Hello, my friends!

Look! I'm posting again! I always feel so virtuous when I put up a post. It's like having my vitamins, or shaving my legs, or getting the last stray sock off the laundry chair.  Let's see- what's going on around here? Thanksgiving is coming soon and there's apparently been some interfamilial debate over whether squirrel is appropriate  holiday fare or not.  I come down pretty firmly on the 'not' side, having once eaten squirrel.  I know I've written about squirrel eating before but the truth is I only did it once, a really long time ago. And I didn't inhale, I swear!  Anyway, I'm not sure how that's going to play out but I'll eat anything if I have enough wine, that's my motto!  The weather has gotten very chilly lately, it is definitely boot weather.  I have recently discovered that it's also the season for purchasing larger than normal sized stretchy cords.  I found this out the hard way and I don't want to talk about it anymore, thank you very much.  I might have to travel to an even colder place for work sometime soon, too. To a place where I hear that people routinely wear cleats to keep from slipping on the ice. I'm not sure how well that's going to work out for me. Cleats, really? I mean, sure, those are great for clawing your way to the top of the heap, if you have a pile of coworkers in your way all the time like I do and you don't want blood on your good boots. But just for walking down the street? I don't think so.

Thanksgiving, boring! Work, boring! Let's talk about my most brilliant recent discovery! It's only the most awesome zombie/vampire repellant ever!  Like all brilliant discoveries it happened totally by accident. See, I had to clean out the cat box, so I scooped the cat poop into a bag, then I tied the bag shut and put it outside the front door. I kept 'forgetting' to take it to the garbage, which was super annoying, until it got to be about the fourth day and I realized that the entire time that bag had been by the front door was undead-predator free! Not a single vampire or zombie! It worked for about ten days and would probably still be effective, only someone got sick of having a bag of cat poop on the front porch and threw it away. Someone who doesn't realize how valuable it was, no doubt. So now I have to just wait until I can get another bag full. In the meantime, I make the cat sleep with me with his butt pointed towards the bedroom door.  With that problem solved, I need to figure out a way to keep the raccoons away from the chickens.  So far they have gotten three of our chickens. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure they are regular raccoons, not the undead kind, so the cat poop doesn't work.  Let me know if you have any ideas! And Happy Thanksgiving! I'll be sure to keep you posted on the squirrels.

Easter

Happy Easter! Oh, I know Easter is not actually until tomorrow. I have just never felt especially bound by convention, and besides, my sister did all the work and she said we were having Easter today. If she hadn't done all the work, we wouldn't have even HAD Easter. I told that to some people in the office the other day and they looked at me as if I had two heads, both with horns. I didn't realize not wanting to tell lies to your kids about some giant imaginary rabbit and then bust your ass to hide eggs full of sugar and chemicals for them to ingest was so controversial. But I guess it is.

So, we went to Grandpa's house, he cooked a ham, Jennifer made all the kids lovely baskets, Stefan hid about 4,372 eggs and a great time was had by all. Even the dogs and the garden statues were all decked out for the occasion. You'll note Ranger has a yellow Easter bunny attached to his collar. Do you guys think the Easter bunny really is yellow? I'm not a huge fan of holidays in general, especially ones that create work for me, and I've been coveting that snappy lemon-colored coat, you know. But I could go with a fur cape, too. The ears could attach around the front in a jaunty bow, what do you think? I've seen pink and green Easter bunnies, too, though, and those aren't really my colors so much. At least this season. Oooh, that gives me an idea for winter, too: can't you just see me in a deep red velvet? With white trim!

The kids especially enjoyed playing in the dirt pile in the driveway- they got out bowls and dumped in some pond water to make concrete. Something about the Easter bunny sleeping with the fishes, I dunno. You don't think my cape will be ruined if he gets waterlogged, do you? One thing I really require in a garment is that it can be easily laundered. I suppose he has to shower, what with all that hopping and egg-delivering, so you'd think it could go in the wash. In any event, all four of the kids got all muddy, marked up the garbage bins with dirty handprints to trick Grandpa into thinking there were aliens there, dug holes in the lawn, made piles to look like poop and threw dirt clods at each other. Then Jennifer came out and gave me the stinkeye for letting them get so dirty. I keep thinking she'll stop letting me watch them one of these days but no luck so far. It was BARELY questionable activity, anyway, not like they were chasing each other with sharp tools. At least not for very long. Then Stefan finally got sick of the mess and gave them an involuntary hosing down; they threw fits and we all went home. About the usual holiday outing, all things considered.

