think are doing a great job. They are self-less. They would do anything for their children. How do you become that self-less? Does it just happen when they hand you the baby? I am not self-less.

Maybe I'll never figure it out. I told Adam there's a possibility I might have to be drunk, or tricked (though it would be pretty hard to trick me into not using the ring, since it's kinda all up in my business!), maybe drugged. Again, not because it isn't something I want to do, but because my mind keeps warning me of all the things that change (everything) the second you get pregnant. Maybe I should just stick with Bella.

Can anyone help me?

Mickey III

You guessed it. Mice (or meeses, as Adam would say) still live in Chateau de Goofy. (Is it too presumptuous to give your own house a name? Do people in Mason County know how to pronounce chateau? And I digress...) Adam says he saw another one, and Bella definitely dug one up for the Jehovah's Witnesses that stopped by a few days ago. Luckily all 4 stayed outside (2 JWs, Bella and her mouse, that is).

Speaking of Jehovah's Witnesses, this was a particularly interesting visit. Last year they stopped by our old house (down the road) when I was the only one home, greasy from working in the yard (ie pissed off that I was alone, dirty, prevented from continuing yard work--if I'd rather continue yard work than talk, you know it's bad--and that I had to deal with these loons anyway) and etc. The lady claimed to be from out of state, visiting a congregation in Pekin, heard how bad the area was, and so they headed our way. Great. She stayed and talked for probably 30 minutes, and nothing I said could shake her. Fast forward to this year.

2 ladies show up (and a dude who stayed in the car that I didn't see until they were leaving -- go figure, men stay in the A/C and drive). I hadn't showered, spent the morning cleaning and dealing w/ the dog's antics (again, pissed off) and didn't want ANYONE to see me in my nasty, smelly state. Oddly enough, I didn't feel bad about smelling like ass for the JWs.

The dog ran out the door w/ her bone (because all new visitors are greeted this way), and the same damn lady from last year is standing at the door, along w/ her taller, older accomplice. They start yammering away about how the lady is from Michigan and just visiting the area, etc etc. Same old song and dance. They even have the exact same book (The Watchtower) full of Bible verses and information. Even though their first question is whether I believe in Jesus as my Savior or as a great man who lived a long time ago, and my answer is that I have gone to church since I was born and do regard Jesus as my Savior, continue to go to church now, and am not a JW, this does not stop her. Motor mouth blabs on and on about how helpful the book is, which I already know since she gave it to me herself last year. Finally she tries to sum up by telling me that I should read this book along with my Bible and it will answer all my questions. Unfortunately, that did not sum it up because a few things happened in a blur.
1. The taller lady standing behind Motor Mouth started talking for the first time, and made some wide hand/arm gestures, and accidentally smacked MM in the face. Apparently the taller woman is blind. It was really hard to hold it together at that point.
2. What the blind woman was trying to ask me was that if I had any questions while reading the book, would I like to have her congregation contact me? First off, I already told you I have a church and am not now, nor will I ever be interested in becoming a JW. Second, and most importantly, you just told me this book would answer all my questions...so which is it?
3. After the contradiction and me telling them I would not like to be contacted again, by anyone, and the blind woman hitting MM in the face, they tried to leave, so I figured I better collect the dog since she has an annoying habit of trying to escape via whatever visiting vehicle happens to be in the driveway. (God help our future children.) I made a comment about finding the dog and they go, oh she's right here playing with her booooooooooooooo......and never finished. It was not the bone. It was a dead mouse. Lord only knows if she killed it or the Lord smote Mickey III to save me from my trials and tribulations (MM and Sir Smaxalot). Either way, major props to the big guy in the sky for his comedic timing. It really was on point that day.
Thankfully, like all God's creatures, Mickey III did not die in vain, but served a purpose -- the JWs left pretty quickly after that. WOOT!

A few things to note after the experience though.

1. I accidentally locked the front door, therefore locking myself out of the house. Well, I didn't accidentally lock the door, I did that as soon as I opened it and saw MM and Sir Smaxalot standing there. I accidentally CLOSED the door and accidentally locked myself out. As I walked around to the garage, I noticed that apparently talking to me, stalking me and handing me their ridiculous book of contradictions was not enough, they also put a pamphlet in my garage door. That really pissed me off. GO AWAY PSYCHOS!
2. MM mentioned that she would have to go back to Michigan soon, as she couldn't afford to take a longer vacation than planned.

Vacation. VACATION?!?!

God forgive my complaining about a smaller-than-requested room in Aruba.

This is some people's idea of a vacation ?! And I thought I'd had some crappy trips. Wow.

I am reminded of a comedian who played here locally several months ago, who was reminiscing about his childhood and how, when there was a thunderstorm with lightning, his parents would run around the house, turning off lights and unplugging things, and demanding the kids do so as well. His childhood brain presumed if the lights were all off that must mean the lightning wouldn't know they were home, and pass them by. He referred to the lightning as the Jehovah's Witness of the sky. :)

Mickey Mouse Slaughterhouse

That's right, I murdered Mickey.

