Sometimes, this living in a rural setting gets a bit too real, ya know? I like Nature, really, but I prefer it to stay outside.
It was a quiet night. The girls were down, Miles was over a friends' house doing emergency tech support and I was in bed, engrossed in a big, chewy biography of Catherine the Great. The window was open, with delicious cool air pouring in, the sound of crickets singing. It was bucolic as all hell.
So, Catherine was about to depose her worthless husband in a bloodless coup, when from outside, weird bird sounds erupted. Sounded like something had surprised the heck out of some sleeping bird.
That was weird. Ah, well....
(Someday, I will learn that when something sounds "weird", I should investigate. That day was not this day.)
Shortly thereafter, Miles came home. He stuck his head into the Boudoir, and I asked, "So, did you go to Trader Joe's?" We were outta milk.
"Gaak! I forgot. It's 8:45; I still have time." He ducked back out and headed downstairs. I turned back to Catherine.
"Jen. C'mere."
You know that tone? It's sort of flat, un-inflected, the sound of not good things to come. Miles used that tone.
Oh, shit. I got out of bed, and took my glass of wine with me, for strength.
Miles was at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the floor. Scruffy was crouched on the stairs, lashing his tail back and forth, his whiskers full of feathers. On the floor,, was a bird, flopping around in it's mortal agonies, gasping it's final breaths, and squeaking.
Miles looked up, and said in a stricken voice, "I stepped on it."
****************************************************************************
Miles went for gloves to remove the victim, as I chased the cat away from his kill. Scruff was all excited; galloping around the living room and pouncing randomly. Clearly, he was very proud of himself. I eventually managed to scoop up the cat and toss him out the door. Meanwhile, Miles had found his leather work gloves and scooped up the casualty.
"We're gonna need the shop vac," I said, looking at all the feathers on the stairs.
"I still need to get to TJs. I have 10 minutes!" And with that, the man left.
I got the vacuum and started to suck up the evidence, when I noticed a gooey wet splotch on the stairs.
Oh.
Guts.
Yuck. Miles did say he stepped on the poor thing.
***********************************************************************
I was back in bed, when suddenly, it occurred to me. Where was Scruffy going with that bird? He was heading up the stairs......
Gulp.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Family traits
I inherited 3 things from my mother's side of my family. The "Kurth Curse" or the tenancy to get fat, hypoglycemia, and severe "jumpiness". It is the last which concerns us today.
My mother and all her sisters, and to the best of my knowledge, all their daughters, share this trait. Startle us, walk up behind us and then speak, and we hit the ever-loving ceiling. It seems to be an overenthusiastic adrenalin response; what would normally merely surprise a normal person scares the pants off of one of us. It's as disturbing as it is unchangeable. It also leaves the sufferer open to some rather pointed ridicule.
Today was a rough one. Little girls were being truculent. The Boy was a complete spaz. I had this headache I couldn't get rid of.
By 8:30, kids were outta my hair. I had a glass of wine and was deeply absorbed in a Wikipedia article at my desk, when without warning, Cameron spoke, directly behind me. I almost had a goddamn heart attack. I shrieked like a bedlamite, Cameron started laughing his ass off and Miles came to see what the hell. With what dignity I could muster, I took myself and my glass of wine to the shower, hoping the quiet and warmth would be soothing to my pounding heart.
So. There I was, rocking in the calming spray, far, far away in my own head. Warm water, so nice....
A few inches from my closed eyes, Miles spoke.
Again, there was the shrieking. Thank goodness I wasn't actually holding my wine glass at the time.
The moral of the story? Lock the damn door!
My mother and all her sisters, and to the best of my knowledge, all their daughters, share this trait. Startle us, walk up behind us and then speak, and we hit the ever-loving ceiling. It seems to be an overenthusiastic adrenalin response; what would normally merely surprise a normal person scares the pants off of one of us. It's as disturbing as it is unchangeable. It also leaves the sufferer open to some rather pointed ridicule.
Today was a rough one. Little girls were being truculent. The Boy was a complete spaz. I had this headache I couldn't get rid of.
By 8:30, kids were outta my hair. I had a glass of wine and was deeply absorbed in a Wikipedia article at my desk, when without warning, Cameron spoke, directly behind me. I almost had a goddamn heart attack. I shrieked like a bedlamite, Cameron started laughing his ass off and Miles came to see what the hell. With what dignity I could muster, I took myself and my glass of wine to the shower, hoping the quiet and warmth would be soothing to my pounding heart.
So. There I was, rocking in the calming spray, far, far away in my own head. Warm water, so nice....