On the brown sweater front, I have been shopping multiple times with very limited success. I went to Goodwill today and while THE sweater continues to elude me, I did see two things that I dropped off the week before, which always amuses me. I'm not sure why, except that I am apparently very easily entertained.

And that's the Easter report from here; I hope you all have a great weekend!

Click or Climb 2012

Hey, guess what? It's time for the Lymphoma and Leukemia Society's Big Climb Seattle. This is their annual fundraiser where a bunch of crazy people climb the 69 flights of stairs of the Columbia Tower to benefit blood cancer research. I first wrote about it in 2009; you can read that here.

I have clicked instead of climbed every year since then, but I was actually considering doing the climb this year on my friend Brandy's team. Seriously, it's true! I have known Brandy since she was in middle school, which was at least ten years ago, and I swear she looks exactly the same now as she did then, probably because she does stuff like climb 69 flights of stairs on a regular basis. Unfortunately, though, I am going to be out of town, so once again the badgers can kiss my ass instead of chewing my thighs. This time. Next year, though, BRING IT ON, BADGERS!

As you probably know, my mother died of lymphoma. As a result, I appreciate Brandy's stair-climbing and fund raising efforts for blood cancer research even more than I would otherwise.

Please consider donating to Brandy's team by clicking here. Or, sign up here and climb yourself! Because if I NEVER hear of someone I know being diagnosed with lymphoma or leukemia again, it will be too soon.

And, oh yeah, on a non dead mother related note, if you missed yesterday's post called 'Questionable Content' about my brilliant plan for new vending machine selections at my office and want to see it, let me know and I will send it to you. I took it down because it was kind of, ummmmm, questionable.

Duck! It's a Trap!

I don't even know what to say about this picture. There is a duck in the back yard. By the swing. A very, very stupid duck. For the love of all that is holy, THERE IS A TRAP THERE! And doesn't he see all that freaking snow? Shouldn't he be flying south or something? He did finally manage to depart with all of his feathers intact; I hope he has a cozy nest somewhere far, far away from the swing of death.

We had our giant snowstorm today; the worst (or best!) of it was to the south of us, but we got a respectable six inches, and a good day was had by all. The boys enjoyed a series of outdoor activities, like this one in which they played with the hose on the snow-covered trampoline. Naturally, this added significantly to the pile of wet/dirty clothes by the back door and now you need oxygen to get to the top to do the laundry. Not that I'm going to do that, of course.

Then, when they got all tired of playing outside, they came in and sprayed the hell out of the kitchen until the goldfish could gather their own food cleaned the cabinets and all the appliances. That's the news from the frozen wasteland of western Washington; I hope you are staying warm wherever you are!

Snow

It's snowing, y'all!!!! The ground is barely covered right now, but we have high hopes for the rest of the weekend. The boys have made a proto-snowfigure and piled a bunch of snow on the trampoline so they could jump around in it.

And, of course, there is plenty of indoor fun to be had:

A Good Bird

****Dead Bird Warning: this post contains dead birds. My more sensitive readers may want to look away now. Please be aware, however, that the birds were long deceased through no fault of my own before I sat down to write and no birds were harmed during the making of this post. I agree, the warning might be a little over the top, but I have such delicate readers these days, and also, I am just now getting those PETA freaks off my back for the whole hamster ball thing.*****

Whew, that was EXHAUSTING. Seriously, I need some fortification before I can even get to the point of my post. But first, I know you all want to know the all-important status of the pool-soaked phone. Sadly, I have to report NO JOY. I did figure out how to get my messages using another phone, only to find out that my jury duty scheduled for tomorrow got cancelled. Too bad for me, I was looking forward to performing my civic duty lounging around the courthouse, watching people crazier than me go by. Naturally, the appeal dims somewhat if I don't have a device upon which I can gossip about the crazy people with all my friends. I can do that at work, of course, which is where I will now be spending my day instead.