You may recall my very exciting stories about the mouse living in our house. He has been captured, along with his previously camouflaged friend - the gray mouse, all in a 24 hour period.

The first mouse, Mickey, the one we actually knew about, believe it or not was pretty cute. I felt bad. If I had to say a mouse was cute, this one would be the one.

We caught Mickey, and thought our mouse debacle was over. WRONG!

As I was typing my blog yesterday, I heard the spring/door stopper make that springy sound as if something had just hit it. Given that I was in the room alone (I thought) and Bella was asleep on the couch...I realized there had to be another furry creature living amongst us. Frickin great.

Mickey Jr. was sent to be slaughtered just after midnight last night.

Life is good.

Lauren vs. Mason Country III: The Epic Battle Rages On

The first day the construction crew arrived, I scared them (and myself) by picking up a "shoelace" that turned out to be a mouse tail.

After they left, a SWARM, no, a PLAGUE of pecker gnats (unrelated to Randy, I think) just HAPPENED to show up. Adam said it was just a coincidence. I thought otherwise. I thought the crew stirred up all the dirt, sand and whatever else, and that's where the gnats were previously lurking.

Yesterday, the construction crew was back again. After they left this time, I noticed a trail of red ants marching in time throughout my master bathroom. Upon further examination, they were in every room of the house. Randy says it's the rain. I think otherwise. They stirred up the front porch to pour concrete yesterday, and I'm willing to bet that was the headquarters of Ants Anonymous, Mason County chapter.

This morning (thankfully BEFORE the crew showed up), I went to the garage to get Bella some food. As I made my second scoop into the AIRTIGHT SEALED CONTAINER, I scooped up a dead mouse. Screamed and swearing commenced. This time I only scared the dog.

My attempts to get Adam to come home and dead with the mouse mania were futile. I am sad to report that he laughed at me, said this is what happens in Mason County, there's probably more where that one came from, and to get a dustpan, scoop it up and throw it into the burn pile. Then he laughed some more.

I clicked my heels 3x, but I didn't get anywhere. Assholes.

Back to the "airtight sealed container," the only thing I can figure out is that it actually IS airtight, the mouse was in the container/last bag of dog food, and when we dumped the food bag in, it was smashed under 40 lbs of Iams Healthy Naturals Chicken, and suffocated.

I think this qualifies for FML. If you've never been to http://www.fmylife.com/, I HIGHLY recommend it. http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/ is equally outstanding.

WTF is going on around here?

First it was the infamous "shoelace" incident.

Yesterday, we came home from Larry's to a particularly foul smell lurking outside the garage. Bella must have noticed it too because, before we pathetic humans could see where the stench was coming from, Bella ran up to the garage door with a feral dead squirrel in her mouth. LOVELY.

Problem is, Adam threw the squirrel out into the tree line across from our driveway...not 5 minutes later, we were inside and the coyotes seemed REALLY loud all of a sudden. How much ya wanna bet they were in that tree line scarfing squirrel guts? Just great. As if the damn things weren't close enough. 2 weeks ago there was one in the ditch across the street. Those lurking little bastards!

Today, I am forced out of the house because there is yet another mouse problem . A new mouse is in town...visiting the INSIDE of my house...inside of my blanket closet, to be exact. So what do I do instead? Text while mowing the lawn at the old house. I think texting while driving is still ok if you're only driving a lawn mower. Keri says everything is legal in Mason County, so I think I'm ok.

This just in: Adam said I was being cynical. Apparently he has not quite mastered the art of shutting his mouth when he has nothing nice to say. Doesn't everyone want to hear (as soon as your husband walks in the door), "why haven't you cleaned the...I'll shut up now!" He's learning, this one. Slowly, but surely. Sort of like the little engine that could.
Back to cynical me.
After the previous comment about cleaning the raspberries smashed all over the refrigerator, he said I was being cynical. Since I hadn't said anything, I had to ask..."do you even know what cynical means? "

"No."

Welcome to my world.

What the hell was I thinking?!

Let me sum up the past few days and you can all be the judges as to whether I am cut out for this country lifestyle...

Thursday, my in-laws were visiting (with new trees to plant, so my universe pollution has been downgraded to a category go fuck yourself) and wanted to eat at Larry's (can you blame them?).