A few inches from my closed eyes, Miles spoke.
Again, there was the shrieking. Thank goodness I wasn't actually holding my wine glass at the time.
The moral of the story? Lock the damn door!
That was a compliment, right?
T'other day, one of my kids said to me. "Your eyes look just like blueberries. I wanna pluck one out and eat it."
Monday, May 28, 2012
Told!
Kid: "Why do I have to make my bed?"
Me: "Because I told you to. Your sheets haven't been changed in recorded history."
Kid: "But it's MY bed. Why do I have to put on a top sheet?"
Me: "Because that's the way to make a bed."
Kid: "Why do I have to do it your way?"
Me: "Because parents are here to show you how it's supposed to be done. If it weren't for your parents, you'd be an illiterate, smelly boy with green teeth who ate ice cream with his hands."
Me: "Because I told you to. Your sheets haven't been changed in recorded history."
Kid: "But it's MY bed. Why do I have to put on a top sheet?"
Me: "Because that's the way to make a bed."
Kid: "Why do I have to do it your way?"
Me: "Because parents are here to show you how it's supposed to be done. If it weren't for your parents, you'd be an illiterate, smelly boy with green teeth who ate ice cream with his hands."
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Perpetrating, and totally getting away with it!
Aeron lost another tooth this Thursday. It was a long, exciting day and we totally forgot to Tooth Fairy. She was pretty disappointed the next morning. I opined that perhaps the Tooth Fairy had had a very busy night. Put the tooth back under the pillow, I suggested, and she'll mostly likely get to it tonight. Problem solved, life went on.
We forgot again.
This morning when we realized we'd blown it again, Miles started stressing; we didn't have a gold coin (the usual gift), the girls were awake, maybe we should give up this nonsense, etc.
"Just find me a piece of paper and a buck."
"Claire is sitting in the family room."
"A buck and a piece of paper and I'll take care of it."
He found me a folded up piece of copy paper and a crisp one dollar bill, then he went for coffee.
I wrote a quick note, with a pencil in my fist to disguise my handwriting. I folded the buck into the paper and tucked it into the waistband of my jammies. I found both girls in the family room, eyes glued to "Curious George". Scruffy was out there, too.
"Morning, girls"
"Good morning, Mama!" they chorused.
"Looks like Scruffy wants to play. Where is the ribbon he was playing with last night?"
Luckily, it's not on the floor of the family room.
"Did you take into your room?" I ask as I wandered that way, looking around. In their room, I quickly made the switch, and wandered back out.
"Let's find something for him to play with", I said. A string was found, and they played with the cat while keeping one eye on the tube.
I went downstairs and then called up, "Are you girls hungry? Turn off the TV and come downstairs for breakfast."
They came down and asked for toast. "Toast?" I asked. "Are you sure? Neither one of you has much to bite with." Both girls grinned, showing missing teeth. "Teeth! What about your tooth, Boo?"
"Oh!" she exclaimed, then scrambled back upstairs.
Pause.
"Mama! Mama!" She came running back downstairs. "The Tooth Fairy left me a DOLLAR and a NOTE!!!"
"Really? What does it say?"
Wide-eyed, she held up the paper and read:
"DEAR AERON,
SORRY ABOUT MISSING YOUR TOOTH. A WHOLE BUNCH OF KIDS IN CHINA LOST TEETH THIS WEEK. I RAN OUT OF GOLD COINS!!!
THE TOOTH FAIRY"
Aeron looked at me, over her note, and said with a huge, gap-toothed grin, "Mama! The Tooth Fairy knows how to spell my name!"
UPDATE: We took the girls to the Dollar Tree to spend their loot. Cameron had informed Claire that those gold coins were worth a dollar, so they both had money to spend. They bought themselves sunglasses and Claire, with her second gold coin, got herself a water bottle. Everyone was happy.
We forgot again.
This morning when we realized we'd blown it again, Miles started stressing; we didn't have a gold coin (the usual gift), the girls were awake, maybe we should give up this nonsense, etc.
"Just find me a piece of paper and a buck."
"Claire is sitting in the family room."
"A buck and a piece of paper and I'll take care of it."
He found me a folded up piece of copy paper and a crisp one dollar bill, then he went for coffee.
I wrote a quick note, with a pencil in my fist to disguise my handwriting. I folded the buck into the paper and tucked it into the waistband of my jammies. I found both girls in the family room, eyes glued to "Curious George". Scruffy was out there, too.
"Morning, girls"
"Good morning, Mama!" they chorused.
"Looks like Scruffy wants to play. Where is the ribbon he was playing with last night?"