I'm trying to be patient on the phone and let the rice work its magic for a while longer but I'm not sure how much longer I can go. I might have to hit the zombie store before bed tonight. Oh, geez, I just thought of something. If I recall correctly, I was going to use my shampoo/conditioner/deodorant money to fund the new phone. I'm not sure what else I can give up, plus I started using shampoo again. Dammit. Anyway, that is NOT what we're talking about today. No, we are talking about A Good Bird. Two good birds, to be precise. A blue jay and a sparrow, to be even more precise. And no, I do not want to argue about blue jays and steller's jays, DAD. They are blue in color, hence they are blue jays. The end.

Moving on, you might remember the rat wars at my house. Well, the rats are back, and the war has been raging on for the last week. In some ways, this is good, because it keeps Lloyd occupied, and you probably know he is very dangerous when he has too much time on his hands. Remember the earthquake exercise? Unfortunately, though, there were a couple of unanticipated bird trappings over the course of this new campaign, or as Lloyd likes to call them, 'acceptable collateral damage/civilian casualties'. This is not unprecedented; we had a near-miss last time when a particularly stupid jay got his noggin skinned when the trap snapped. He was fine, though, he just looked like he had a reverse mohawk for a few days. No such luck this time; the two good birds bought the farm.

When I came home from work, the boys showed me their handiwork: a bird cemetery in the back yard, dug right into the lawn. They did a nice job, don't you think? The birds' names are Shane and Ago (pronounced aggo, not like in 'a long time ago'). I especially like the dandelions and the silver colored shower curtain hanger on Ago's grave. And then, for good measure, they devised a fishing line barrier around the trap to keep any more birds from getting caught. That seems like a pretty good idea, because the trap is surrounded by bird seed. There have been no rat sightings for a couple of days, so maybe the cheese and rat poison savings will offset the cost of my new phone and I can keep my shampoo. That way, everyone wins. Well, except the rats and the two good birds, I guess. As I come to the end of this post, I am really regretting the promise I made to Ina because this would be an excellent spot for some good bird/rat eating jokes. Oh well, I always keep my promises, so have a good night, everyone!

2011

**** updated to add: there is a duck in my backyard. I am not even kidding. Does it not recognize the danger it's in, just traipsing around willy-nilly in suburban back yards? I thought wild animals were supposed to be wily. The jokes are just boiling over right now, dying to come out, but I have already promised Ina, as you can see below. Curses!

It's the very last day of 2011, can you believe it? I was just looking for last year's 'Goodbye, 2010, I Hate You with an Unending Passion' post so I could compare, but I guess I hated 2010 so much that I didn't write one. It seems unlike me, but I guess you never know what wacky thing I might do, or not do, next. Oh well, it's probably better; who needs to read a bunch of dreariness from the past when we can look to the future and talk about delicious squirrels or similar? For example, look at the picture of my backyard this morning! See all those beautiful, tender birds??? The bite-sized ones are best, I hear.

Naturally, though, I can't do a New Year's post without remembering the best New Year's Eve ever, when Janelle's washing machine caught fire and her cat saved their entire family. I didn't write the part about the cat before, but it's 100% true. Because she has multiple small children, her washing machine is always running, including in the middle of the night on New Year's Eve. They turned on the 6,583rd load of the day, shut the cats in the laundry room and went to bed. Pretty soon, they were awakened by Speedy's unholy yowling and frantic scratching. It could have been because he was choking to death on the belching black smoke but I prefer to think he was thinking only of his loving family. And that, C Mike, is why we don't eat cats.

Let's see, what else? I would keep going on the dog/squirrel/cat/bird eating theme, only Aunt Ina wrote me a note yesterday and told me I was very gross. I guess she's kind of squeamish. Also, she is one of those people that feeds the squirrels in her back yard. I'm not kidding, she has at least three feeders and she goes through sunflower seeds and peanuts like I go through wine. So Happy New Year, Ina! I will try to not gross you out for at least a month.

I hope you all have a fantastic New Year's Eve and a great start to 2012 tomorrow. I don't have any big plans to go out and drink too much and get in a ridiculous fight with friends or family members, because I can do that without leaving my house. It's much cheaper and more convenient that way, plus I don't have to wear spanx and lipstick. I'm practical that way. But tomorrow, I plan on making the most of the traditional New Year's Day thrift store shopping spree. All of a sudden, I have a compelling need for some very small saute pans. Happy New Year, y'all!