Off to dinner we went and during dinner, my wonderful, U of I educated, otherwise intelligent husband commented that since he turned 31 this year, it had been 10 years since he was legally able to drink. He mentioned that he'd tried to calculate how many beers he'd consumed over the last 10 legal years, and figured that if he drank a case a week, he'd end up with 48 cases of beer per year... When a few of us questioned how he came to that final total, he said (with a tone clearly indicating WE were all complete idiots) "well, 1 case times 48 weeks in a year = 48 cases of beer." I'm like yeah, buddy, we got that part...where did the 48 weeks come from? He had no idea. "Well, there are 4 weeks per month (still acting like *I* am the moron here), times 12 months in a year...48 weeks." This went on and on until finally his mother had to explain that the correct math would be 365 days divided by 7 days in a week, totalling 52 weeks in a year. He didn't believe her.

"How can there be 5 weeks in a month?"
"Are all the calendars wrong then?"
"I don't believe you!"
"What do you mean not 5 FULL weeks in a month?"
"How do you account for February then? No months have to have SIX weeks to make up for it, so how do you explain that?"
"What about leap years?"

Wow.

I have a sneaking suspicion that his parents may be writing to U of I and asking for some of that tuition money back.

Maybe it wasn't the excess "smart cells" that would cause his brain to burst....


Sunday, we went to Steak n Shake and got into a discussion about where certain fast food chains started out.

Adam: "KFC, you know that one's from the south. Probably like Louisiana or something."
Me: "Or Kentucky..."
Adam: "...ooooooh. Duh. I meant to say Louisville, not Louisiana."
Me: "Right."
Adam: "Don't tell anyone about this, ok?"

Sure thing, sweetie! :)

Fast forward to this morning. I knew we had some construction crews coming to get the area in front of our garage ready for concrete, as well as bringing white rock in for the rest of the driveway.

I heard them show up and went out to see who was doing what and if they needed anything. I remembered the dog was outside, so I tracked her down and tried to drag her into the house. Bella is known for finding all sorts of lovely treasures, especially since previous construction crews have left lots of garbage everywhere. So far she's found 6 week old chocolate milk still in the container (smelled awesome when accidentally run over w/ a truck. Who knew chocolate milk turns pink after awhile?), rusty nails, bricks, old detergent bottles and etc. Today, she ran up to me with a leather shoelace in her mouth. We don't let her bring garbage in the house, so I grabbed the shoelace, pulled it out, and wouldn't you know...it was not a shoelace.

IT WAS A DEAD FUCKING MOUSE.

I dropped the mouse, started screaming, cussing, didn't even realize the construction crew was staring at me until they were right in front of me asking if I was ok. Apparently I was wringing my hands and staring at the ground...still screaming. I can still feel that nasty mouse tail in my hand. GROSS! Needless to say, the construction crew had a good laugh over that one.

Unfortunately, nasty day was not over.

My car was in the way of the construction crew, so I tried to get the dog into the car and move it down the road. She got in, with the dead mouse back in her mouth.

I dragged her and the mouse out of the car, got back in and moved it alone.

She's been puking up undigested dog food for the last 24 hours, so I wanted to make sure she didn't eat anything else, or get in the workers' way, so I started to drag her into the garage, where she promptly started gagging...and coughed up ANOTHER DEAD MOUSE. 4 minutes of screaming and swearing later, the dog and I were finally mouse-free and indoors. She's been whining ever since. Tough shit, puppy.

Has anyone seen my easy button lately? I need it. Or a shot. Whichever you track down first. Please?!

Doggy Fashion Don't

At the request of my mother and aunt, I give you: The Eyebrow Fiasco.

My parents watched our golden retriever, Bella, for a few hours over Easter weekend. We had Easter dinner with Adam's family and were set to stay at my parents' house later that night. Everything went as planned, and we arrived at my parents' around 11 pm. Everything was fine. We woke up, went to church, came back to Mom and Dad's and ate lunch. After we got back home that night, I started noticing that something was wrong with Bella. She didn't look right, but I couldn't quite place it. Finally, I realized...her eyebrows had been trimmed...cut, actually, not trimmed. They looked like little white stubs. Now, I will say that they'd been getting a bit long and starting to curl over towards her eyes...but she's a DOG. Who cares about her eyebrows? I knew what her eyebrows looked like before we dropped her off at my parents' house...so that left 2 scissor-wielding culprits.

I placed a phone call to Mom, knowing full well that she probably wasn't the Eyebrow Bandit. When I explained the situation, she had no idea what I was talking about, let alone that someone would even think to cut a dog's eyebrows. We started trying to figure out a timeline as to when the eyebrow escapade even occurred, since the dog wasn't there without me, Adam or Mom around for more than a few hours. We determined that Dad must've been the only one up early Easter morning, seen what he thought was a doggy fashion don't, and "remedied" the situation. As we were about to hang up, Dad came home, and she asked him what he knew about the situation. With the evidence stacked against him he admitted it. He's like, "yeah, I did it. So what? She looked like a crazy professor with those old eyebrows. They needed a trim." Maybe I should send in an application for that dog groomer show on TLC...apparently Dad is the expert. Poor Bella. Thank God he only went after her eyebrows!