Luckily, it's not on the floor of the family room.
"Did you take into your room?" I ask as I wandered that way, looking around. In their room, I quickly made the switch, and wandered back out.
"Let's find something for him to play with", I said. A string was found, and they played with the cat while keeping one eye on the tube.
I went downstairs and then called up, "Are you girls hungry? Turn off the TV and come downstairs for breakfast."
They came down and asked for toast. "Toast?" I asked. "Are you sure? Neither one of you has much to bite with." Both girls grinned, showing missing teeth. "Teeth! What about your tooth, Boo?"
"Oh!" she exclaimed, then scrambled back upstairs.
Pause.
"Mama! Mama!" She came running back downstairs. "The Tooth Fairy left me a DOLLAR and a NOTE!!!"
"Really? What does it say?"
Wide-eyed, she held up the paper and read:
"DEAR AERON,
SORRY ABOUT MISSING YOUR TOOTH. A WHOLE BUNCH OF KIDS IN CHINA LOST TEETH THIS WEEK. I RAN OUT OF GOLD COINS!!!
THE TOOTH FAIRY"
Aeron looked at me, over her note, and said with a huge, gap-toothed grin, "Mama! The Tooth Fairy knows how to spell my name!"
UPDATE: We took the girls to the Dollar Tree to spend their loot. Cameron had informed Claire that those gold coins were worth a dollar, so they both had money to spend. They bought themselves sunglasses and Claire, with her second gold coin, got herself a water bottle. Everyone was happy.
When vanity poops out on you
Recently, I saw a current photo of folks I knew when we were all young and slim. Well, younger and slimmer than we all are now, anyway. Just like me, these people were (more) plump and grey. Which, of course, sent me down the rabbit hole of pondering the mysteries of getting older and appearance.
OK. So, I've packed on some pounds and my hair is getting silver and I can't see fer shit. Looking in the mirror is a bit of a shock, because how I think of myself, and how I actually look, are two waaaaaay different animals. So, now what do I do?
I color my hair. It's time consuming and messy if you color at home and it's really time consuming and expensive if you go to the salon. I'd love to give it up. But the percentage of grey needs to be higher before I go "au natural". It's at about 35-40% right now. I think. I'm holding out for at least 75% before I reveal the real me.
I've got the progressive lenses in my glasses. That helps, but I still have problems. Very, very frustrating. I was starting to think lasik was the way to go. The price is coming down, too. I saw an ad this week for $1500 an eye. Not covered by insurance, of course. Which limits my options. It's hard to justify that kind of expense when the kids need new shoes every three months and summer camps and activities need paying for. Then I found out that even should I get the lasik surgery, I'd still need reading glasses. So, never mind.
Which brings us to tonnage. Sigh.... There have been some legit reason why I've put on weight over the last few years. But those reason have been corrected (hallelujah!) and I am, slowly.... very, very slowly, losing weight.
So, why I quit my bitching and do something about it, I hear you ask? Well, I am, sorta. It's Spring gardening season and I have kicked my activity up a notch. I've cut way back on my wine consumption and eat more healthy foods in smaller portions. But do I get on the elliptical trainer that so festively decorates my family room? Not very often or for very long, anyway.
Here's my question. 20 years ago, or even 10, I would have never allowed myself to get this over-weight or to go out looking less than put together. Why am I not motivated to improve matters? Why does a well-groomed, attractive appearance not matter very much to me anymore? I clean up when I have to (don't want to embarrass the family) but for the most part, I'm in jeans and a tee shirt, no makeup, hair in a pony tail. Housewife frump. And I'm kinda alright with that. Mostly.
Am I simply more comfortable in my skin? Happily married, comfortable life and feeling no need to fight against the passing of time? OK with aging? Or, has vanity deserted me and I've "let myself go"?
My grandma used to say, "You get married, you get happy, you get fat." So, it's not just me. Some of my comrades from my mis-spent youth aren't married. But we all seem to be in comfortable places, life-wise.
I guess my question really is... is this a good thing or a bad thing? I'm not really sure. I struggle with this a lot.
OK. So, I've packed on some pounds and my hair is getting silver and I can't see fer shit. Looking in the mirror is a bit of a shock, because how I think of myself, and how I actually look, are two waaaaaay different animals. So, now what do I do?
I color my hair. It's time consuming and messy if you color at home and it's really time consuming and expensive if you go to the salon. I'd love to give it up. But the percentage of grey needs to be higher before I go "au natural". It's at about 35-40% right now. I think. I'm holding out for at least 75% before I reveal the real me.