Monopoly

I used to love Monopoly. When I was little, my sister and I and our cousins would play for hours with rules of our own devising and plenty of cheating. My favorite tactic was to stash some extra bills in the bathroom and then pretend I had to pee if my cash flow was getting dicey.

I was none too pleased to find it under the tree this year, though. And not because I've outgrown questionable financial practices, either. Nope, it all has to do with my outrageous vanity. See, Weston has been regularly kicking my ass at chess for quite some time and the last thing I need is another avenue for a vigorous thrashing at the hands of a seven year old. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't fall for the bathroom scheme, too. The truth is, I haven't been able to trick him for at least a year and a half.

So I had to develop a new strategy: now I pour a giant glass of wine, hide some extra in the bathroom, and see how fast I can blow through those colorful bills in pursuit of blissful bankruptcy.

Do you guys care if I talk about squirrels now? I'm super tired of talking about Monopoly. The squirrel thing is kind of gross, though. First you have to read this article in today's Seattle Times about an urban squirrel harvester. She sounds a little nuts, but it's an intriguing idea. Read the comments, too- they are hilarious. There seems to be an aversion to chowing down on cute food sources. I don't know why; once you cut the face off the meat all looks the same, right? Also, it reminded me of this awesome post on eating dog by Ask A Korean. I don't care what you think of eating dogs, that post is pure brilliance.

Because I am slightly demented, I was intrigued by the methods by which you could dispatch the squirrels, but I will spare you all the gory details. After some lengthy and very interesting discussion, it became apparent that I would be less than successful should the necessity or opportunity for squirrel killing arise. It's unfortunate, too, because I'm not a girl to miss many meals, which makes me a fan of having a robust food reserve. Oh well, there's always those tasty and attractive slugs! In fact, I would eat a whole sack of those slimy things if it would get me out of this Godforsaken game. A girl can dream, you know.

Elk Poop. Oh, Honey, You Shouldn't Have. Really.

Merry Christmas Eve, my sweet friends! What did you do today? Whatever it was, I bet you didn't get to see elk poop. It was a beautiful day here in the Pacific Northwest after raining all night. I know this because the cats woke me up at least thirteen times by rolling around in the wrapping paper I left on the floor and I could hear the rain pounding the roof every single time.

The clouds started to lift about mid-morning and we packed up and headed to Elkville. Lloyd mocked me for toting along a huge backpack filled with food, water, antibiotics, rappelling gear and a rubber raft, but I've been out in the woods with him before. I'll write about it someday, after I'm over the PTSD, but for now just remember that if we are ever out triangulating together and I tell you to move your compass away from the truck before you get your bearing because the needle is pointing straight at the engine block, you should listen to me.

Moving on, because I'm starting to twitch and my medication is in the backpack: check out the pictures! We traversed some twisty logging roads that went high, high into some steep terrain. In fact, it was so twisty, high and steep that Shane commented, 'I would be damn scared if I had to walk all the way up here.' Four, people. He is FOUR. My mother is rolling over in her handcrafted artisan urn right this very second. There were no actual elk, but Lloyd was thrilled to see the piles of droppings. Personally, when it comes to elk poop, I can take it or leave it, but live and let live, I always say! There were also tons of birds and some very cool rocks.

I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas! As for me, I can hardly wait for Lloyd to plunge his hand into his stocking on Christmas morning.

Chipmunk, My Ass

You know, I'm not a fan of resolutions. But the end of the year is coming and something happened at work last week that made me think that perhaps I need to step up my game. A couple of my friends/co-workers vexed me past my limit, and I vowed revenge, only to get a note that said this: "Eh, scary. About like being threatened by Snow White or a chipmunk." Obviously, this will not do. Seriously, a chipmunk?? A wolverine, fine. A bobcat, even. But a chipmunk or some nancygirl princess that waits around for some stupid prince to save her bacon? Definitely NOT. Oh, and yes, I know, that's a picture of a squirrel. I don't HAVE any chipmunk pictures. So sue me.

Now, usually I prefer to keep my world domination on the down low. I like to let people think that what they're doing is their own idea. The sweetest victory is the one where the enemy doesn't even know he's been vanquished, right? I can't remember who said that but whoever it was is brilliant and probably not some asshole like Aristotle.

So I can see why someone might think that way about me. I have a pretty perky facade and I pretend to have a sunny personality all the time. That's how you manipulate people into doing your bidding without them even knowing it. But a CHIPMUNK? This calls for serious measures, my friends, and a new year is just the time to get started. In fact, I started today. I always like to get a jump on things, you know me! I sent out a slew of very bossy emails and I know it's working because I got notes back that were chock-full of swearing. Along with complete capitulation. My favorite one called me a 'booted princess'. Then I made rude and inappropriate jokes in the weekly staff meeting, so I think that was a pretty good kickoff. Tomorrow I might thrash some slackers and then set the kitchen on fire. Chipmunk, MY ASS.

Columbus Day

Man, Columbus sure is getting a bad rap lately. Come ON, people; he didn't personally steal land from some adorable rosy-cheeked pappooses, you know! He was LONG dead by the time the pappooses had to go to crappy reservations and work in baby sweatshops making dreamcatchers, bear claw necklaces and fringed leather jackets. I'm not necessarily defending him but I AM getting a little concerned he might get his day-off-from-work-in-October celebratory occasion stripped from him. I don't really care so much as long as it gets replaced by Sacajawea Day or similar. I'm an equal opportunity day-off-from-work enjoyer; I'm kind of awesome that way.

I hope you all had a nice holiday weekend. Nothing too exciting here- we changed over the car emergency kits to the winter version. It's an excellent time to put a blanket and hats and jackets for everyone in there if you haven't already done it. It's also a good time to change the batteries in your smoke alarms and flashlights, check the expiration dates on your emergency supplies, clean the bathrooms and perform those other pesky semi-annual chores. Oh, and start bulb shopping!

It's getting cooler, and so Lloyd took the boys shopping for a few fall/winter things. I sent a list, of course, but it doesn't really matter, does it? I've tried super detailed instructions, but that never works, because Lloyd says he can't read my writing. I have to give him that one, because truly, my penmanship is virtually illegible. It's never been good, but since the dawn of the digital age it's really gone downhill. Seriously, who cares? It's pretty much a waste of finger muscles. Pretty soon we're all going to have hands like tree frogs, and those scrawny things can't write worth a damn, or so I hear. I have an idea to solve this problem, though: a specific and reward-linked list. Come home with the proper item, and you get the commensurate reward. Here's an example:

- Size 8 olive colored cargo pants = new fishing lure

- Aveeno brand moisturizing lotion spf 30 = 20 minutes beer and tv

See? Use your imagination; the possibilities are endless! You could take the opposite approach, too, and have penalties for the wrong items. They could vary based on how far wrong they are. If you can use the object for the intended purpose you only have to scrub the tub. Like, say, if you get milk chocolate instead of dark. Or merlot instead of cab. But if the purchased object is entirely useless, it's time to clean the basement. Like if you need medical supplies and instead get beer and live fish. This has actually happened to me. I'll come clean here- you know me, always telling the complete unadulterated truth*: I totally got this idea from the Berenstain Bears, in a tome entitled 'The Berenstain Bears Forget Their Manners'. As true Berenstain Bears scholars know, Mama Bear doesn't always treat Papa Bear with the utmost respect, often relating to him the same way she does Brother Bear and Sister Bear, in this case doling out chores as penalties for bad manners. I'm generally not a fan of this sort of marital dynamic but sometimes a bear's got to call it like she sees it, am I right? In any event, I prefer the carrot to the stick, myself, though I can see that the carrot approach is going to be a lot more expensive and won't help my house get clean.

We also took the boys to see 'Dolphin Tale'; have you seen it? It's about a real dolphin named Winter, who has a prosthetic tail. It was cute, if a little cheesy. You can see her for realsies at seewinter.com. The over-the-top stuff is all fictionalized and consists of a cute but troubled kid whose love for the dolphin helps him overcome his troubles, his swimming champion cousin who has been injured and traumatized while serving in the army, and an evil land developer who wants to turn the marine hospital into a resort. Geez, really? They had to make up a bunch of run of the mill melodrama to jazz the story up? A dolphin with an engineered tail isn't good enough by itself? Because that is pretty freaking cool, if you ask me.