I've got the progressive lenses in my glasses. That helps, but I still have problems. Very, very frustrating. I was starting to think lasik was the way to go. The price is coming down, too. I saw an ad this week for $1500 an eye. Not covered by insurance, of course. Which limits my options. It's hard to justify that kind of expense when the kids need new shoes every three months and summer camps and activities need paying for. Then I found out that even should I get the lasik surgery, I'd still need reading glasses. So, never mind.
Which brings us to tonnage. Sigh.... There have been some legit reason why I've put on weight over the last few years. But those reason have been corrected (hallelujah!) and I am, slowly.... very, very slowly, losing weight.
So, why I quit my bitching and do something about it, I hear you ask? Well, I am, sorta. It's Spring gardening season and I have kicked my activity up a notch. I've cut way back on my wine consumption and eat more healthy foods in smaller portions. But do I get on the elliptical trainer that so festively decorates my family room? Not very often or for very long, anyway.
Here's my question. 20 years ago, or even 10, I would have never allowed myself to get this over-weight or to go out looking less than put together. Why am I not motivated to improve matters? Why does a well-groomed, attractive appearance not matter very much to me anymore? I clean up when I have to (don't want to embarrass the family) but for the most part, I'm in jeans and a tee shirt, no makeup, hair in a pony tail. Housewife frump. And I'm kinda alright with that. Mostly.
Am I simply more comfortable in my skin? Happily married, comfortable life and feeling no need to fight against the passing of time? OK with aging? Or, has vanity deserted me and I've "let myself go"?
My grandma used to say, "You get married, you get happy, you get fat." So, it's not just me. Some of my comrades from my mis-spent youth aren't married. But we all seem to be in comfortable places, life-wise.
I guess my question really is... is this a good thing or a bad thing? I'm not really sure. I struggle with this a lot.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Workin' the little people
I just got an email from the COO of Obama For America, the Prez's online re-election campaign. You would not believe the bait those clever-boots are using to get donations!
If you throw our boy Barack a bone, your name goes in the hat to attend a party at George Clooney's house!!!
Let's just take a moment to admire the sheer genius of this little ploy. First, here's the bold copy in the email:
Think about it -- and chip in $3 or whatever you can today to be automatically entered
For a ridiculously minor campaign contribution, your are automatically entered into this brilliant drawing. (No donation is necessary, of course, I discovered by reading the fine print) But what a hook! Even us middle class, suffering-in-the-miserable-economy folks can afford $3! If your name is drawn, you get to fraternize with the glitterati, hob-nob with the rich and famous, hang with the beautiful people. How many folks in our shallow, celebrity-obsessed culture would pass on that?
This is the latest in a series of savvy plots to extract money from the Democratic rank-and-file. At first, it was dinner with the President. Now, as the election heats up in earnest, it's a party at George Clooney's house. Oh, and they spring for airfare and hotel. Ooooooo, and here's a question! Is the bash in Los Angeles, or at George's villa on Lake Como?!?
I can easily see major brass rolling in over this one. Hell, I'm certainly gonna donate. But not because of George. (now, if it were a chance to party with his aunt Rosemary, I'd be all a twitter...) But I'd love to have a drink and shoot the shit with Mr. Obama. Oooooo, wonder if Michele will be there? That would be a party!
If you throw our boy Barack a bone, your name goes in the hat to attend a party at George Clooney's house!!!
Let's just take a moment to admire the sheer genius of this little ploy. First, here's the bold copy in the email:
Think about it -- and chip in $3 or whatever you can today to be automatically entered
For a ridiculously minor campaign contribution, your are automatically entered into this brilliant drawing. (No donation is necessary, of course, I discovered by reading the fine print) But what a hook! Even us middle class, suffering-in-the-miserable-economy folks can afford $3! If your name is drawn, you get to fraternize with the glitterati, hob-nob with the rich and famous, hang with the beautiful people. How many folks in our shallow, celebrity-obsessed culture would pass on that?
This is the latest in a series of savvy plots to extract money from the Democratic rank-and-file. At first, it was dinner with the President. Now, as the election heats up in earnest, it's a party at George Clooney's house. Oh, and they spring for airfare and hotel. Ooooooo, and here's a question! Is the bash in Los Angeles, or at George's villa on Lake Como?!?
I can easily see major brass rolling in over this one. Hell, I'm certainly gonna donate. But not because of George. (now, if it were a chance to party with his aunt Rosemary, I'd be all a twitter...) But I'd love to have a drink and shoot the shit with Mr. Obama. Oooooo, wonder if Michele will be there? That would be a party!
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