And that's all the news for today; what's going on at YOUR house??

*Lloyd would perhaps take issue with this; he didn't like how I said he was opposed to electric guitars in the church post the other day. To be fair, he does tolerate them, though he PREFERS their non-presence. They are not in the same category as sheet metal, which he simply will not abide. Nonetheless, I will have to insist that the statement still qualifies as TRUE.

Friday

Happy Friday, everyone! At my house, it's barely 6 a.m. The coffee has bypassed the carafe and flowed all over the counter, cabinets and floor, along with a generous helping of grounds. I like strong coffee, y'all! The towels were all dirty and there was no soap in the shower. I licked the floor like a thirsty cat, I rubbed the grime off on the shower wall like a cow on a fence, then shook myself dry like a dog, only to discover that facebook is down. OH, THE HUMANITY!

Let me make a slight clarification: when I say facebook is down, I mean I can read it, but not post. They are working on this issue and feel certain it will be resolved shortly. Try again in a few minutes! In the meantime, however, here I sit with rage to vent. Thanks a lot, FACEBOOK!

You know, I hate the legislative branch as much as anyone these days. Maybe more! It's super easy to get whipped into a frenzy, for a multitude of legitimate reasons. But I keep seeing these posts about how they all get their salaries for life, or how they get a full pension after one term. None of these things are true. You can read the truth here or here. Or google it up and find out more. As per the usual, the truth is much less outrageous than the rumors and lies.

Rasputin, Revisited

I know everyone has been waiting breathlessly for me to tackle a weighty topic in a mature, thoughtful manner. I've been ruminating like mad, and as result, I'm pleased to bring you this treatise on naughty chickens. This, of course, is a subject that's near and dear to my heart, and one I've recently been reminded of. First, by The Bloggess' brilliant story of Beyonce, and then again just yesterday by the tale of my friend Cheryl's bad bird, Peaches. If you have known me for a long time, or if you used to read Stories from Korea, you might remember the story of Rasputin. Mischievous poultry, must, of course, be approached with the appropriate gravity, but as we all know, I am very lazy, so I am presenting here the reworked story of Rasputin for your reading pleasure:

RASPUTIN

When we were living in Pensacola, Lloyd used to buy quail and plant them in the bushes and then take Ranger out to train him to sniff out birds, or whatever it is hunting dogs are supposed to do. Besides fart and snore, I mean. One day when he was buying his quail, the redneck he bought them from asked him if he wanted a rooster for free, because it was fighting with his other chickens and he needed to get rid of it. We lived in a subdivision with a no-chicken rule, among other foolish requirements. No fireworks, no yard sales, no campers, and most especially, no chickens. It's a wonder anyone wanted to live there at all. But, there we were anyway, in all of our chickenless despair. In any case, Lloyd, being a chicken lover, or a giant sucker, whichever, brought the thing home in a box along with the quail.

When he got home, he got out of his truck and heard a huge racket coming from the bird box, and it sounded like the rooster was beating up on the quail. Lloyd is a huge fan of the underbird, until he puts them in some bushes for a dog to eat, so he opened the box and grabbed the rooster. The rooster went crazy, and Lloyd swung him around, accidentally bashing his head against a tree. In our front yard. In the no-chicken subdivision. The rooster went limp and finally Lloyd started to think. He thinks, "Hmmm, Anna's going to be home soon and she is not going to like this dead rooster situation. I know! I'll throw him over the back fence and she will be none the wiser!" Behind our back fence was a strip of woods about 75 feet wide, and it ran the length of our chicken-free street, and there was another, presumably also chickenless, neighborhood on the other side.

The next day, I was laying on the couch hopped up on pain pills with my leg propped up on some pillows. I should mention here that I was on crutches from falling through the attic onto the garage floor. As a public service, I should also mention that you should never, ever, walk around in your attic unless it actually has a floor to support your weight rather than just sheetrock ceiling panels. Lloyd was outside messing around and he came tearing into the house yelling that I had to get up and look on the back fence. As you can imagine, getting up and trucking myself to the back yard was not an easy task, so I hollered at him that whatever it was had better be good. I heaved myself up and hobbled into the back yard, muttering under my breath the entire way. To my surprise, there was a brain-damaged rooster sitting on the back fence with his head all cocked over, making a sort of demented warbling noise. At that point, Lloyd had to fess up to the whole story, and we named the rooster Rasputin, for he who could not be killed. Or, he who was difficult to kill, at least.

Pretty soon, Rasputin got his crow back, and he started to crow bright and early every morning, annoying the neighbors in the no-chicken neighborhood. One day, we had a visit from animal control. Some of the neighbors had complained of a rooster crowing in the neighborhood and they thought it was coming from somewhere around our house. Had we seen it? And could they check our back yard? We glanced nervously at each other before assuring them that of course, we didn't have any chickens. We would NEVER have any chickens! Goodness, they are against the rules, we said. And certainly, we would be pleased to have them inspect the yard. Come right in, officers! Luckily Rasputin had some street smarts because he stayed out of sight and kept his gob shut. The chicken cops, stymied, left and didn't come back. Then Lloyd started thinking again, and we all know how that turns out. He decided that Rasputin might be lonely. You know where this going, right? Yep, one day he came home with two hens, and promptly chucked them over the fence, this time with their glorious chicken brains completely functional. And for all I know, all three of them are there to this day, living in polygamous bliss.

Again with the gastropods

I swear to you, I am not trying to copy shitmykidsruined.com; lately it just seems that every time I turn around my kids have ruined some more shit. Right now there is a big pile of wet dirt on the front walk, the unattractive remains of a vinegar/baking soda/red kool-aid volcano on the porch, a web of fishing line strung around the living room, mud spattered on the front window, and a snail running wild in the kitchen. Currently, it is clinging to the corner where the cabinet meets the ceiling. I have no idea where it came from. I don't even WANT to know, because it probably has friends and a large extended family.

Truly, I have a million other things to write about, and some of them are even important. Well, okay, that's probably a lie. But you never know; don't count me out! I might surprise you yet with a deep thoughtful analysis of some serious, timely issue. Fine, another lie. So sue me. But do it quick, before the debt ceiling default because about 23 milliseconds after that my net worth will consist solely of gastropods, empty kool-aid packets and wine bottles. That'll learn you. Either way, I even get tired of myself if I post too much of the yuk, yuk, look what my crazy kids did now/I'm a bad mommy schtick. It's just that it's so, so easy: this stuff writes itself. And also boggles the mind. Look, here's a video! Just a short that chronicles one of the afternoon's approximately 43 googol similarly insane activities:

See what I mean? What's a girl to do, right? Sigh.

Slugs

***post-bath update: just a little tip, should the need arise- soap, water and a washcloth will not remove slug slime. A nice, thick, baking soda paste, however, is quite effective.

Oh, you guys are seriously not going to believe this one. I will just shoot you straight, right from the beginning. Every word that follows is completely, 100% true.

This afternoon, we made a short trip to a trail system near the house so I could run (I know, I know, but it's true, I swear). Lloyd got on the phone, the boys started poking around, like they do, and I took off as fast as I could go. Not very fast, sure, but I was around the corner and out of sight in a matter of seconds. Fine, five minutes. OKAY? The path is kind of a funky little system with levee trails on both sides of a slough, and some crossovers. I got a little turned around and as a result, didn't see them again for about a half hour. When I finally made my way all the way around and spotted them again, there was something not quite right. Lloyd was still on the phone, natch, and Weston had a shoelace tied around his hips.

Me: Weston, why is that shoelace tied around your pants?

Weston: So the slugs can't get out of my pockets!

Clever, true, I have to give him that one. Not sure that would have occurred to me. I looked a little closer, and saw that both the boys had their hands full of brown, medium sized slugs, and a couple were sliming their way out of Shane's shirt.

When we got back to the car, we made them strip down and put their bounty into a cup. Turns out, Shane even had his transformer underwear packed full of the vile little creatures. We threw his shirt away and made him stick his hands in his pockets for the ride home, and then we force-marched them straight into the tub. But not before taking a picture of them with the disgusting mucous-ridden fruits of their labor, so enjoy! Note Shane's belly; it has remnants of paper on it because we stuck a coloring book over the glistening trails on his abdomen to avoid mucking up his seatbelt.

Have a happy Sunday! I'll be laying on the couch, sucking down beers and trying to quell the nausea.